Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 30 (One man’s mission is another man’s folly)
One man’s mission is another man’s folly.
– saying of the desert
Taref had not been thirsty for weeks, nor had he felt dust on his skin or in his hair. It was a marvelous sensation at first, and then became strange and unsettling. He hadn’t expected he might miss what he had previously scorned. Far from the desert world, this climate felt so strange.
He and his companions had been instructed to wear loose-fitting clothes that allowed perspiration to evaporate into the air; at some point later, it would fall back down onto the surface of Kolhar. He found this planet’s weather amazing, incomprehensible, and disturbing. His companions chafed in the strange garb and remained uncomfortable throughout their training sessions. Waddoch groaned that he was never going to get used to it.
Each day’s experiences forced Taref to reassess his understanding of the universe. For years he had dreamed of leaving the arid wastelands to explore exotic worlds and enjoy new experiences. He still marveled at what he was doing now, away from the harsh day-to-day sietch existence.
Yet the food here had strange seasonings and was difficult to enjoy. His desert friends remained astonished that offworlders had so much excess water to drink that they had the decadent luxury of adding flavors to their beverages.
He could see the difference in Lillis already: Her lean, leathery features were beginning to show soft curves as her body gained water fat. Shurko had grown ill from eating the unfamiliar items. Chumel developed a skin rash, some kind of rot or fungus that developed from too much moisture and too-frequent bathing, and he was ashamed of the amount of creams and salves he was required to apply. Waddoch and Bentur seemed edgy and irritable. None of them liked the annoying films they were forced to apply to their eyes to cover the distinctive blue-within-blue.
Though Taref anticipated seeing the ocean world of Caladan, he realized that his companions were growing homesick for Arrakis as they trained here. But they had barely begun their mission and still had much to learn.…
For the day’s instruction, Draigo Roget led them inside one of the landed spacecraft in the Kolhar shipyards. They followed the Mentat instructor down metal corridors until they reached the dim, stuffy engine decks.
On Arrakis, Taref had been aboard spice harvesters many times, and he was familiar with the loud hammering noises, the roar of engines, the unavoidable vibration that would inevitably summon a sandworm. Previously, he had scorned the giant spice factories, knowing that a group of Freemen could simply skitter across the sands, harvest raw melange, and carry it away with deft hands and irregular footsteps – all without summoning a worm. It had seemed so simple to him; that was the way a sietch gathered the melange they needed.
But he had never before understood the sheer volume of spice harvesting and the voracious appetite of the Imperium. Seeing the incredible amounts of melange the VenHold Navigators required, as well as the addicted populations of world after world, he was beginning to comprehend the scope of that hunger. Stopping that demand would be like trying to stop the moving sands.
Back on Arrakis, even if he and his companions sabotaged a spice harvester to hinder the work of Combined Mercantiles (more as a game to prove themselves than as a radical political statement), he knew their efforts would make no difference to the overall company operations. It was like removing a spoonful of sand from a giant dune.…
Draigo halted the group inside an engine chamber. “Observe the tasks we need you to do. This is a cumbersome old spaceship we recently acquired from a small company, Nalgan Shipping. These vessels are very similar to the ones used by EsconTran – the ships that will be your targets.”
“You want us to fight your battles for you,” Shurko said. “You are sending us out to destroy your rival’s ships so that VenHold vessels will be victorious.”
The Mentat drew his dark brows together. “In essence, yes. But the battle is more subtle than that, and much larger in scale. We need to do more than destroy a ship or two – rather, we need to fan the flames of fear.”
The desert recruits stood at the control panel connected to the ship’s foldspace engines. Draigo worked the grid, and system lights became a dizzying storm of colors and readouts.
“If we can make people believe that EsconTran ships are unreliable, then we cause far more havoc. We want the Imperium to think that VenHold has the only safe method of space travel, thanks to our Navigators. Already Escon’s safety record is less than ninety-eight percent, as best we can determine. Out of every hundred flights, two or more vessels disappear, on average.”
To Taref, the number did not sound so terrible. At least that many attempted sandworm rides ended in disaster. But weak offworlders had less tolerance for risk, he supposed.
Lillis said, “EsconTran must have faulty spaceships, then, or incompetent pilots.”
Draigo’s smile was faint, but Taref noticed it. “Or perhaps we have other operatives, just like you, who work on maintenance crews in certain rival docking facilities. For years our quiet saboteurs have been causing accidents, devastating their safety record.”
He guided their attention to the control grid. “The more complex the machinery, the easier it is to sabotage. I shall teach you all the ways.”
Taref drank in the details as the Mentat summarized how to adjust standard fuel flow, how to deflect heat-dissipation systems, how to set up a resonance feedback loop so that engines would explode moments after the ship folded space.
“That will kill many people,” Lillis pointed out.
“Only those who chose the wrong method of transport,” Draigo said, unconcerned. “Our goal is to see that EsconTran has a failure rate of seven percent or more within the next few months. Manford Torondo claims that his followers are protected by God. With such a disastrous loss rate, they’ll start thinking they’ve been cursed.”
