Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  “The ships of EsconTran have received a special dispensation,” said Deputy Rasa. This was an old argument, one with no clear solution.

  “There may be exceptions to the use of advanced technology in the furtherance of spreading our message,” Harian explained. “But that exception does not permit the use of forbidden computers in navigation systems or other aspects of space travel. Anyone who uses computers must die.”

  Gilbertus turned to his gathered students. “And yet, my trainees proudly call themselves ‘human computers.’ On Rossak, Emperor Salvador declared ten Sister Mentats to be ‘computers,’ and murdered them all—an action that was condemned afterward by many members of the Landsraad. Are you asserting that anyone who uses a Mentat is therefore using a computer and must be executed? That would be highly unusual, since Manford Torondo uses my services. Could he, on that charge alone, be subject to the execu

  The wrongful death of a child is something a parent can never forgive, but I fear for the safety of my husband if he seeks reprisals against the Butlerians.

  —HADITHA CORRINO, private diary

  “The consequences of such a brash action against VenHold will be like an avalanche, Salvador,” said Prince Roderick. “More than we can handle. It’s not a good idea, and it’s not safe for you to go to Arrakis—not while the situation is so volatile.”

  He and the Emperor walked with Reverend Mother Esther-Cano, who had taken on the Truthsayer duties while Dorotea was away on Wallach IX.

  Salvador sounded defensive. “I will have Imperial soldiers with me. In fact, you should come along—we’ll do this together. We won’t be using a VenHold transport, and the faster-than-light engines on the Imperial Barge are perfectly safe.”

  Normally, the Emperor and his contingent traveled aboard a perfectly safe VenHold spacefolder, but since the Emperor’s edict had such drastic implications for VenHold’s business operations, Salvador did not feel comfortable riding on one of Directeur Venport’s ships, nor would he accept the services of a rival transport company with an atrocious safety record.

  “The non-Holtzman engines are safe, yes,” Roderick agreed, “but the trip to Arrakis will take three weeks, which means I have to stay on Salusa. You’ll be gone at least two months, and someone reliable has to run the Imperium until you return.”

  They entered the palace hangar where the Imperial Barge was being prepared for the Emperor’s forthcoming trip, a grand old vessel that traveled the old-fashioned way, as all the ships in the League of Nobles had before Tio Holtzman’s invention of foldspace travel. Roderick agreed that the journey would be safer than risking foldspace travel without a Navigator, but that wasn’t what he worried about. He thought his brother’s entire plan to seize spice operations would provoke one of the most powerful men in the Imperium.

  Salvador would not be convinced otherwise.

  Echoing noises of tools and voices filled the hangar’s cavernous space. The barge was more than large enough to hold an entourage of Imperial guards, along with staff and servants. They all anticipated having a marvelous journey, filled with pomp and circumstance.

  0em; margin : 0em 0em 1.20em 0em; } p. the Butlerian impenetrableSalvador looked up at the gilded hull. “It will be fine, brother. Directeur Venport sent a message accepting the edict. He is not happy about the transition, but he agreed to show me the spice operations personally.”

  Roderick lowered his voice. “That doesn’t sound right to me. All the profits and power you’re asking him to surrender? He’s not the kind of man to surrender to your decree so easily.”

  “On the contrary, it’s refreshing when a subject actually heeds the orders of his Emperor. You can be sure we’ll hear plenty of complaints—a veritable army of VenHold attorneys will descend on Zimia to thrash out the details, and I do not for a moment believe he won’t profit from the change.”

  Roderick made a noncommittal sound, unable to forget the image of the Manford Torondo look-alike assassinated in Arrakis City. He lowered his voice. “This might be an excellent time to test your stand-in. Your new double looks so much like you that he might almost fool me.”

  “But he wouldn’t fool you, brother, and I doubt he would fool Directeur Venport either. My double would have to keep up the charade for weeks, in close quarters. No, this is something I must do for myself. I am the Emperor, and no one would dare harm me.”

