Mentats of Dune Read online

  Neither do I, Gilbertus thought.

  * * *

  AFTER CLEARING THE landing zone, trainees smothered the brush fires, then raked the area clear of charred vegetation. Although the air retained an odor of damp ashes, Gilbertus found it more pleasant than the swamp’s usual miasma.

  As the Imperial shuttle landed, the Headmaster crossed a series of temporary boardwalks to meet Prince Roderick. The small diplomatic vessel bore the golden-lion insignia of House Corrino, but it was not a gaudy craft. It had been ferried to Lampadas aboard an Imperial military spacefolder. Only two people emerged and stepped down the ramp, with no entourage.

  The tall, erect man was Prince Roderick, blond and handsome, with patrician Corrino features. In a flicker of Mentat recall, Gilbertus reviewed the nobleman’s file: the Emperor’s younger brother had a wife (Haditha), a son (Javicco), and three daughters (Tikya, Wissoma, Nantha). Known for his calm disposition and sharp mind, Roderick advised the Emperor in most things, and Salvador generally listened to him. By all indications, he was content to be an adviser rather than a ruler.

  The old woman who accompanied the Prince was a surprise: Lady Orenna, called the “Virgin Empress” because she had been wife to Emperor Jules Corrino, but she had borne him no children (and supposedly never shared his bed). Instead, the children of Emperor Jules—Salvador, Roderick, and Anna—had three different mothers, all concubines.

  Gilbertus’s thorough Mentat review was so swift that the visitors did not notice the pause. He stepped forward. “My Lord Roderick and Lady Orenna, welcome to the Mentat School. I just spoke with Anna. She is preparing herself to receive you.”

  Roderick gave a quick nod. “I look forward to observing her progress.” He looked disappointed that his sister hadn’t come to greet them in person.

  “She is safe, stable, content,” Gilbertus said. “The routine of the Mentat School helps her. I caution you not to expect miracles, though.”

  Lady Orenna maintained a bright smile. “I miss the poor girl, but I want what’s best for her. I’ll sleep better on Salusa if I can see with my own eyes that she is happy here.”

  As he tried to process why the old woman had come here, data clicked into place in Gilbertus’s mind. Though Orenna was not Anna’s mother, the Virgin Empress had taken the young woman under her wing, and the two had a special relationship. Anna had always been a flighty girl, easily distracted, with a swinging pendulum of emotions and an utter lack of common sense. Disappointed in the unruly girl, Salvador had banished her to the Sisterhood school on Rossak and attentive s woman, but there her mind had been damaged rather than improved. And now she was here.

  “You will find that she is healthy,” Gilbertus said. “Mentat techniques offer the best possible chance for recovery.”

  Roderick was efficient, all business. “Our visit will be quite brief. We’re at the mercy of our transportation—this shuttle was a special dispensation, at the request of Emperor Salvador, since VenHold ships refuse to service Lampadas. The military spacefolder is finishing a grand patrol and needs to return to Salusa Secundus.”

  The feud between the antitechnology Butlerians and the commercial empire of Venport Holdings had grown more bitter over time, with mutual antipathy spiraling into outright conflict. And the Imperial throne was caught up in the dispute. Instead of traveling aboard a safe VenHold spacefolder, guided by mysterious and infallible Navigators, Roderick had been forced to come here on a less reliable military transport.

  Lady Orenna was clearly displeased that they would have to depart so quickly. “We traveled a long way to visit Anna. I don’t like to be rushed. We are the girl’s family—the Imperial Armed Forces should alter their schedules for our convenience.”

  Roderick shook his head, lowered his voice. “I’m also disappointed, but I don’t want to disrupt the workings of the military, because they have to appear strong and reliable. We can’t simply commandeer a VenHold commercial ship and force Directeur Venport to do our bidding.”

  The older woman said with a sniff, “And why not? A loyal citizen should do as the Emperor requests, not the other way around. Your father would have crushed such insubordination.”

  “Yes,” Roderick said, “he probably would have.”

