Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Emperor Salvador regarded the images with faint amusement. “You seem to have recovered rather well.” Without being told, Roderick realized the victim must have been the body double Manford used for some of his public appearances.

  Manford lowered his voice to a growl. “The assassin was convinced he had hit the mark. Josef Venport ordered my murder—I know it!”

  “I believe you’ve called for his death as well,” Roderick pointed out. “You reap what you sow. As I understand it, Venport barely escaped with his life when your ships attacked the Thonaris shipyards. And your followers have shown a great capacity for bloodshed. Perhaps Directeur Venport should be the one here asking for our protection?”

  Salvador added, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in the attack. Arrakis is a rugged, dangerous world, and that city is not a place for civilized men. People are murdered there every day. How do you know it wasn’t just a random act of violence?”

  “Because I know. I demand that you condemn Venport for this act, just as you must condemn him for the continued use of thinking machines. His crimes are inexcusable. The penalty must be death.”

  Salvador looked to his brother for help, and Roderick raised his voice. “You demand? Leader Torondo, you do not dictate Imperial policy.”

  “And you do? You are the Prince, not the Emperor.” He obviously intended for his comment to sting more than it did.

  Emperor Salvador looked irritated. “What am I to do about this? The squabble is between you and Directeur Venport—I wish you wouldn’t put me in the middle of it.”

  Manford scowled. “If you had the moral courage to choose the proper side, you would not be in the middle. Venport Holdings has been stran forward to meeting her,” Vor saidin s womangling any world that takes our pledge of purity. Some of the faithful are weakening, but I’ve commanded that all must renew their oaths in no uncertain terms.”

  Holding on to Anari’s shoulders, Manford leaned forward, staring at the Emperor. “My followers can fight with their faith, and we will win. But it is not enough—we need your help, Sire. As the ruler of the Imperium, you have a weapon that can hurt him financially. Strike hat became of

  I prefer to celebrate my decisions, whatever they are, rather than regret them.

  —JOSEF VENPORT, VenHold internal memo

  News of Manford Torondo’s death traveled slowly across the Imperium, especially with so many interdicted worlds and rerouted spaceship schedules. For weeks now, the Butlerians had been oddly quiet about their loss.

  After assassinating the leader, Taref was treated better than a Naib at the Kolhar space complex. He was considered a hero, and he told the story repeatedly, describing how he’d seen the opportunity and taken the successful shot.

  At night, though, he felt qualms as he remembered the whizz-clack of the Maula pistol projectile, the splash of blood as the man’s skull shattered, and his body tum+sere m2Ibling to the streets. A powerful leader of a terrible movement, killed so easily … and so much more personally than all those who had died when Taref sabotaged EsconTran ships. With his own eyes, he had seen the blood, the falling body.…

  Reports from other operatives on Arrakis verified the news of the kill. As a reward, Directeur Venport offered Taref a large bonus, but the desert man asked for nothing more than a chance to meet with his friends and wish them well whenever they came back to Kolhar. If he could get them all together again, maybe they would travel to Caladan, as Venport had promised them.

  Then Taref learned that one more of his desert friends, Waddoch, had also been killed, caught committing sabotage on an EsconTran ship. Other engineers had discovered his false identity, and seized him, but Waddoch took his own life before he could be turned over for questioning. As a matter of honor, the young man had done the only correct thing.

  The loss opened another deep wound in Taref.…

  Lillis was the most like Taref, the person who most closely shared his dreams and imaginings. She had spent her youth fancying what lay beyond the stars and cultures other than her own. She even seemed interested in finding Zensunni remnants who still lived on distant planets—ancestors of the desert people of Arrakis. Like him, Lillis had always thought about more than going on desert raids to sabotage spice harvesters, or playing tricks on offworlders. Few young women turned their backs on sietch life, and he knew she had grand dreams.