  Esther-Cano listened to both men. Even though she was a pureblood Sorceress with Sisterhood training, she had proved herself reliable to Roderick’s satisfaction. She had close-cropped black hair, small intelligent eyes, and an air of command, as if she had experience and wisdom far beyond her years. Now she interjected, “Sire, the Prince is wise to suggest caution.”

  The Emperor shook his head. “I’ve already made my decision. We will depart as soon as the barge is ready and my entourage has been gathered.” He turned and issued orders to whomever might be listening, assuming that someone with authority would hear him. “Make certain the vessel is supplied with everything we need. Oh, and add some extra troops, just to keep my brother happy.”

  Roderick let out a slow, uneasy sigh, didn’t argue further.

  Workmen scurried along a webwork of scaffolding around the ship, inspecting the hull and taking measurements by hand, rather than using automated metal-lattice scanners, which the Committee of Orthodoxy had recently forbidden.

  Reverend Mother Esther-Cano looked up. “Away from the scaffolds—now!”

  She rushed them to the side an instant before a heavy seam welder crpect their imm

  I long for something that has always eluded me in my centuries of life: an enduring sense of family and home.

  —VORIAN ATREIDES

  Vor stood on the aft deck of the sport-fishing boat, watching as a reticent Willem Atreides organized the nets, traps, floats, and other gear. The young man worked silently, going through the motions with efficient familiarity.

  It was a modern craft and well maintained, with teak decks, custom storage lockers, and polished brass fittings. The boat glided through moderate seas, with Orry at the helm inside the cabin. The skies were gray, the air chilly.

  “I’ve got years of experience on the sea,” Vor said to Willem. “Can I help?”

  “No, thanks,” the tall blond man said as he yanked a knot tight. “This was Uncle Shander’s boat, and I know where he liked to keep everything, exactly how he wanted the lines rolled.” Willem drew a breath, let it out in a long sigh. The old man’s mysterious death still hung above them like a heavy storm. The coroner had verified that Shander had been struck in the head and then swept out to sea, but no one could prove it was a murder.

  Vor didn’t think the young man intended to hurt his feelings with the remark, but it reminded him of how much he’d missed in his years away from Caladan. Family relationships were fraught with countless details, unseen threads, and tiny puzzle pieces of the past that formed a series of everyday events. The two brothers had spent most of their lives with Shander Atreides, building a comfortable nest of existence with untold thousands of interactions. Vor couldn’t just step into that and expect to be treated as part of the family even in the best of times, and now after the tragedy everyone was off-balance.

  He could tell how much the two young men had loved their uncle. Willem and Orry had experienced devastating losses when their parents were killed in a monstrous hurricane that tore+ire m2I up the coastline, but they had been young at the time. The inexplicable, unexpected death of a kindly old man who liked to repair fishing nets seemed beyond their comprehension. Over more than two centuries, Vor had been through every possible emotional permutation of grief himself.…

  He felt a gentle breeze on his face, heard the drone of the boat’s twin engines, and smelled the familiar salt air that he remembered from so long ago. The scent refreshed his memories, and he pictured the first time he’d seen Leronica Tergiet in a seaside tavern. The town had changed so little over the generations.…

  Orry worked th
e controls, and Vorian felt the engines vibrate harder. They glided around foaming water and the shadows of submerged reefs, then picked up speed as the boat headed out to open sea.

  Life was unpredictable, with some delightful surprises, but also shocking events. Vor had returned to Caladan in search of an anchor in his life, trying to regain a part of the happiness he’d left behind. Maybe he was naïve in that wish. He had been back only a short time before Shander Atreides died. It was a silly superstition to think so, but perhaps he carried the shadow of bad luck with him.

  Unfortunate events occurred everywhere, to everyone—life just happened. Shander’s family might never learn the exact details of how he had died, or who might have been responsible, but Willem and Orry would mourn him and remember him. And eventually, they would move on. Orry was about to get married, Willem had a chance to be promoted in the Caladan Air Patrol … and Vor could try to forge the bonds he’d never had with his own sons.