  Gilbertus said, “My school is a place where Anna can be sheltered from the stress of political tensions.” He knew that Roderick’s brother was weak, indecisive, and easily intimidated. Emperor Salvador did not have the power to force his will on either the shipping magnate or the legless Butlerian leader.

  In these days of perilous politics, though, Gilbertus had learned to keep his thoughts to himself and to maintain neutrality. He had impressed that caution on his students as well: The ideal Mentat should never be a commentator or an advocate, but a tool, an analytical device to offer guidance and projections.

  “You have no political tensions here?” Roderick muttered. “Your school is too close to the Butlerian headquarters for my liking.”

  “Manford Torondo is on the other side of the continent, my Lord, and he has no dispute with the Mentat School. In fact, several of my trainees follow the movement.” Though not my best students. “We teach humans mental skills that are the equal of any thinking machine. Every Mentat graduate who goes out to serve in the Imperium demonstrates that computers are unnecessary, and so Manford applauds us. Why should we worry about the Butlerians?”

  “Indeed, why?” Roderick asked, but didn’t answer his own question.

  Anna was waiting for them on the observatory deck, still gazing across the landscape. Out in the tangled sangrove swamps, a group of Mentat candidates worked their way through winding channels of brownish water and unseen pits by making use of stepping-stones hidden just beneath the surface. Any Mentat who had memorized exactly where to walk could find the safe stones. Now, as the practi, “The mind of man is holy.”ch womancing candidates worked their way through, some of them slipped off the path.

  As far as Gilbertus could tell, Anna hadn’t moved since he’d left her, but her demeanor was different. Her expression was more animated than the affectless, fixated stare that indicated she was hyperfocused on some detail or calculation. She brightened upon seeing her brother and Lady Orenna.

  Orenna embraced the girl. “You look well, Anna! Much stronger.”

  Roderick looked relieved, even proud. He whispered to Gilbertus, “Thank you.”

  Anna said, “I am having a good day. I wanted to have a good day for your visit.”

  “And I’m glad you’re safe,” Roderick said. “The Mentat School has many hazards.”

  Gilbertus said, “We have installed additional defenses. We can protect your sister—and all our students.”

  As if to challenge his assertion, a commotion occurred out in the swamp. A spine-backed reptile lunged out of the brownish water where the Mentat students were picking their way across the submerged stepping-stones. The creature snatched the nearest student in its long jaws and dragged her into the deeper channel. Both predator and prey vanished as swiftly as a glimmer of sunlight on rippled water.

  The Mentat students sprang together, ready to defend themselves, but the swamp dragon already had its meal and was gone.

  Wide-eyed, Orenna shouted, “How can you protect Anna? You weren’t able to protect that young girl!”

  Gilbertus did not let himself show emotion at the loss of the student. “Anna is not allowed outside the walls or on the lake. You have my personal guarantee of her safety.”

  “And what about an outside attack?” Roderick said. “Anna would make a valuable hostage.”

  Gilbertus said, “We are a small school for the development and improvement of the human mind. Mentats pose no threat to anyone.”

  Roderick gave him a skeptical look. “You’re being coy, Headmaster.”

  “I am stating a fact. We have run many projections and developed defenses against all likely scenarios. It is what a Mentat is trained to do, my Lord.”

  Orenna stroked the young w
oman’s arm. “Protect your school at all costs. You have an incalculably precious treasure in Anna.”

  The Butlerian captain would probably make some kind of rationalization about their technology being “used for the greater good,” or claim that it avoided being unacceptable because it was “in service of holy work.”

  When Josef’s image appeared had not expected this at all. on his m that on the screen, the warship captain recoiled. “The demon Venport himself! You have been warned!” Surprisingly, he cut off the transmission.

  Cioba nodded toward the transmission window. “He’s powering up his weapons.”

  “Manford Torondo has likely placed a bounty on my head.” Josef found the idea as offensive as it was laughable.

  Without warning, the aging Jihad warship opened fire, blasting them with old explosive shells. The kinetic bombardment hammered away at the VenHold ship’s advanced shields—another miracle invented by Norma Cenva—but the outdated weapons could inflict no harm. VenHold’s defenses were vastly superior to anything the enemy had.

