Mentats of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Salvador nodded. “Yes, let’s leave these good people to their work. Spice mining is a complicated business, as we’ve seen firsthand. Good job, all of you.”

  The guard captain touched his earadio, listened, and recoiled. “Sire, there’s been an explosion on the shuttle! I think it’s sabotage.”

  The entourage gasped, looking to Salvador for guidance. He tried to be strong, for their sakes. Mustering a calm voice, he said, “We were warned of the dangers on Arrakis, but we’ll be all right. Captain, arrange for us to get away.”

  “Sire! The shuttle can’t fly! The engines are ruined.”

  “Ruined? You mean they can’t be repaired?”

  “Ruined, Sire! We’re trapped here.”

  “Will we still be able to see the worm?” asked one of the baliset players, as if she were more interested in inspiration for a new song than her own safety.

  “I’m sure we’ll see the worm from the evacuation ships. Crew Chief, where do we go to board your rescue vessels?”

  The chief was short-tempered, barking orders into the comm system. “We don’t have enough escape ships for a hundred extra people!”

  “Carryalls aren’t responding, Chief—I can’t raise them at all,” shouted one of the workers. “They’ve got to be inbound.”

  Someone else yelled, “That worm will be here in less than five minutes.”

  Venport’s voice crackled over the speakers on the control deck. “Emperor Corrino, my apologies, but urgent business has called me away. I would have preferred to tell you in person.” He sounded flippant. “I’ve decided to reject Imperial seizure of my spice operations. Here on Arrakis, power doesn’t come from a title or bloodline, but from actions, resources, and carefully laid plans.” any form of advanced technologyou. p

  Salvador didn’t understand what the man was saying.

  Venport continued, “Chief Okarr, the spice cargo has been jettisoned safely away. You and your men have served Combined Mercantiles well and generated a great deal of profit for us. It was your bad luck to be assigned here today, but rest assured that I will compensate your families generously for their losses. And Emperor Corrino … enjoy the rest of your tour.”

  The chief roared curses into the voice pickup. Imperial soldiers closed around Salvador to protect him, though he didn’t feel any safer having them near. The factory workers were in a complete panic. Some curled up, muttering prayers, while others fled the control deck, but there was no safe place to go.

  Outside on the dunes, a handful of ground rollers raced away from the harvester factory. Salvador wondered if he and his inner circle could commandeer those vehicles and get away across the desert, although apparently the giant worms pounced on any small vibrations.

  He felt confused, frozen into inaction. Roderick would have known what to do—he would have issued the right orders to arrange an escape, might even have been able to prevent Venport’s treachery in the first place.

  Alas, his brother had always been a stronger, more competent person than he was. Many of Salvador’s special guards and advisers were concerned that Roderick might assassinate his brother and take the throne, but Salvador had never worried. Roderick was his closest, most loyal friend.

  No, his brother would have kept them all safe. In fact, Roderick had advised him against imperializing the Arrakis spice operations at all. It had been Manford Torondo’s idea, and a very bad one. Roderick had advised him not to go to Arrakis, too. He bit his lower lip and muttered, “You were right, dear brother.”

  The guard captain withdrew his Chandler pistol and pointed the deadly weapon at the crew chief’s florid face. “Tell us how to get the Emperor out of here, now! There must be a way.”

  Unafraid of the weapon, the chief bellowed back, &rough the tent

  I only hope I have enough time and good fortune to do what needs to be accomplished.

  —VALYA HARKONNEN, to her sister, Tula

  The Sisterhood possessed layer upon layer of secrets, and Valya Harkonnen was the sole custodian of the most important secret of all. Mother Superior Valya Harkonnen.

  Explaining Dorotea’s death involved meticulous choreography, and Valya attended to the details with intense focus. No mistakes. The scenario was obvious to the Sisters who ran into Mother Superior Raquella’s chamber and saw the two women dead. And Dorotea’s own Truthsayers were there to announce the veracity of Valya’s account.

