Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  She thought of Raquella’s Sisters and Cioba Venport … which led her thoughts to Josef Venport, then Venport Holdings, the planetary banks, Combined Mercantiles, the embargo of Butlerian planets. It was all a web, with a single nexus.

  Dorotea saw the old Sorceress nodding with a rueful smile on her lips. Then she faded away, leaving Dorotea awake in the darkness, feeling very much alone and troubled by these astonishing revelations.…

  * * *

  SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, armed with her realization, Dorotea awaited the Emperor outside his office in the Hall of Parliament. It was far too early for Salvador to receive visitors, but she felt a sense of urgency now that she had pieced together the broad strokes of Josef Venport’s spreading plan. Without any doubt, the powerful Directeur had extended his web throughout many aspects of the (redacted as inappropriate)

  More importantly, Manford Torondo needed to know, and she would send word to him on Lampadas. The linchpin seemed to be the Combined Mercantiles operations on Arrakis, the dependence on spice being the vital link in an ever more oppressive chain. Yes, Manford needed to know … but first she was obligated to inform the Emperor.

  After revealing the fraud of House Péle and publicly humiliating Grand Inquisitor Quemada, Dorotea had been much more welcome in the Emperor’s presence. She was Salvador’s official Truthsayer, and her newest revelation would make her even more valuable to him. The Emperor would never again doubt what she had to say.

  It might even make up for her disastrous fumbling of the situation on Rossak, which had destroyed the school there and broken the Sisterhood.…

  The repercussions of Quemada’s confession still reverberated through the palace. The apprentice Scalpel torturers had performed their work with precise efficiency. In a particular, but unsurprising, irony the Grand Inquisitor had not survived his own interrogation, and his organs were sold to a research group.

  No one in Zimia would see Empress Tabrina again either. One of the most surprising revelations that spurted like blood from Quemada’s mouth was that Tabrina had been aware that the Grand Inquisitor sold his victims’ organs on the black market. Rather than exposing the scheme, though, she had blackmailed the torturer, forcing him to become her lover—surely not because she had any fondness for the man, but in bitter retaliation for all of Salvador’s concubines. Maybe she liked Quemada’s sense of power, or the lingering scent of blood on his skin.…

  When confronted with the accusation, Tabrina had crumbled, begging not to be thrown to the Scalpel apprentices. Only Prince Roderick’s hard and rational insistence had saved her. Grim and still grief-stricken after the death of his little daughter, Roderick insisted that the Imperium could not tolerate an expanding scandal. The Corrinos had already drained House Péle of its wealth, and Tabrina was sent into exile. Salvador had no need for her anymore—she had not given him an heir.

  Dorotea knew Salvador would never have a child, not by any lover. The Sisterhood on Rossak had seen to it that he was secretly rendered sterile to cut off his flawed bloodline. It was one of the few matters on which Dorotea and Mother Superior Raquella had agreed.…

  While she waited, listening to the palace stir, Dorotea heard a guard escort maorning light s

  Those Sisters flock together like birds—carrion birds!

  +imal impenetrable—EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, comment overheard in the Imperial Court

  Sister Arlett spent years out in the planets of the Imperium doing missionary and recruitment work for the Sisterhood, and when she returned she made her way to their new school on Wallach IX. She wasn’t exactly exiled, but Arlett had been encouraged to do her work far from Rossak, searching for candidates who would benefit from Sisterhood instruction.

  Of the dozens of missionaries, Raquella kept particularly close watch over Arlett’s activities, because Arlett was her own daughter. And Dorotea, now the Emperor’s Truthsayer, was Arlett’s daughter, although Arlett didn’t know it. A tangled web of DNA strands …

  As such, the Mother Superior felt that Arlett might be useful. Even though Arlett had never attempted the Agony, had never become a Reverend Mother, perhaps she would make an effective, unofficial envoy to the orthodox Sisters on Salusa Secundus. Maybe Arlett could be the first step to healing the schism.

