Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Bitterly, she wrote several identical farewell notes with subtle yet clear nudges and a deep sadness. Raquella explained in the letters that she had decided not to appoint a successor, that she had surrendered to the inevitable crumbling of her work. She said there was no sense in lingering longer. She made certain that the messages were delivered simultaneously to Valya, Dorotea, and several other close Sisters.

  In any case, the die was cast.

  Then the old woman left the school buildings and walked off by herself, wearing only a thin robe in the chill night. She carried a small handlight as she toiled along the familiar trail up the slope of Laojin Cliff. She made her way up to the crest of the promontory, where she would await the sunrise. The wind was cold, but she didn’t think much about it as she stood on the edge.

  When day broke in a few hours, she would see bright sunlight spilling over the school buildings, and she would see the sheer cliff edge … just before she flew off it. Raquella had enough control over her body that she could simply shut down her organs and die quietly in bed, but that would not provide the drama she required. Fielle had been right about that when they had formed the plan, Raquella’s last chance.…

  She hoped that the shock would be enough to force Valya and Dorotea together, and that the two quarreling women cared enough about her to set their differences aside. If not, the Sisterhood was already too broken anyway and would degenerate into a civil war. She would not allow that.

  Her body seemed to be strung together with spiderwebs, ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. Yet when Raquella finally stood on the very edge of the cliff, looking int “Very

  An Emperor’s grasp can encompass a million worlds, and his decisions can bring down entire civilizations. Even so, the day-to-day activities are tedious.

  —EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, Expanded Memoirs, Volume VII

  When the Emperor arrived at Arrakis to assert Imperial control over spice operations, Josef Venport intended to be there waiting for him. Salvador Corrino was so naïve!

  Departing from Kolhar on one of his fast spacefolders, Josef took the desert man Taref, who had served him well, despite being duped by the Half-Manford’s supposed death. The Freeman saboteur had been of little use, though, since finding his female friend dead in the snow; all he could talk about was returning to Arrakis. Josef couldn’t understand the workings of the desert man’s mind.

  Initially he’d been convinced that once the primitive nomads saw other planets and tasted as much water as they could drink, they would never want to go back to their original poverty. How could they not be grateful? But for some incomprehensible reason, the squalid desert life beckoned Taref again.

  Too often Josef was disappointed by irrational human beings, the bad decisions they made, their self-destructive behavior. He mourned for the species.

  Showing considerable sympathy, he had even offered the young man a furlough on Caladan to recover and get his wits together, since the desert people seemed to have an obsession with that ocean world. Taref had insisted that he wanted to return home—though he couldn’t explain what he expected to find there. He had made it clear he had no place in his old sietch. Nevertheless, Josef granted the request, knowing he would gain nothing by arguing.

  When they reached Arrakis City, however, Josef delayed releasing the young man from his service. “I have one final task for you, something only you can do. I will pay you well.”

  Taref looked away. His melange-blue eyes were eerie and hard to read. “I don’t require any additional payment, Directeur. You have returned me to Arrakis, as I requested. Now, I wish to be on my own.”

  Josef frowned, scratching his mustache. “But where will you go? What will you do here?”

  “I do not know … but at least I am back on Arrakis. The path of my life has vanished like footprints in the sand. I cannot entirely re+ntal impenetrabletrace my way.”

  Josef had little patience for Zensunni mysticism, nor for gloom and malaise. “But I still require your services. Do one last thing for me—and then I will send all of your friends back here, if that’s what they want.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “If they don’t want to continue to do their jobs, then your companions are no good to me anyway. I’ll send them back here, provided they go to the deep desert and never reveal what they’ve done for me.”

  Taref considered for a long moment. “I am confident they will want that. But I am surprised you would release us so easily.”

  Josef narrowed his eyes, as if the young man were questioning his sense of honor and gratitude. “I don’t put loyal, competent workers to death, young man. Unlike some leaders, I believe in human nature. I treated all of you fairly, and I’ve always kept my word. In return, I expect continued honor from you.”