  The following morning, she stood alongside Sister Fielle and Sister Olivia on the grass of the commons, watching as gray smoke curled from the top of the masonry crematorium structure. Dull gray escape plan,” the robot said Mentatoperationclouds overhead matched the color of the smoke. Valya shivered as a chill wind cut through her robe.

  Prior to her death, Mother Superior Raquella had left instructions that she wanted no funeral for herself and no mourning. Back on Rossak, the body of any dead Sister would have been cast into the jungle, for nature to reclaim. Here on Wallach IX she had asked to be cremated without fanfare, her ashes scattered in the central commons of the school complex.

  Since Dorotea, overcome with grief, guilt, and despair, had purportedly killed herself after the Mother Superior’s death, Valya seized the opportunity to suggest that they be cremated together. It was fitting, she said, since their bodies had fallen together in the end. She chose her words with great care to make the point without lying—especially in the company of the six orthodox Sisters who had come from Salusa Secundus. “It is a perfect symbol of what we agreed to do, to show that Dorotea truly and fundamentally rejoined our Sisterhood.”

  Since Valya was now the Mother Superior, the other Sisters did not challenge her suggestion. She watched the smoke continue to dance out of the chimney. Both bodies were fully consumed now, along with any lingering evidence of Dorotea’s murder.

  And what evidence could there be? Those last moments were locked inside Valya’s mind. “Dorotea took her own life,” she asserted, standing firm with her story. “Just before she died, Mother Superior Raquella did something to Dorotea’s mind, changed her somehow. Dorotea was distraught, overwhelmed. She took the knife in her hands and plunged it into her own throat. I saw it myself.”

  The visiting Salusan Sisters were appalled and outraged at the turn of events, suspicious that Valya might have murdered her rival, possibly even the old Mother Superior, too. But three of Dorotea’s companions were also skilled Truthsayers. They had faced Valya with their veiled accusations, scrutinized her as she repeated her story. “Listen to my words.” She allowed just the right mix of anger and indignation to mingle with deep, heartfelt sadness, and added a customized edge to her powerful Voice. “Dorotea took her own life. She stabbed herself with the knife. I did not touch her.”

  Even the most skeptical of the Truthsayers could detect no falsehood in her words—and Valya reminded them of the promises they had made to the revered Raquella Berto-Anirul. They must all accept Valya as the next Mother Superior.

  Now, as the last smoke wafted out of the crematorium chimney, Valya said, “Although Mother Superior Raquella disdained emotional involvement, I can’t help feeling great sadness. But she died knowing we had reached an agreement, that the schism was healed and the two factions of the Sisterhood could go forward united, stronger than ever. I intend to follow those wishes and do everything possible to ensure the extraordinary future Raquella envisioned.”

  Fielle and Olivia nodded, remaining close beside her. The other Sisters had lined up on the commons, including the six orthodox visitors, all enduring the cold wind.

  Fielle said, “Mother Superior had faith that you would both do what is best for the Sisterhood. Dorotea must have had her own insight, a tragic one that led to her suicide. Was that a failure, or a radical decisive action? Maybe she knew that, despite the best intentions, having two Mother Superiors would eventually lead to division again.”

  Valya liked the sound of that. “I choose to believe Dorotea wanted to , it is too dangerous for you to travel aboardWh woman
prevent further chaos.”

  Sister Olivia was shaking her head, deeply bothered. She kept both hands in the large side pockets of her robe, accentuating the pear shape of her body. Valya realized that the Sister Mentat was waiting to be formally recognized by her Mother Superior. “Yes, Olivia?”

  “I was following a projection. Raquella was the founder of our order, and Dorotea led the other Sisters on Salusa. Now we’ve lost both of them, our best chance for reconciliation.” Her expression grew agitated, and she fidgeted. “What will become of us now? I want to do as Mother Superior Raquella would have wished.”

  “I am the Mother Superior now,” Valya said, firm but not angry. “And you are overwrought. I need you, as a Mentat and a Sister, to control your emotions. Only in that manner can we succeed against all of our challenges. We must work harder to master our feelings. Look what despair did to Dorotea.”