  Years ago, Reverend Mother Raquella had sent Arlett away when she refused to choose the good of the Sisterhood over love for her new baby, Dorotea. Raquella knew she was loyal to the Sisterhood, in her own way, and she had almost—almost—forgiven Arlett after her remarkable success in recruiting the talented Valya Harkonnen on Lankiveil.

  But the old wounds were reopened when Dorotea survived the Agony and learned the truth of her own bloodline from the voices in Other Memory. Arlett did not know that Sister Dorotea was her long-lost daughter … but Dorotea knew. Maybe one of her internal voices was that of her own mother.…

  So, when Arlett presented herself to the ancient Mother Superior in her Wallach IX offices, Raquella felt unexpected joy to see her. She had no room in her busy life for love, though, especially now when the Sisterhood was so diminished and her own time so short.

  With a glance, Raquella assessed the dark-haired Arlett, noting that she had her mother’s lanky frame, upturned nose, and pale blue eyes. After so many years away, the missionary Sister had changed—but the Sisterhood training was so ingrained in her that it could never be taken away. If that were true of all Sisters, then even Dorotea might be salvageable.

  Arlett sighed and sat in the proffered chair, but she remained tense. “I’ve seen so many worlds that I have fallen behind in the changes at the Sisterhood. I need to know what happened on Rossak, why some Sisters are now in the Imperial Court while others are here.”

  Raquella nodded. “You will receive a full briefing before I send you on your new mission.”

  “And I would love to hear about the progress of all my recruits—especially Valya Harkonnen.”

  “Once they join the school, acolytes are no longer your concern.” Raquella heard the sharp tone in her voice and softened it, because this was not the time to antagonize Arlett. “Reverend Mother Valya has gone to Ginaz to assess the fighting techniques of the Swordmasters. I suspect by now she has thrown the entire combat school into turmoil.”

  Arlett looked relieved. “I watched her in combat against her brother Griffin. She had great talent even when she was young and uncontrolled. Without doubt, she will teach the Swordmasters a few things.”

  “Valya brought her sister, Tula, to our school. The girl showed promise, but left us for a personal matter. A+ro. p severe disappointment.”

  A troubled expression crossed Arlett’s face. “The Sisterhood is not for everyone, and recruiting is more difficult than it has been in the past. There are so many new schools for the ambitious to join, and ours has obviously fallen into disfavor.”

  “We may no longer be in our old complex on Rossak, but Emperor Salvador allows us to continue our training here. We will grow strong again.”

  Arlett frowned. “Or the orthodox Sisters on Salusa will grow strong. Apparently, Reverend Mother Dorotea is training new acolytes.” Raquella heard no special intonation in Arlett’s voice when she spoke her daughter’s name.

  “This is the true Sisterhood,” Raquella reminded her. She stood up from her desk and gestured for Arlett to follow her to an instructional house where, seated in a circle on the cold floor, Fielle and five other Sister Mentats pored over bound volumes of family histories, bloodline trees, and genetic descriptions dating back to Mating Indices developed by the Sorceresses of Rossak.

  Seeing them enter, Fielle rose to her feet, smiling as she greeted Raquella, while giving Arlett barely a glance. Now that Valya was gone, Fielle seemed even more eager to impress the Mother Superior. “We have collated and accessed enough data now, Mother Superior, that we have Mentat projections for many generations ahead—and we foresee a glorious pathway, one we will take to create the pinnacle of human development and consciousness.”


  “Every breeding plan must have an ultimate goal.” Raquella felt a trace of hope. She had insisted that these women do the memorization work, although more comprehensive data was contained in the secret computers.

  The wounded Sisterhood could begin to grow truly strong again … but that would not be enough for Raquella. Before dying she had to bring the two factions together again and choose a worthy successor. After carrying such a heavy future on her shoulders, she could not wait to pass the load to a younger leader.

  Fielle continued, “We cannot be certain what lies ahead, Mother Superior. Our projections do not show faces or forms, only a tremendous potential for humankind, in which we create humans far superior to us now.”