  “Make a log notation,” Josef said into the wall recorders. “We did not fire first. We committed no aggressive or provocative acts. We have been attacked without cause and are forced to defend ourselves.” He called down to the weapons deck, where personnel were already at their stations. “Destroy that ship. It annoys me.”

  The weapons officer had been anticipating the command, and a swarm of projectiles ripped forth and cut the Butlerian vessel to ribbons. It was over in seconds, and Josef was glad he didn’t need to waste any more time.

  As she watched the fading glow of debris on the screen, Cioba whispered, “I thought you said that ship didn’t pose a threat to us.”

  “Not to us, but those Butlerian savages pose a threat to civilization itself. I believe this was a necessary punishment.” He spoke to the Navigator. “Are there other ships in the vicinity? Cargo carriers, rival commercial vessels?”

  “None,” Fayed said.

  “Good, then maybe the people of Baridge will be more tractable.” He sent a transmission down to the surface, addressing Deacon Kalifer directly. He made certain the conversation was on a public band. Josef guessed that many of the supposedly devout Butlerians there still had illicit listening devices, and he wanted them all to hear his words.

  Deacon Kalifer responded as soon as Josef made contact, which implied that the planetary leader had indeed been watching their arrival. He probably also knew that the Butlerian watchdog ship was destroyed. Good—another reason for the deacon not to be difficult.

  On the screen, Kalifer’s shoulders drooped and his skin sagged on his frame as if he’d chosen the wrong size from a rack. His speech had a slow and ponderous quality, and his sentences always took longer to complete than Josef could stand. Deacon Kalifer was a man who made every listener want to say Hurry up!

  “Ah, VenHold ship, we hoped you would reconsider your embargo. And I’m pleased that you came here in person, Directeur Venport.”

  “I came in person, but I’m not pleased with the reception. Be thankful that rabid watchdog ship won’t cause you any more problems.” This might not be a wasted trip after all; at the very least, it gave Josef a chance to twist the knife while the people of Baridge eavesdropped. “I bring pharmaceuticals, specifically cancer drugs, and polymer creams to protect you against the radiation onslaught from the solar cycle. I’ve also brought a team of the top doctors trained at the Suk School. They specialize in treating skin lesions and a variety of cancers, and they can help your people.”

  “Thank you, Directeur!” Kalifer was so excited that heSometimes the best way to see the familiar is to go far from it. p spoke quickly for a change.

  Cioba caught Josef’s eye and he could tell that she knew exactly what he was doing. Her shrewd business sense and keen ability to observe made her an invaluable asset to him.

  Keeping his tone neutral, Josef responded to Kalifer. “We also have a large cargo of melange, which I know is popular here. Baridge used to be an important VenHold customer, and we hate to lose your business. We offer this special shipment at a discounted price, to celebrate our renewed trade.”

  When Kalifer grinned with relief, Josef hardened his voice. “First, however, you must disavow your pledge to Manford Torondo. You foreswore all advanced technology, but now you realize how irrational that was. If you wish to restore trade with VenHold and receive these supplies—including our cargo of spice from Arrakis—you must publicly renounce the Butlerians.”

  He met Deacon Kalifer’s stare. The planetary leader did not speak for a long moment—a pause even more extensive than his normal ponderous speech. “But that is not possible, Directeur. The population would riot, and Leader Torondo would send vengeance squads against us. I beg you for a little flexibility. We will pay higher prices if you insist.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Josef said. “But increased prices are not what I require. For the good of humanity, this barbarian nonsense has to stop—and it will only stop when planets like Baridge choose civilization and commerce over fanaticism.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is not a negotiating ploy, Deacon. It is my only offer.”

  Kalifer’s skin turned gray, and his expression sickened. “I … I cannot accept, Directeur. The citizens of Baridge will stand firm.”