  A startled expression. Then: “Yes, Mother Superior! I’m sorry, Mother Superior. I shouldn’t be worried about our Sisterhood, with you leading us.

  The tangible expression of the human soul lies in the record of our thoughts and actions, and how we influence future generations.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, last letter to Erasmus, found and decoded by Mentat Zendur (never delivered)

  By night, the tangled sangrove forest was eerie and threatening, but Anna made her way along instinctive paths. She wasn’t afraid, because she had Erasmus with her—both the comforting voice in her ear, and the physical memory core that she had bound to her body beneath her clothing.

  The gelsphere glowed through the material with varying degrees of brightness, providing faint illumination to light her way. Sometimes the orb went entirely dark when the robot’s spy-eyes sensed that Butlerians might be nearby. Once, he whispered to her to stop moving, and she froze, in total darkness, listening while someone moved through the forest nearby. When it was safe, she continued to make her way from the besieged Mentat School.

  Anna hadn’t been instructed in physical combat. As the Emperor’s sister, she had led a pampered life, and when she trained with the Sisters on Rossak as well as at the Mentat School, her studies had been devoted to focusing her mind.

  Now, as she slipped through the forest murk, balancing on the upthrust roots and taking care not to slip into the water, Anna heard faint voices seeping into her thoughts from memory … but not her own memory. The danger to the Mentat School and to the Headmaster brought the ghost whispers frothing out of her personal turmoil. Those clamoring memories must be echoes of past lives—female ancestors whose spirits were imprisoned within the double-helix cage of her DNA. Yet how could they be? Though s escape plan,” the robot said g Mentatoperationhe had survived the Rossak poison, Anna was not a Reverend Mother, and could only hear the whispers of what it must be like to be one.

  The most important, and clearest, advisory voice belonged to Erasmus. “I can guide you with my spy-eyes while we are near the school. Did you memorize the new path the Mentats made?”

  “I know the path, and I know my own shortcuts.”

  “You’re a clever girl,” Erasmus said. “I am proud of you.” His comment made her feel good, and he added, “We need to maintain a swift pace, to get as far as we can from the Butlerian camp before sunrise.”

  She felt distraught and wanted him to understand her urgency. “They’re going to execute Headmaster Albans. Shouldn’t we try to rescue him?”

  At the thought of execution, Anna suddenly reeled as howling childhood memories surged back—her father forcing her to sit at his side while CET members were murdered in front of her. He had insisted that the experience would strengthen her, make her glad to see justice done. But it hadn’t. Instead, the bloodshed had showed her the horror of harsh penalties.

  She didn’t want Headmaster Albans to face such a terrible fate, but felt helpless to save him. She wanted him to find some way to escape and flee into obscurity as Toure Bomoko had, while the rest of the CET members were executed in his stead. She wondered if the same thing would happen here. Gilbertus was a very smart man.

  “If Headmaster Albans were to escape,” she asked, “wouldn’t Manford still want someone to die instead?”

  “All of the other students, I expect,” Erasmus said.

  “I don’t want them all to die, and I don’t want the Headmaster to die either.”

  “All humans die. The only variable is timing. Come—we must hurry.”

  “Where will we go afterward?” Anna asked.

  “I have not calculated that yet.”

  Anna picked her way around the tangled roots, careful not to fall into the water, where glints of silver showed night-prowling razorjaws, like reflections from shattered bits of mirror. Her progress was painstakingly slow.

  “The water is not deep,” he said. “It will be faster if you wade through the channels.”

  “The fish would eat me,” Anna said.

  The robot core said, “I can fix that.” A pulse of blue light crackled through the water, a power discharge that lit the marshy streams with cold fire. Like bubbles rising in a cauldron, hundreds of silvery fish bobbed belly-up, dead.

  “Gilbertus placed many defenses around the school, but I considered them insufficient, so I added more. The channel is safe for you now. I’ll tell you when you need to climb back up on the roots.”

  Trusting him entirely, Anna dropped into the cold water and waded along. Now she made better progress through the sangroves, safe from razorjaws, but she knew there was still danger from Butlerian scouts who roamed the swamps.