  “Honor, yes. The honor of saboteurs.” Taref shook his head, then squared his shoulders again. “Very well. But when I finish this task, I will be gone, with no further obligation to you, to my people, or to anyone else. What do you require of me?”

  “The Emperor is taking a long, slow passage with old FTL engines. As soon as he arrives, I need you to find a way aboard his barge with the regular spaceport maintenance and refueling crew.” Then, to Taref’s astonishment, he explained the mission.

  * * *

  THE IMPERIAL BARGE took its time getting to Arrakis, on a leisurely, luxurious voyage the way the old League of Nobles members used to travel.

  Meanwhile, Josef spent three days in Arrakis City receiving reports from Combined Mercantiles, inspecting spice-harvesting records and assessing the numerous losses, including expensive machinery as well as experienced crews who were killed in Coriolis storms and sandworm attacks. Salvador Corrino had no idea how dangerous a business it was.

  The spice workers were proficient in mounting a rapid response every time a worm was spotted. The moment one of the monsters was identified in the distance, rescue aircraft would soar in, evacuate the crews, and whisk away the spice cargo in containers designed to be detachable. In dire circumstances, the armored spice containers could be jettisoned far enough away that they might be retrieved. Draigo Roget had dedicated an entire arm of VenHold manufacturing to producing replacement equipment faster than Arrakis could destroy it.

  Through its many separate holdings, the company’s investments were immense, as were the profits, which increased every year. For generations, the Venports had cultivated and improved the melange industry, inventing techniques and equipment, driving out poachers, securing and solidifying their claims.

  And Salvador Corrino thought he could simply step in and seize it all with a personal appearance and the stroke of a pen? What a fool!

  The Imperial Barge was a flying palace, complete with a throne room, audience chamber, functionaries, sycophants, and attendants, along with a ten-member military crew. According to his intelligence from the Imperial Court, the barge had fallback Holtzman engines, but relied on the slower drive that had been used before the discovery of foldspace travel.

  Normally, the Emperor would have traveled gratis aboard a VenHold spacefolder, so by using his own transportation, he was snubb escape plan,” the robot saidflQAing Josef. Despite the intentional snub, the Imperial Barge would have to be serviced and refueled by an Arrakis City maintenance crew—which would provide all the opportunity Taref needed.

  Through high-resolution survorceresses in

  The universe does not always allow victory, not even for the most talented. There are times when one must accept the reality of defeat.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, Mentat School decree

  Though the Mentat trainees were not warriors, they understood the theoretical basis for warfare and how to defend+cre m2I against a siege. In preparing for the arrival of the Butlerians, the students had developed and installed many innovative defenses, booby traps, and deceptions, many of which incorporated the natural hazards of the marsh lake and swamplands to keep the enemy at bay.

  They held out against Manf
ord Torondo’s forces for six days, until Deacon Harian arrived with a thousand reinforcements, supplies, heavy amphibious vehicles, and artillery. The expanded army picked their way across the rough swamp and floated out into the murky water of the lake.

  The initial besiegers erupted in a cheer, and Gilbertus saw the flurry of activity, heard the rumble of engines as the armored amphibious vehicles entered the water and took up positions around the defensive walls.

  In any modern military sense, the Mentat School was vulnerable, and had lasted this long only because the Butlerians avoided high technology. A sophisticated aerial attack would have brought them down easily. Gilbertus regretted that he hadn’t installed shield generators to protect the entire complex, but he had not wanted to provoke Manford by flaunting the technology. Now, he wished he had.

  Gathered on the walkways and observation decks, the trainees muttered in dismay when they saw the new Butlerian troops, twice as many as had previously encamped there. The heavy cannons they brought were primitive, but could still blast the school buildings and slaughter hundreds of students. Gilbertus didn’t want that.