  Arlett had been away fro “Your

  Successful people sort through priorities and act upon them, while the unsuccessful see only a fog of chaos.

  —DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, in+rial impenetrablestruction to business trainees

  In hand-to-hand combat, Valya Harkonnen had found only one true match for her skills—her brother Griffin, and he was dead.

  Each time she practiced fighting now, each time she went through her lethal yet graceful moves, she remembered what she and her brother had taught each other. More recently, during Tula’s training, her sister had shown quick advancement, too, almost fighting at Valya’s level. But Tula was no match for Valya, as Griffin had been. She and her brother had shared something indefinable, had saved each other’s lives, and forged a remarkable closeness.

  Perhaps Valya would have that connection with Tula one day, after her sister had Atreides blood on her hands.…

  For her other goal, the advancement of the Sisterhood, she would continue to instruct the Sisters on Wallach IX. Armed with specialized muscular and reflexive training to give them superior control of their bodies, as well as other fighting skills, the Sisters would become formidable fighters.

  But first, Valya meant to acquire even more skills of her own.

  The Ginaz School had been established during Serena Butler’s Jihad. For more than a century, skilled Swordmasters had wrought great destruction on combat meks and fighting robots. Now, long after the defeat of the thinking machines, Ginaz still produced the best Swordmasters in the Imperium. Some worked as mercenaries for noble houses; many espoused belief in the Butlerian movement, since a true Swordmaster needed no advanced technology, only a sword and the ability to use it.

  On the first day of instruction on Ginaz, Valya wore a sleeveless white combat suit. That morning in one of the simple, open huts where students slept, an aide had tied a black bandana around her head. The aide, an aged man who had never completed his training but remained at the school, called himself Rissar. Before sending her out to the training field, he had looked at Valya’s outfit, nodded at her with a smile. “You are dressed like Jool Noret, the founder of the school. Now prove yourself worthy of that garment.”

  Rissar said the same to each of the other students as he prepared their headbands and fitted short training swords at their waists. Then the old man sent the candidates out to stand on a rocky promontory above the sea, facing away from the water. “Remain completely silent. And wait.”

  Perspiring in the tropical heat of the training island, Valya stood with the other students. As they waited for their instructor, she considered the legendary fighters who had been here before her. As soon as Valya incorporated their techniques with the skills she had acquired as a Reverend Mother, she could be more formidable than the heroes of Ginaz—and there had been many. With her already-honed skills and natural abilities, she expected to advance quickly here.

  During the long, restless pause, Valya had time to study the other students standing in the sun: four women (including herself) and ten men, some anxious, some calm, all wondering when the lesson would begin. Valya endured the delay, annoyed that the school was wasting her time. She wanted to learn everything she could and return to Wallach IX as soon as possible.

  A hot ocean breeze blew strands of dark hair around the sides of her face, though the headband held most of it in place. Ever wary, she kept watch over her shoulder, in case someone climbed the rocks. She began to suspect that the instructor might make some sort of dramatic entrance and leap into their midst.

  As she assessed her companions in silence, she noticed some of them doing forward to meeting her,” Vor saidSister woman the same with her. At the far end of the line, a small, sinewy man stared straight ahead, not moving a muscle. His headband, combat suit, and sword-in-scabbard were the same as everyone else’s, but he wore them differently; his stance was more prepared, as if he knew something they didn’t. Supposedly all fourteen students were equally matched for the training, but Valya wondered if this one already had some training at the school, or—

  Defying Rissar’s instructions, she broke formation and walked over to him, meeting his steady blue-eyed gaze. He had a small mouth and broad nose; she noticed a pale scar on one cheek. “You’ve been in combat before.”

  “And you as well,” he replied in a high voice, both amused and interested. “I can tell by the way you move and the way you survey your surroundings.”

  She had all the information she needed to know. “You are our instructor.”