  Taref could not deny that their imaginings were far different from the missions Directeur Venport had assigned them. He and his companions weren’t being sent out to find the roots of their culture, nor were they exploring exotic places that would make wonderful tales back on Arrakis. Instead, they were destroying a rival’s ships and killing everyone aboard without regard to guilt or innocence. And Venport rewarded them well for doing it.

  That wasn’t how any of them had expected it to be, certainly not what he had promised them when he pressured them to follow him on a grand adventure.…

  When Lillis returned to Kolhar from another mission, Taref hurried to greet her. He felt joy in his heart again to know she was back. The weather was gray and windy. Cold raindrops and hail pellets whipped across the sky, spattering their faces as they stood outside the main barracks. When he saw her face, though, he could see she was miserable and shivering, her eyes downcast.

  “It’s so cold here, Taref,” she said. “So cold everywhere compared with home. And the moisture in the air makes it hard to breathe. So much water.” Her dark eyes still showed the deep blue of a lifetime of melange consumption. “They have a word for it—drowning—when one is submerged in the water until the lungs fill.”

  Taref tried to summon excitement in his voice, for her sake. “But remember, we’re on another world. I thought you wanted to get away from Arrakis, just as I did. One day we’ll go to Caladan together and see the oceans.”

  She extended her hand, palm up, and it trembled as the drizzle came down. “I don’t want to see those places, not anymore. I’d rather be … home.”

  Taref’s heart went out to her. “I’ll arrange it so you can return to Arrakis, if that’s what you really want. Directeur Venport told me to ask for any favor I wish. Go back to our sietch—will that make you happy?”+ea. p

  Lillis sighed. “I feel like a hatchling taken out of a hawk’s nest. Even when it’s put back, the other birds never accept it. They kill it.”

  He didn’t know how to help her. “I have been back there,” he said. “You will see the desert differently.”

  “I see the whole universe differently, Taref.” Her voice sounded so empty. “My dreams are gone. And my home is gone. All I have is this.…” She looked up at the gray skies, held out her palms to the cold sleet. “And I don’t want it.”

  * * *

  AT DAWN THE next morning, Taref emerged from the barracks and found Lillis lying on the pebbled ground outside the building, face up, arms spread at her sides. Not moving.

  Taref rushed to her, picked up her shoulders, and cradled her head. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispered her name. Lillis’s eyes were open, but she was covered with a light dusting of snow. She had no body warmth left. Sometime during the night, she had lain down on the ground, and just died.

  Taref groaned, holding her stiff, cold body, rocking her back and forth. Lillis would never go back to the dunes now. She had perished far from home, far from the sunshine and golden sands, the pungent smell of melange, and the majesty of the giant sandworms.

  Both Shurko and Waddoch had died on their missions, and now Lillis had simply surrendered. He would have joined her in a trip back to Arrakis, would have accompanied her to the sietch, or wherever she wanted to go—but it was too late for that now. He pulled her body closer as a hard sleet began to fall, and he felt the impenetrable cold.

  He would go to Directeur Venport and demand passage back to Arrakis, would take Lillis’s water and deliver it to the sietch, as he should have delivered the water of Shurko and Waddoch. It was the way of the desert.

  In that smal
l matter at least, he would help Lillis go home. Home …

  * * *

  LATER THAT DAY, astonishing news came in on a spacefolder from Salusa Secundus: Manford Torondo was alive and well, and had just appeared at the Imperial Court. Worse, he had convinced the Emperor to seize all spice operations on Arrakis.

  Directeur Vr Venport Hold

  Truth is an amorphous thing, not quantifiable. There is no such thing as Pure Truth, because any attempt to understand this ideal involves a mental journey through shades of meaning and shades of purity. Does any form of truth reside in spoken words? In demonstrable actions? In supreme exercises of logic? Or does it lie in the secret places of the human heart?

  —Annals of the Mentat School

  With Manford Torondo away to meet with the Emperor, Deacon Harian and his deputies were determined and ruthless in carrying out their leader’s edicts on Lampadas. In the capital city people flocked to raise their hands in front of officials, swearing their vows in the names of the Three Martyrs.

