Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  During the reception, Orry and Tula danced together, whenever the attendees would give them the space. Vor kept a respectful distance, just watching. Orry Atreides had grown up among these people, so they should be closest to him on this special day.

  Looking over her new husband’s shoulder, Tula caught Vor’s eye and abruptly whispered something in Orry’s ear. The young man looked disappointed by whatever it was, but t separating truth from falsehood, on s womanhen she whispered again, and he smiled.

  When the dance was over, Orry raised his voice and spoke to the guests. “Since my wife has a special gift to give me from her entire family—and I am as intrigued by this as the rest of you are!—we’ll be taking our leave to begin our new life now. I insist you all stay here and enjoy yourselves. My brother will entertain you—he’s got nothing else to do.”

  Willem looked surprised. Some guests murmured, but others chuckled or whistled as Orry and Tula hurried off to the home the two brothers had shared with Shander Atreides, which the couple would use as their honeymoon cottage. Willem had temporarily gotten a room at the local inn, so his brother and new wife could have their privacy

  Vor was sorry that he’d had no opportunity to talk further with Tula, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and he didn’t want to intrude now. In fact, he made up his mind to help the young couple whenever he could, maybe even using part of his fortune to establish their new household, similar to the help he’d given to House Harkonnen on Lankiveil.

  A spark of memory came back to him, and he tensed. The youngest daughter of Vergyl Harkonnen … Griffin’s other sister. Wasn’t her name Tula? Orry’s new wife did have a hint of Griffin’s features, but Vor wasn’t convinced. He had never met either of Vergyl Harkonnen’s daughters. Although he had seen a family portrait inside the Harkonnen household, he couldn’t quite remember what the girls looked like. It must just be a coincidence, similar names.

  He set such thoughts aside and went to join Willem as the dancing and music continued.

  * * *

  AFTER THE WEDDING festivities, Vor returned to his room and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep, thoroughly reminded of his fondness for good Caladan wine, as opposed to mediocre kelpbeer.

  Orry’s wedding had been different from others he recalled, but all of it had been pleasant; the music, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the warmth of the people. Willem had showed himself to be quite proficient at the traditional dances, and he had no trouble finding partners. Vor had done his best to keep up, and found some of the women flirtatious, some in awe of his history, and all vastly younger than he was. None could hold a candle to Leronica. Or Mariella.

  When he drifted off to sleep in his bed at the inn, he was enfolded in a satisfied happiness, with the buzz of wine in his head and the ringing echoes of music. He had long since learned the folly of wallowing in regrets and second-guessing his decisions, but he did regret ever leaving beautiful Caladan. The weight and obligations of Serena Butler’s Jihad had made him think beyond his own personal interests.

  All that had been over for such a long time. Even if he let himself put down roots in this place, he was not ready to start another family of his own. There were too many reminders of his beloved Leronica here, and he didn’t yet feel enough distance from Mariella and his other family on Kepler.…

  He awoke in darkness, feeling that something was wrong. He sensed a stir in the silent shadows of his room, felt a creak of movement, heard a rustle. He remained utterly still.

  A breeze whispered through the open window … yet he was certain he had closed it before going to bed. Through narrow-slitted eyes, he saw a figure dart through the faint shreds of starlight—and the silver glint of what appeared to be a knife blade. He still fe escape plan,” the robot saidwhre the lt a little groggy, wondered if it was a dream.

  But his instincts, honed by years of facing danger, kicked in. Vor rolled to one side on the large bed even before he grasped what was happening. He heard a quick expulsion of breath, an abrupt outcry, as the blade streaked down where he had been only a moment ago, slashing into the blanket. He flung his pillow at the indistinct figure, pulled off the blanket and threw it over the moving arm to snare it. He bore down with a steely grip, grabbing the wrist.