  While the other students reacted with surprise, the man gave her a thin smile. He made a quick move to his right and darted around her, while she went into a defensive posture and spun to face him.

  He landed on the balls of his feet, but did not attack. Instead, he faced the line of students. “I am Master Placido. I was only ten when the Swordmaster School accepted me, and over the past nine years I have collected plenty of experience. I intend to give a small amount of it to you—if you are ready.”

  With a sudden movement, he flourished his thin sword, then tossed it high in the air and caught it by the handle, before sliding it smoothly back into the scabbard. Valya was not impressed by the acrobatics; it was all braggadocio, effective for intimidating an average opponent or a class of green students, but Valya could easily have disarmed him while he was showing off.

  She slipped back into formation, intentionally taking the spot where Master Placido had stood moments ago. He seemed amused by her behavior, but she was not amused by his. She used her training and observation techniques to measure his movements, attitudes, and abilities, so that she could defeat him.

  “Only one of you proved observant enough to notice that I was different,” he said. “Defeating an opponent depends on more than your ability to handle a weapon. Any fight begins with an accurate assessment of your adversary, to ascertain weaknesses and strengths.”

  Placido walked down the line of students, pausing in front of each, but he ignored Valya. Was he trying to irritate her? She made a point of controlling her emotions.

  “Break into pairs and demonstrate your fighting abilities against each other, so that I can assess where the starting point should be for this class. Use your swords or not, as you prefer.”

  Valya was paired with a tall, thirtyish man who identified himself as Linari. She could tell from the way he moved and his muscular build that he’d been in fights before, but they had probably been brawls; he relied on strength and intimidation rather than finesse. Linari wore a sneering expression as they circled each other; both of them kept their swords sheathed. Valya knew she wouldn’t need hers, and Linari refused to draw his own as a matter of pride.

  As she and her opponent remained wary, evaluating, she heard other students wrestling or punching one another. She did not take her eyes from Linari’s. When she decided she’d given him enough time, Valya lunged to the right and leaped up to strike Linari with a fist in the temple, stunning him long enough for her to go low and slide around him. She kicked his knees from behind and thinking machines fp mme sent him tumbling down onto the rocky surface.

  As Linari rose to his feet, his expression changed from haughtiness to respect. “Good move,” he said, with a toothy grin. “Thank you for teaching it to me.”


  After each combat, Master Placido changed the pairings, and Valya rapidly proved herself to be the elite fighter in the class. In each case she took down her opponent with enough restraint to prevent injury, though she could easily have killed or disabled every one of them.

  Placido watched her, measured h9;s an even gr

  Every person has a powerful urge to return home. We go there to find meaning in our lives, even if our memories of home are filled with sadness.

  —VORIAN ATREIDES, private journals

  Lankiveil was behind him now, and sometimes Vorian Atreides wondered how many miles—how many light-years—he had traveled during his long lifetime. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know. It would just be a number, and the memories of all those places, all those journeys, mattered more than the distances traveled.

  After arranging to provide the financial lifeline House Harkonnen needed to solidify its position, Vor had traveled again, wandering from place to place. He bought his own passage, called no attention to himself, and made his way across the Imperium in a slow hopscotch until he finally found himself back on beautiful Caladan. Though he had taken his time to get there, even now he wasn’t sure he felt ready to be back. Caladan …

  Vor had endured more than two centuries of being uprooted and moving on, of leaving people he cared about, watching Time steal away his wives, lovers, children, grandchildren, and friends. Out of self-defense, he tried not to let himself grow too close to anyone, yet out of his own humanity, he often failed. Sometimes he left loved ones of his own volition, but too often events forced him to leave—such as when he departed from Mariella and their family on Kepler. And so many decades ago, he had left Caladan as well.

  Over the years there had been wars, politics, and death—far too much death. Through it all, Vorian Atreides was still alive. For the first time, he was going in the opposite direction, heading back to a place where he’d known love once, and where he still felt deep roots, despite the long time away.