  Even at the isolated Mentat School, Gilbertus Albans learned of the harsh oath that Manford now required all individuals on Lampadas to swear. “The oath collectors are on the other side of the continent,” he grumbled in his office, knowing Erasmus was listening. “But they will be here soon enough.”

  “I do not doubt it,” the robot replied. “The actions of the Butlerians are both predictable and irrational. I continue to study and analyze them, even though Anna Corrino is a more interesting subject. She and I have grown close, don’t you agree?”

  “Too close,” Gilbertus said. “She has started to mutter and make comments to you where other students can hear. Alys Carroll watches her intensely, suspecting she is possessed by a demon.”

  Erasmus chuckled, but the Headmaster found no humor in the situation. He was afraid of what Anna might say aloud, what revelations she might blurt out about the existence of the robot’s hidden memory core.

  “Manford’s deputies will demand that every trainee at my school take the oath.” Gilbertus had a copy of it in front of him, and he grew increasingly disturbed as he read it. He wondered if Manford had written the phrasing himself. “This pledge is even more bombastic and paranoid than the usual Butlerian vehemence. Condemnation of any form of advanced technology—although they don’t define exactly what that might be.”

  Erasmus said, “I expect the definition will change according to Manford Torondo’s convenience.”0em; margin : 0em 0em 1.20em 0em; } p. heard , however,

  Before the latest flurry of activity, the Imperial Committee of Orthodoxy had already been making revisions to the old lists of banned technology. Gilbertus knew that once a device appeared on the Unorthodox list, it would never be removed. No one was allowed to appeal without facing suspicion and censure.

  He regarded the printed notice with contempt, tossed it aside. “I won’t encourage my Mentats to swear allegiance to this. They’re not blind sycophants who agree without thinking.”

  “You are asking for trouble from the Butlerians,” the robot said. “Why don’t you simply do as humans do—lie? Repeat the oath when asked, even if you don’t believe it. That will take care of the matter, and they will leave us alone. You must not end up like Horus Rakka, murdered because of your past. If anyone finds out who you were on Corrin, we will both be in terrible danger.”

  In his recent nocturnal visit, Draigo Roget had made a great impact on Gilbertus, causing him to doubt the choices and compromises he had accepted. “As the founder of the Mentat order, as the Headmaster of this great school, I teach students to use logic to arrive at the truth. It is something to strive toward, not to muddy, and certainly not to run away from. I intend to make a stand against this oath.”

  “Don’t be silly. Rise above your moral objections for the greater good.”

  Gilbertus shook his head. “It’s more than that. Even if I could be convinced to set aside my moral objections for a larger purpose—such as my own survival and the survival of this school—the Butlerians could bring a Truthsayer with them. I cannot lie about something this important. I just won’t do it.”

  Ever since Draigo had confronted Gilbertus about his alliance with the Butlerians, he had questioned his implicit acceptance of antitechnology fanaticism. The Headmaster had cooperated with Manford because he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to the Mentat School, but he’d been a willing participant in too many questionable Butlerian activities.

  Draigo had done what an excellent student should do—challenge the educator and make him think.

  Gilbertus Albans had lived a long life full of accomplishment. He had worked hard to maintain a balance, to bridge the gap between humans and thinking machines. After nearly two centuries of life, how much would he give up to ensure his personal survival? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his legacy, instead of prolonging his life at any cost?

  The answer seemed clear to him, no matter the dangers involved.

  Manford Torondo was exuberantly leading human civilization toward a new dark age, and Gilbertus had paid lip service to those beliefs to keep himself out of danger. But through his inaction, he only enabled the fanatics in their destruction. If he mouthed the words of this new oath without challenge, he would be condoning continued extremism, even promoting it.

  “You have been silent for a long time,” Erasmus said. “That suggests you are troubled.”

  “I am troubled, Father, and I have a big decision to make, the most important one I’ve ever made.”