  Though furious inside, Josef came up with an indifferent tone. “As you wish, Deacon. I offered you my cargo first, but I can dispose of it at our next planetary stop. I rescind my offer. So long as you remain obstinate, we will make no further deliveries. Good luck surviving the effects of your solar storms.”

  Cioba terminated the transmission. Josef flared his nostrils, shaking his head and trying to calm himself.

  The mind of man is holy, but the heart of man is corrupt.

  —MANFORD TORONDO, Lampadas rallies

  With his planet isolated by the strict VenHold embargo, Manford Torondo’s determination only grew harder. He had no doubts, and he made certain his Butlerian followers had no doubts either. As destroyedp the other their leader, Manford had to provide clear guidance, without exceptions, without room for deviation. And as his followers, they were obligated to listen to him.

  Sometimes, however, he had to remind them. A dramatic, clear-cut example could influence millions of people.

  In the predawn darkness, Manford rode on the sturdy shoulders of Anari Idaho, the strongest and most loyal of his Swordmasters. Anari was his body, his muscles, his strength, and his sword. After he’d lost his legs in a fanatic’s explosion at an early antitechnology rally, and the visionary Rayna Butler had died in his arms, Manford had taken his mentor’s place with equal fervor. Not letting his handicap limit him, he embraced the phrase “half a man, twice the leader.”

  What remained of his body fit into a specially made harness on Anari’s shoulders, but although the Swordmaster carried him, she was no beast of burden. Anari had known him for so long, loving him in her perfect devoted way, that the two of them operated as one unit. Often she sensed Manford’s thoughts, and responded to his needs before he even spoke. He only had to believe he wanted to go in a certain direction, and Anari would head there.

  When he conducted business in his offices, Manford sat in a special raised chair that made him look imposing. Whenever he appeared at rallies, he chose volunteer followers to transport him on a palanquin. And when he went into battle, Anari always carried him.

  His Butlerian strike force had left the main city at dusk the night before, traveling by flatbed vehicles down the river road, then farther inland to a small village. Dove’s Haven was worthy of attention now only because of what Manford’s spies had reported.

  His group—thirteen Swordmasters, plus another hundred followers ready to fight to the death—would be more than sufficient to teach the necessary lesson, even if the whole town resisted. Also accompanying them was a potential offworld business associate, Rolli Escon, the head of the shipping company EsconTran. Today, Directeur Escon would observe a
nd learn.

  As they approached Dove’s Haven, Manford instructed the Butlerian followers to remain behind, while the Swordmasters took the lead. Ahead, Manford could see the dark, sleeping village. His spies had already identified which dwellings were occupied by the town’s three leaders. Those would be the first targets.

  Visibly uncomfortable, Rolli Escon walked alongside Anari Idaho. The offworld businessman glanced up so he could speak with Manford as they closed in on the unsuspecting town. “Leader Torondo, should we conclude our business agreement before you proceed? You’re a busy man, and I can begin the necessary administrative work elsewhere.”

  Escon had come to Lampadas with a business proposition for Manford. His space-shipping company was small by the standards of the VenHold Spacing Fleet and not managed as efficiently, but at least his vessels did not use illegal computers or mutated monstrosities, as Josef Venport’s ships surely did.

  From his perch, Manford looked down at Escon. “What administrative work?”

  “It’ll be a challenge to reroute my cargo ships to where they can best serve the Butlerian cause. I am anxious to help the planets suffering most because of the VenHold embargo—especially Lampadas.”

  Manford frowned at the man, displeased with his impatience. “Lampadas is fine. My strongest, most devoted followers live here near me, and we don’t need pampering and conveniences. The devil Venport will never understand consequencesp m that that deprivation makes us stronger.”

  Escon bowed his head, embarrassed. “You’re right, sir.”

  Manford continued, “Others are not as strong, alas. The temptation of imaginary needs distracts them from their faith. So, for their own good, I must remove that distraction. I’ll need your ships to deliver what my followers truly need, and we will spit in the face of the VenHold embargo.”

  “My ships are yours, Leader Torondo.” Escon gave a curt bow. “I am pleased to serve the Butlerian cause.”