  He could never take Shander’s place, but he could be Vorian Atreides. He had battle ribbons from his service in the Jihad; Imperial coins had been minted with his face on them, but none of that mattered anymore. He would rather be recognized for his ability to love. He wanted to care about other people, about his family—however far estranged they might be—and have them care for him in return.

  That would require a different type of commitment and endurance. He had found that for many years with Mariella on Kepler, but had been forced to leave it all behind in order to save his family. He wasn’t certain if he could reestablish a sense of family here on Caladan, but he vowed to try.

  The boat continued chopping its way through the small waves, bouncing hard enough to jar Vor’s teeth. He gripped the side rail to keep his balance. Young Orry seemed intent on the boat’s controls, accelerating. Willem stood at the bow and let the spray and wind whip his face and hair. He closed his eyes, as if drinking it all in.

  With a whirring noise, long, thin stabilizers extended outward on either side of the hull. Orry increased the speed even more. Vor peered over the rail, then looked up to shout at Willem. “What kind of a rig is this?”

  Seeing his tight grip, Willem laughed as he shouted back. “Uncle Shander let Orry tinker with the engine compartment, making a few crackpot enhancements.”

  From the cabin, Orry yelled at his brother, “They’re not crackpot modifications! You’ve seen them work.”

  Vor knew about Caladan’s large sea animals—some predators, others passive. “Speed is always a good thing to have, when you need it.”

  Orry pushed the controls forward, and Vor straightened, then laughed aloud as he shared the exhilaration with both young men. The bow lifted off the water, and spray flew like a rain shower all around+9. p them.

  Willem said, “We don’t usually go this fast, so he must be showing off—maybe even trying to scare you.”

  Vorian grinned. “I’ve told you about my record in the Jihad. Only a fool says he’s never scared—but it’ll take more than a fast boat to worry me as long as the engines can take it.” He watched Orry at the controls. “We don’t want to break down out here.”

  Willem came closer so he didn’t have to shout over the roar of the wind and engines. “I could ask him to slow down, but he wouldn’t pay attention. I told him to slow down with his gave her a pa

  Inflexible convictions are powerful things. But are they a suit of armor or a prison cell? A weapon or a weakness?

  —EMPEROR JULES CORRINO, strategic briefing on unrest in the former Unallied Planets

  Gilbertus knew escape plan,” the robot said them. personit the school’s situation would only grow more dangerous by the day. The Butlerians had proven themselves to be volatile and prone to violence, and with his refusal to take the oath, he had just jabbed them with a sharp stick.

  Nevertheless, he approached the crisis with cool logic. An hour after the Butlerian delegation left in a huff, he called the entire student body and addressed them in the main lecture hall. This was the same auditorium where he had dissected thinking-machine brains and human brains; here, he had also debated the merits of computers while some students listened in horror. That debate had provoked an extreme reaction from the Butlerians, who forced him to retract his statements and destroy all robot specimens stored at the school.

  All of the robot specimens they knew about.

  “Many people on Lampadas have already sworn the new Butlerian oath without giving it a second thought, and they are welcome to do so,” Gilbertus said to the students in the auditorium. “But I expect you to be deep thinkers and understand the nuances involved.” He paced in front of them. “I comprehend why Manford feels the need for such an oath, but I make an important distinction, not merely an esoteric one. An oath should neither be reactionary, nor taken in haste. A commitment is a serious matter.”

  He paused to look at them all. “This school is vital. Our teachings are vital. We teach you how to think, not what to think. The mind of man is holy, as the Butlerian mantra says. It cannot be battered into submission by threat of violence. Absolute rules are for unthinking people. Sheep require fences—humans do not.”