  * * *

  DEACON HARIAN’S PARTY arrived days later than Gilbertus expected them. Since the Butlerians insisted on an overland journey rather than ta+Gilbertus . pking a swift aircraft, their travel was slow and uncertain, especially when they reached the treacherous ground near the school. The public road through the swamp was intentionally circuitous to hinder the progress of anyone who approached.

  Harian arrived at the thick barricade wall with six other Butlerians in his group, all haughty and energized. Seeing them, Alys Carroll flung open the high gates, even before word reached the Headmaster. A group of the Butlerian-picked trainees, including Alys, greeted the delegation with bristly familiarity.

  Erasmus’s spy-eyes warned Gilbertus before his administrator Zendur ran up to tell him the news. “Alys Carroll let them inside the walls!”

  Gilbertus was disturbed by how quickly she had allowed the delegation through the defenses into the secure perimeter. He had no justification for keeping the Butlerians out—at least not yet—but the walls and the gate, as well as other less-obvious security systems, had been erected for a reason.

  “I’ve been expecting them,” the Headmaster said, keeping his feelings to himself. He sent Zendur away. Then, breathing calmly, he took a few moments to touch up his makeup, put on his spectacles, and adjust his formal robes before hurrying to the main gate.

  When he met the delegation at the wide courtyard deck in front of the main lecture hall, Alys was already uttering the words of Manford’s new oath before a deputy, as if reciting a sacred prayer. She was the fourth student to swear individually in front of the oath-deputy, and others were lined up behind her.

  Deacon Harian had a hard countenance, and he looked dyspeptic today. No doubt he had spent days listening to thousands of oath-takers who asserted their devotion to Manford and professed abhorrence of technology, and he looked worn down and not inclined to exchange pleasantries when Gilbertus Albans faced him.

  The bald deacon had always regarded the Headmaster, and everyone else, with a shadow of suspicion, as if he saw machine ghosts out of the corner of his eye. “Headmaster, summon the rest of your students in organized groups to line up. One by one they will recite the words to affirm their loyalty to Leader Torondo and the sacred Butlerian cause.”

  “You can’t ask them to swear an oath they have not had time to read or consider.”

  Harian arched his eyebrows. “What is there to consider?”

  “A person should fully understand the
words of any oath before he swears to it—otherwise the promise means nothing. That is simple logic.”

  “This oath means a great deal, Headmaster,” interjected the oath-deputy. A tall beanpole of a man, he had a pointed jaw and tiny eyes. He wore a badge with his title and name: Deputy Rasa. “Everyone must take it.”

  Gilbertus didn’t move. “All the more reason that it should be duly considered first, so that each person knows exactly what he or she is swearing to before uttering the words.”

  “The words have been properly vetted by Leader Torondo himself,” Harian said.

  “Good, that means Manford knows what he is demanding, but my students are trained to think and make their own decisions. I cannot throw out a key tenet of Mentat instruction. You have my permission to leave the text here, and we will thoroughly discuss the matter among ourselves. Return in two months. By then, we will have completed our analysis and discussion, and will give you our decision.”

  +Gilbertus . pHarian blinked, as if Gilbertus had just struck him in the face. Alys Carroll stepped up. “I have already taken the oath, Headmaster. It’s plain enough, and states the truth we all know. What is there to discuss?” Her fellow Butlerian students muttered in agreement, as did the entourage accompanying Deacon Harian.

  Gilbertus glanced at the printed words—which he had already reviewed in his office—then waved the copy in front of the deacon. “With only a quick glance I can see that this wording is too broad and not thoroughly thought out. It states unequivocally that anyone who uses computers must die, but what if someone accidentally finds and uses old technology? The thinking machines had a penchant for imitating human behavior. What if a person doesn’t know he is interacting with a robot?”

  “Any person of faith will instantly recognize the difference,” Harian said.

  “According to your oath, any person who uses advanced technology receives the penalty of death, but Leader Torondo recently flew aboard a foldspace ship to Salusa Secundus. Does that mean he has condemned himself to death, by his own terms?”