  It was a small wrist, but the attacker had wiry strength, and writhed and thrashed. Vor felt an explosion of pain as the;An unacceptab

  Every Mentat knows there is no such thing as the future. As the ancient philosopher Anko Bertus said, there is a range of possible futures, and each has its probabilities. Mentat projection can sort them, to guide the creators.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, instruction to students at the Mentat School

  The weak sun rose over Wallach IX the following morning, and Dorotea hurried across a courtyard filled with meter-high greenhouse structures where the acolytes grew fresh vegetables. Mother Superior Raquella had summoned her to her private chambers. It was not a casual request. The red-faced Acolyte runner said it was urgent.

  After the silvery-purple jungles of Rossak, and glorious Salusa Secundus, Dorotea did not like this cool, plain planet, and she looked forward to returning to the Imperial Court. The orthodox Sisters who had accompanied her were also anxious to get back to their duties in the palace.

  But Raquella had terrified them all the night before, forcing them to see the destructive nature of their factional differences. The Mother Superior had nearly flung herself off the cliff in despair, but stepped back from the brink in exchange for the promises of Valya and Dorotea. Dorotea meant her promise that they would find common ground, would work together.

  In her heart, she understood that the two factions still had philosophical differences, particularly regarding the use of advanced technology. But there didn’t have to be a permanent, fundamental difference. The breeding-record computers—which Dorotea had never been able to find—were either destroyed or abandoned. The argument didn’t matter anymore. Both parts of the Sisterhood believed in developing innate human skills, watching and guiding the evolution of the human race.

  The details of a new coalition would be the most difficult part, but Dorotea felt confident that she and Valya could negotiate terms acceptable to both factions. Dorotea wanted to fashion the combined Sisterhood into a legacy Mother Superior Raquella would be proud of.

  If the new Sisterhood resolved to turn its back on forbidden computers, Dorotea was sure she could convince Salvador Corrino to forgive the women who had strayed. Then all Sisters could follow the correct path together, with the blessing of the Emperor.…

  To her credit, Valya also seemed to be making genuine efforts to reunite with Dorotea, for the good of the order. Even so, the other woman’s reluctance still simmered beneath the surface, and Dorotea was sure that Valya had deceived her in the past, pretending to be of the same mind when she joined their quiet conspiracy. Valya was powerful and talented, a Reverend Mother now, just like Dorotea. And the aged Mother Superior considered her to be one of her most reliable confidantes.

  Dorotea already had her hundred orthodox Sisters on Salusa, as well as more than a dozen new Acolytes. They filled significant roles at court, basked in their importance. But after Raquella’s crisis on the cliff, Dorotea had removed the . “What’s wrong?” the Butlerian impenetrableImperial insignia from her black robe, indicating that she considered herself a Sister first. Her six companions had done the same.

  And now she had received an urgent summons to the Mother Superior’s quarters. After all these years, the old woman—her grandmother—was on her deathbed. Dorotea felt a sinking in her heart.

  She climbed a wooden stairway in one of the prefab buildings and hurried down a hall to the second door, which was half open. She pushed her way inside.

  The Mother Superior’s apartment consisted of three modest rooms, one of which she used as a private office, cluttered with files from ongoing projects. Dorotea saw papers strewn about. “Mother Superior?” she called out.

  Valya appeared
in the bedroom doorway, her face drawn and gray. She motioned for Dorotea. “Mother Superior is increasingly feeble. She asked to see us both right away. I believe she has chosen her successor.” She shook her head in dismay. “Yesterday’s ordeal drained the rest of the life from her.”

  After a cold shudder, Dorotea straightened her posture. “Whatever her decision, we must abide by it and work together. My orthodox Sisters are prepared to do what is necessary for the Sisterhood.”

  Valya rushed her inside. “Hurry!”

  Inside the dim, stifling room, Raquella sat propped up in her bed, surrounded by pillows, and she looked ancient, as if years and years had been heaped on her overnight. Her eyes appeared to have sunk deeper into her skull than the day before, and her skin looked translucent, showing age spots and blood vessels. A medical Sister leaned over her with a handheld scanner to monitor vital signs. A worried Fielle stood nearby, looking very unlike an emotionless Sister Mentat.