  Manford Torondo remained out of view during the arrival of the additional forces. When they were in place, he finally came forward to the main gate at the edge of the sangrove swamp. He sat on his Swordmaster’s shoulders and used a bullhorn to shout toward the school towers. “Headmaster Albans! Out of courtesy for our past alliances, I give you one hour to run Mentat projections, but the conclusion is plain to anyone. At the end of that time, I expect your unconditional surrender. We will take Anna Corrino for her own safety.”

  Gilbertus listened from his observation platform, but he didn’t capitulate. His administrator Zendur and four senior trainees stood alongside him, their expressions grave. Gilbertus turned to them, said, “Now we know the parameters,” and retreated to his office.

  * * *

  HE ASKED ANNA Corrino to join him, locked the door using the old-fashioned key in his pocket, then activated the full array of impenetrable security systems. Anna seemed disturbed, but at least she was lucid, showing an awareness of the gravity of the situation.

  “I don’t wish to be used as a pawn, Headmaster, but I would rather be a pawn for you than for Manford. Offer to turn me over if he agrees to withdraw his forces. The Butlerians would never allow harm to come to me.”

  “Is that what Erasmus suggested to you?” Gilbertus activated the sliding panel, opened the secret locked cabinet, and withdrew the memory core.

  The shimmering gelsphere glowed blue, showing the independent robot’s agitation. “I would modify your assessment, dear Anna,” Erasmus said. “I do not believe the Butlerians would ever accept the blame if you were harmed … but we are cut off here on Lampadas. Salusa Secundus is too far away for them to learn what is happening in a timely manner. If Manford Torondo destroys the school and eliminates all witnesses except for his own, he can make whatever report he wishes, fabricate any explanation. I … worry about you.” escape plan,” the was behind th

  The happiest moments can be a heartbeat away from the saddest.

  —ancient wisdom

  After a few weeks, Vorian Atreides felt that Caladan was his home again, that he belonged here. He wanted to put down roots in this place and recapture what he had lost so long ago. How different his life—and the Imperium—would have been if he had never left this world.…

  Vor had fallen into the pleasant routine of taking a mid+7al impenetrableday walk along a rugged hilltop trail with spectacular views of the ocean. As the trail descended to the seaside village below, he reveled in the sunshine broken by puffy clouds, and the smell of moist, salty air. On a stretch of grass just above the village, preparations were under way for the outdoor wedding of Orry Atreides and Tula Veil, featuring pavilions and tables, even a small stage for musicians to play.

  Tula was unquestionably beautiful, with blond hair and sea-blue eyes, but Vor kept remembering how her eyes had flashed at him when they first met. He had detected a hint of hostility that he didn’t understand.

  Maybe she resented something from the legends of Vorian Atreides and his military career, although most locals seemed disinterested in ancient tales. Caladan, far from the Synchronized Empire, had been on the outskirts of the destructive battles of the Jihad, and its inhabitants had suffered little from thinking-machine attacks. More than eight decades after the Battle of Corrin, Caladan seemed aloof from Imperial politics. Here, the locals were more preoccupied with preparations for the wedding, which was only a few hours away.

  The girl’s background was mysterious, and Vor had heard rumors in town that Tula had run away from an abusive father. Vor hoped she’d find happiness here with Orry. Everyone seemed to accept her and care about her. He looked forward to getting to know her himself. Someday, perhaps Tula would explain what, if anything, she held against him.

  Vor hoped Orry would have a happy marriage and a good life. He looked forward to spending family times with them, acting as a surrogate grandfather (ignoring how many times the word “great” should appear before the title). He needed to make up for the lost time and lost relationships in his own life. Someday soon, Willem would find a wife and form a family. And Vor planned to be there, as well.…

  The weather couldn’t have been better, though it had rained the night before, leaving the land green and sparkling in the sunshine. With the sweet sharpness of memory, Vor recalled taking Leronica out on a picnic at the top of this very same hill.