  As she sloshed along, a buzzing sound came close—a cloud of stinging night-gnats. Anna plunged her head underwater, trusting that the razorjaws were still incapacitated. The swarming insects swirled low, dusted the top of the water in search of blood, and then flew away. Finally, Anna raised her head and shoulders out of the water, dripping wet, and kept moving. escape plan,” the robot saidic s woman

  After several more minutes, Erasmus said, “I suggest you climb up on the roots now. I am recharging the pulse-batteries through the waterways, but more razorjaws may come soon.”

  Anna hoisted herself onto the suspended roots and climbed along, carefully choosing her footing. Around her, the sky began to brighten with the approach of dawn. Looking back in the direction of the Butlerian camp, she spotted a shadowy figure moving through the sangroves—and in the same instant the man saw her, too. He had broad shoulders, and a square of fabric was wrapped around his head. His eyes were bright in the swamp shadows.

  “You’re the girl Manford wants, the Emperor’s sister.” The man sprang toward her with a careful grace, bounding from one sangrove elbow to another. “Come with me, and you’ll be in time to watch the Headmaster’s execution.”

  Holding on to a branch, Anna scrambled backward and swung to another root. Sharp sticks scratched her, but she didn’t feel the pain. Erasmus couldn’t help her now.

  The Butlerian man was swift and nimble as he chased her. He might have been an experienced hunter, accustomed to being outdoors, and he was intent on catching her. He grabbed Anna’s arm, yanked her close. She started to scream, then bit it off, knowing the noise would only attract more attention from the siege camp—and she didn’t know how to fight such a muscular man.

  She was about to ask Erasmus to save her when in her mind she heard a roar of whispering voices from generations of women, all long dead. They surged into her thoughts like a school of telepathic fish, showing her what Erasmus could not. Her muscles acted of their own accord, like loaded springs.

  She ripped her arm free of the man’s grasp. Moving as if another person were controlling her body, Anna planted her other hand squarely on his chest and shoved hard, knocking him off-balance. Surprised, he splashed backward into the channel. In a panic, he thrashed in the water … but when no razorjaws struck, he laughed. “I’m wet, but unharmed.” He flashed his teeth.

  In her ear, Erasmus said, “Allow me.”

  A wash of blue electricity exp
loded through the water, like an aurora distilled into the marsh. The Butlerian man jittered, convulsed, and fell backward into the water, belly-up like the fish.

  “We need to keep moving,” said the Erasmus voice in her ear. “Let me direct you now. My peripheral spy-eyes have detected an unexpected visitor who can aid us in our escape.”

  Anna didn’t ask questions. “Tell me where to go.”

  * * *

  IT WAS STILL dark, shortly before dawn, when Anari Idaho entered the tent. The three dead guards had been taken away, the gash in the fabric of the back wall stitched shut. Eight Butlerian guards now replaced the ones Draigo had killed, even though Gilbertus showed no inclination to escape.

  “When the sun rises, Headmaster, you will meet your death at the blade of my sword,” she said. “It was wise and honorable of you not to flee when you had the chance.”

  “I made a promise,” he said. “I explained that to my well-intentioned student who tried to rescue me.”

  “He murdered three of the faithful. He is marked for death as well.” Anari’s face darkened. “We will hunt him down an (redacted as inappropriate)

  “I don’t think so.” He had faith that Draigo would carry out his mission; Gilbertus had gambled everything on that hope.

  Anari waited in heavy silence for a long moment, but didn’t argue with him. “Leader Torondo knows who and what you are. He will never rescind your sentence.”

  “I wouldn’t expect him to. He is a man of clear-cut convictions. He follows a path that allows no room for learning or growth, to his detriment.”

  “He follows a holy path. I came to tell you to prepare yourself.”

  Gilbertus was relaxed, calm. He had meditated for hours and visited his Memory Vault that held all the bright spots of his life. “You’re the one who is about to kill a man. Shouldn’t you prepare yourself?”

  “I am merely meting out justice. My sword is sharp. What more do I need to prepare?”