  Raquella dismissed the medical Sister in a breathy voice that sounded like crackling papyrus. “Leave us.” The doctor hurried out of the room and closed the door.

  “Sister Fielle has made an important Mentat projection,” Raquella said. “We all need to hear it for the good of the Sisterhood. After she speaks, I will announce my successor.” The ancient woman drew a long breath, which required great effort. “I am nearly finished with this life. But I want to make certain my work goes on.”

  The Sister Mentat gave a somber nod. Her short hair looked wilder than usual. “Some time ago I warned Mother Superior that a civil war might occur among the Sisters without her leadership. I suggested that either of you might instigate it.” She looked first at Dorotea, then at Valya. “My Mentat projection told me that the only way to bring the factions together was for Raquella to make a martyr of herself, like Serena Butler, to force the factions to reconcile.

  “When I told Mother Superior of my projection, I did not inform her that I knew exactly what she would do—that she would take it to the brink, but that you both would make it unnecessary for her to kill herself after all.”

  Raquella was surprised to hear this. “I fully intended to leap off the cliff if necessary.”

  “You may have thought so, Mother Superior, but my projection told me what would happen. I’m ashamed to admit that I withheld this information from you, but you needed to be absolutely convincing. Valya and Dorotea had to be certain you would actually plunge to your death.”

  Raquella said in her weakened voice, “I was ready to leap, and would have done so if I didn’t believe Valya and+ Anari s woman Dorotea would work together, rather than at cross-purposes.”

  Dorotea found the sincerity in the old woman’s voice moving.

  Raquella’s weak laugh was barely more than a spasm of exhaled breath. “All things considered, I’d rather let myself die here in bed, surrounded by all of you.” She raised her eyebrows at Fielle. “Even though you did deceive me. I would have done what was necessary regardless.”

  The Sister Mentat looked away. “My projection told me it was necessary.”

  “In the future, you will reveal all details of your projections to the Mother Superior. All details.”

  Bowing her head, the young woman agreed.

  Raquella patted her hand, spoke to the other two women. “Fielle is young and headstrong. She will be a challenge for the Sisterhood’s new leadership, but her intentions are true and good. This one is a gem to be polished.”

  Fighting impatience, Valya asked, “Who is to be your successor, Mother Superior? I want to be sure you have peace, that you rest easily.”

  Adjusting herself on the pillows, Raquella said, “My choice is a nonchoice—as it must be. Dorotea and Valya, you both bring strengths and advantages to our future, and you each know what they are. I want you to lead the Sisterhood together—merging the orthodox Salusan school and the Wallach IX school. Find a way to intertwine all Acolytes and Sisters, take the pieces and forge a stronger whole. Work as partners.”

  Dorotea bowed, accepting the decision, but Valya’s dark eyes remained wide in disbelief.

  “There is more than enough for both of you to do,” Raquella continued. “Cooperate. Repeat that word over and over in your minds, and act it out. Cooperate. You are both Mother Superiors. Establish a division of responsibilities. Repair our splintered Sisterhood and make it strong again.”

  Valya nodded slowly. “We will do our best, Mother Superior.”

  Dorotea straightened at the old woman’s bedside, let out a long breath. “Agreed. Henceforth we will fight external enemies, not internal ones.”

  A broad smile formed on Raquella’s creased face, and she suddenly looked less weary. “Now that the conflict is resolved among my Sisters, I am content.” She breathed a sigh of relief and appeared to be near tears, as if she could finally let go after a lifetime of hard work.

  Raquella beckoned Dorotea closer. “Before I go, there is something I want to share with you, Granddaughter.” She pressed a forefinger against her own temple. “Lean close, very close, and touch your forehead to me … here. You have Other Memories, but you don’t have all of mine.”