  Gilbertus saw remarkable courage on the faces of most students, and he was proud of them. With emotion welling up, he continued, “I understand, however, that some of you may disagree with my stance. Therefore, anyone who wishes to depart from the school may do so right now. I will not make you listen to my words or abide by my teachings. You have all the data necessary. Consider your decision and follow your conscience.” He raised his hand. “But if you choose to stay here and stand by me, then I expect you not to change your mind.”

  Alys Carroll and twenty-two others departed promptly, saying that if they hurried down the narrow swamp road, they might even catch up with Deacon Harian’s departing entourage. Watching the Butlerian-trained students go, Gilbertus felt a sense of relief. He had been forced to accept them in his school in the first place, and had never wanted them in his midst.

  The more he observed the dangerous collective mindset of the antitechnology fanatics, the more he appreciated Draigo Roget’s abilities. And the more convinced he was that he should have stood up to Manford long before now.

  Unfortunately, the departing students also carried knowledge of the Mentat School’s physical layout, perimeter, and defenses. As a practical matter, Gilbertus immediately assigned his remaining trainees to shore up and alter the defenses, providing additional physical and electronic barriers on the lake side, as well as strengthening the gates and walls. The security codes would be modified.

  He sensed the changing mood among his students as they ran Mentat projections of their own—undoubtedly realizing that they were in the midst of a serious and deadly conflict. For his own part, Gilbertus had spent a great deal of time studying Manford’s followers, and he expected the fervor to grow worse than even his most concerned students feared, or projected. Manford’s retaliation+ing the . p against the school would be swift and brutal—as it had been at the town of Dove’s Haven.

  But Gilbertus and his Mentats would not be taken unawares.

  The Headmaster circulated the complete text of the new oath and, as an exercise, requested that his students compile a list of the document’s flaws, contradictions, and loopholes. “When one swears on one’s life, the agreement should be absolutely clear, without equivocation, and without gray areas.”

  In ensuing days, led by Zendur as if this were no different from any other class, the students discussed, documented, and presented the Headmaster with more than five hundred weaknesses in the one-page oath, many of which even Gilbertus had not considered. It was valuable ammunition for his debate with Manford Torondo … though he doubted the Butlerian leader would be in the mood for open intellectual discourse when he arrived.

  Next, as a strategic exercise, Gilbertus asked his students to develop scenarios of how the Butlerians might respond—and to consider the very real possibility of deadly violence. He wanted to make certain they
were loaded with all the mental ammunition they needed in order to make their decision about the oath.

  Erasmus also understood the danger. He urged, “You must prepare a way for us to escape! You should have made plans earlier.”

  Shaking his head, Gilbertus said, “You sound emotional, Father. Are you afraid of dying? I’m not afraid for myself.”

  “I fear the destruction of all of my knowledge and ruminations. The loss to the universe would be extreme. Therefore, it is my duty to survive.”

  “I have a similar devotion to my sc="1VSLMU">Red-

  In any major conflict, each side fights for its own cause—a belief system they consider worth dying for. Alas, there is not an objective, omnipotent arbiter who can simply decide the merits of each issue and put them to rest without bloodshed, thereby rendering armed conflict obsolete.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, Conversations with Erasmus

  The observant Mentat scouts gave Gilbertus Albans six hours’ advance warning of the approaching Butlerian force. He was not surprised to see the army on its way.

  “I am always reassured when my Mentat projections prove to be accurate,” Gilbertus said to the robot’s memory core. “This time, though, I am saddened to be correct.”

  Erasmus said, “The behavior of fanatics is extreme and irrational. Therefore, it is a paradox that they are so utterly predictable.”

  Gilbertus could still retreat into his Memory Vault and identify the critical points where a different choice would have changed his fate, but that was a self-indulgent, time-wasting exercise. Perhaps he should have taken the robot’s advice and disappeared years ago. By establishing the Mentat School, he had cultivated a method of training that altered the very foundation of human thought—surely that was enough of an accomplishment for one person? It was too late now.…