  Reaching the grassy expanse, he paused to watch men and women as they arranged seats on the lawn, set up bouquets of bright flowers, and strung pastel ribbons on the marriage arbor.

  He spotted the town’s wedding planner, a fussy little man in a black formal jacket, who was already dressed for the ceremony. The man waved his arms and shouted directions and kept glancing at his pocket chronometer, telling everyone to hurry up. The event would begin an hour before sunset, so the couple could take their vows as the sky cast spectacular colors over the sea.

  Knowing that he had to get ready, Vor returned to the village. In his room at the inn, he took out a clean but simple gray suit he had purchased from the town’s tailor, along with a black ruffle-front shirt. It might have looked dashing to wear his old uniform from the Army of the Jihad, but he had left the garment, and the obligations, behind him long ago. Besides, he didn’t want to dredge up the past—especially not such an ancient past. Orry and Tula were getting married, and they were the focus, not him.…

  When he was formally dressed, Vor looked as if he could have been the young man’s father … or another kindly uncle, like Shander Atreides. He returned to the grassy site, where townspeople had already gathered, smiling and chatting. Vor knew only a few of the villagers by name, but many recognized the exotic offworld stranger. Not wanting to call attention to himself, though, Vor simply drank in the murmur of conversations and shared the anticipation.+g. s woman

  Willem stood near the wedding arbor, dazed but happy to stand as his brother’s best man. He had worried about Orry’s impetuosity in falling for the young woman, but Vor remembered how swiftly he had fallen for Leronica. Since Tula Veil came from an inland village and knew few people here, she had no special friend to stand at her side.

  The seats around the arbor filled. At the appointed time, musicians struck up traditional music with pipes and stringed instruments, and everyone turned their heads. Behind them, a proud-looking Orry Atreides came up the path, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. He wore a blue formal jacket, and Tula followed him in a long, sea-foam-green wedding dress. By ancient Caladan tradition, the bride followed her husband-to-be in the symbolic expectation that she would follow him in all things during their marriage. Vor smiled to himself: Regardless of the ceremony, reality would set in soon enough when the couple found their own balance of responsibilities.

  Tula’s golden hair was pinned back, but the curls fluttered in the wind. She was a picture of loveliness floating down the aisle in her l
ong dress. She seemed to have a hypnotic hold on Orry.

  Next came a procession of eight village children ranging from a pair of towheaded little girls to a black-haired boy of perhaps ten or eleven. Vor saw the boy’s patrician features, especially in the gray eyes and prominent nose. Atreides markers. He wondered how many people in this town were related to him. Once he settled down here, he would try to get to know all of them.

  The traditional music was so hauntingly beautiful that it brought tears to Vor’s eyes. It seemed essentially Caladan, making him think of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline and a fisherman’s life on the sea.

  Under the arbor, Orry and Tula faced each other, holding hands, while Willem stood behind them. The couple said their vows aloud, swearing their commitment before all those who could hear. They had chosen to perform a local “open sky” marriage, without the intervention of the village priest, a corpulent man who stood nearby holding a copy of the Orange Catholic Bible.

  Instead of rings, the couple exchanged small gifts. Smiling as if mesmerized by his bride’s beauty, Orry slipped a golden bracelet onto Tula’s wrist, and she draped a simple medallion over his neck. He seemed pleased with the present, but she surprised him by taking his hand and looking into his eyes. “I have another gift for you—something that I have saved for later, in private.”

  An amused chuckle rippled through the audience, and Orry reddened in embarrassment, but Tula flashed a quick glance around them; something in her eyes silenced the laughter. “It is a special gift that my family has held for generations. The whole town will know what it is tomorrow.”

  The priest cleared his throat and made his only official contribution by announcing the marriage complete and blessed. The sun set out on the ocean, causing flares of color to stream across the sky; according to sailors’ tradition, a bloodred sunset indicated fair weather ahead.