  Dorotea hesitated, then complied. As their skin touched, she felt a sudden flash, like the opening of a floodgate. Information and memories rushed into her mind in a transfer of vast knowledge, a wealth of past lives and experiences. She received her grandmother’s hopes and dreams for the Sisterhood—all of the information Raquella had withheld—and now she learned with a certainty that there were computers here on Wallach IX! She nearly recoiled at the revelation, but before she could pull back, the Mother Superior pressed a gnarled hand against the back of her head, holding her in place with surprising strength.

  With the information came a broader understanding, astonishing conclusions … until the flow of data gradually stopped. Thoughts flashed and dimmed, then faded—as Mother Superior Raquella herself faded. Moments later, she was gone.

  Dorotea blinked her eyes, then raised herself from the bed to find Raquella dead, looking peaceful but

  Some of us carry a portion of our past hidden inside us like a small time bomb, ticking, ticking away, waiting to explode.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, private journals (not included in Mentat School Archives)

  In the siege camp outside the Mentat School, Manford Torondo’s headquarters tent was sensibly protected from the elements. Its raised floor kept it dry on the soggy ground, and the fabric walls coated with water-repellent film blocked out rain, wind, sun, and persistent insects.

  The Butlerian leader asked for no special amenities—only a camp desk to do his work and cushions to sleep on—but Anari insisted on making him comfortable, wanting the tent to be more of a home than a battle headquarters. Whatever his Swordmaster didn’t provide, his followers brought for him: blankets, rugs, pillows, and lovingly prepared camp food that was as good as his meals back at home. He didn’t need the pampering, but gratefully accepted the gifts and love that his followers presented. His graciousness made them love him even more.

  All that mattered to him at the moment was that his tent was a good place to parley with the intractable Headmaster of the Mentat School.

  When Gilbertus Albans emerged alone from his towering school walls, he looked proud and not at all disheveled. Manford gave Deacon Harian specific orders that the Headmaster was not to be harmed or harassed in any way. “I gave him my word in front of my followers, and I won’t have it broken.”

  Harian looked angry—as he often did—but he assented with a clipped nod. From observation platforms on the defensive walls, curious and intimidated Mentat students watched Gilbertus emerge from the gates and walk into the unfolding crowd of antitechnology supporters.

  From the murmuring resentment in the air, Manford could tell that his own followers had already made up their minds that the Mentat Headmaster had betrayed them, that he was teaching his students heretical, forbidden techniques. His people wanted to fire artillery projectiles that would shat
ter and sink the school buildings in order to prove their implacable faith and demonstrate the futility of opposing the Truth. The Butlerians had shown that iron resolve at Dove’s Haven, in Zimia, and on Baridge. But in those places, only the guilty had suffered; this time, the entire Mentat School had defied him. Given the simmering, mounting rage, Manford wasn’t sure if he could control his own followers. But he had given his word.

  As Harian pushed aside the tent flap and led the Headmaster inside, Gilbertus stepped past the deacon, paying him little heed. Harian continued to stare at the Headmaster as if he’d caught him doing something. Even Manford didn’t know why the bald deacon showed such hostility toward the calm and studious man. But Manford intended to put Gibertus Albans in his place, in his own way.

  Manford didn’t offer any refreshment; this was no social visit. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Headmaster.”

  Gilbertus gave a polite bow. “And your new oath has caused me and my students no small amount of consternation. It is ill-advised and unconscionable.”

  Glowering, Anari Idaho placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, but Manford gestured for her to desist. The air around them was brittle with tension. Sister Woodra stood inside the command tent at Manford’s request, watching the Headmaster’s every ge any form of advanced technologyidp mmesture and expression, analyzing the tone of his voice.

  Gilbertus didn’t acknowledge anyone other than the Butlerian leader. “If you had consulted me beforehand, Leader Torondo, I could have explained our concerns before this became a crisis. If your lackeys”—now he nodded toward Harian—“had listened to reason, then the matter need not have escalated.”

  Manford spoke over a muttering of discontent from his aides. “And what do you find so objectionable about an expression of faith, Headmaster? Why will you not reaffirm your stance against thinking machines? Surely, you must see that your refusal raises suspicions. How can I be expected to tolerate it?”