When the group of friends had first arrived on Kolhar, Taref had only a vague idea of who Manford Torondo was, but Josef Venport had left a holo-recording for Draigo to use. Many VenHold workers had seen it. In the holo, the Directeur spoke with palpable anger, showing images of the legless, fanatical leader who rode on the shoulders of a female Swordmaster.
“This man is the greatest enemy of humanity,” Venport said, pointing at Manford in the holo. “Unless we stop the dark and primitive future he intends to create, he will cause the death of billions, if not trillions. By removing this one person, we can save the human race.
“As you fan out to various planets, I would be very pleased if Manford Torondo”—the image zoomed closer, showing the face of the Butlerian leader—“were to be removed from the interplanetary stage and prevented from causing further harm. I don’t care how it’s done.”
Taref had never forgotten that speech. Desert people had their feuds and unpopular Naibs, so he was no stranger to that way of dealing with problems, but Manford Torondo must be a terrible person to warrant such bloodshed. He let himself dream for a moment. If he could achieve such a victory, how much better it would be than earning respect in his tribe by sabotaging a spice-harvesting machine or two. Eliminating Leader Torondo would be far greater than anything Taref’s stern father could ever hope to accomplish.…
Though attentive, his companions showed little enthusiasm. Draigo continued to lecture the group as he led them away from the control grid and into the complex foldspace engines. “If you cannot gain access to the control panels, there are still simple ways you can cause damage using a few basic tools. Let me show you.”
He took out a small pry bar and a spanner, but before using them he turned to face Taref and his companions. “I believe that you Freemen have more potential than any of our other operatives.”
* * *
OUT ON THE field of Navigator tanks, Draigo spoke with three of his Mentat students, whose training was far more rigorous than what Taref and his companions were going through. Out of more than twenty volunteers for the intense Mentat instruction, these three – Ohn, Jeter, and Impika – had shown the most skills.
Draigo admitted that the trainees would have done better if they’d attended Headmaster Albans’s school on Lampadas. Although Draigo had memorized the curriculum of the great academy, he was not as gifted a teacher as the Headmaster. He missed his mentor, wished that he and Gilbertus had not found themselves on opposite sides of an immense conflict. He didn’t understand how the wise teacher could accept the antitechnology fervor that caused so much obvious harm.
At the school, Draigo and Gilbertus had matched wits many times on theoretical battlefields; they had even clashed for real at the Thonaris space shipyards. How much more formidable the two of them could be if they fought on the same side! He wished the Headmaster would join him in the fight against rampant fanaticism.
He doubted Gilbertus believed machines were innately evil. Draigo monitored Lampadas with his own secret spies and observers among the Butlerians. Over the years, Headmaster Albans had made questionable comments that attracted suspicion, making others wonder if he might be a machine sympathizer after all.
Draigo wondered if that could be true. He hoped it was true.
As he joined his companions out on the Navigator field, he knew these three students were his own now, his most talented apprentices. All three of them had bright lips, disturbingly stained, which told him they were continuing to consume the experimental sapho. Since it increased the mental acuity of his trainees, Draigo encouraged Ohn, Jeter, and Impika to use it. He would not turn down any chance to improve his students, his loyal Mentats.
Some of the candidates who did not prove sufficient to become Mentats volunteered instead to be sealed inside spice tanks for conversion into Navigators. The supreme privilege of being a Mentat demanded constant concentration, whereas a Navigator required a flexible, voracious mind, a great deal of melange, and good fortune. Mentat candidates who became Navigators might be a tremendous asset for VenHold.…
Draigo and his students stepped up to the translucent, gas-filled chambers. Inside, the half-converted, mutant volunteers seemed to be suffocating in open air. Draigo had never let himself grow fond of any particular student, but he was concerned. Despite his own teachings that a human computer must be like a thinking machine – coldly analytical and without emotions – Draigo knew that Headmaster Albans had actually cared for him on a personal basis, and now he had similar feelings for these three.…
The Mentat students stared at the transforming subjects who had recently been their classmates. “Are they in pain? Are they suffering?” Jeter asked.
“Who knows what pain is required before a person can become a Navigator? We did not all become Mentats, nor can we all become Navigators. Greatness requires sacrifice.”
A voice echoed from the chamber of an older, more experienced Navigator – Royce Fayed, who was a special protégé of Norma Cenva.
“They may endure pain,” said Fayed’s burbling voice, “but if they survive, they will know a greater joy than they ever imagined possible.”
“They volunteered for the process,” Draigo pointed out.
“They don’t all volunteer,” remarked Impika.
“No survivor has ever complained,” Draigo said.
Fayed added from his tank speakers, “The greatest gift is to ensure that a person reaches his or her potential … even if they have to be forced to that attainment. I was forced, but I do not regret it for a moment.”
* * *
WHEN DIRECTEUR VENPORT arrived home after his unsatisfactory speech in the Landsraad Hall, he summoned his Mentat for a debriefing. Draigo arrived in the admin-towers and found the Directeur scanning a new report he had received from the Denali research facility. His eyes sparkled. “Good news, Mentat! Our researcher Ptolemy wants us to help him transport several new cymeks under the tightest possible security – for a test.”
Draigo was surprised. “Transport cymeks? What kind of demonstration does he have in mind?”
“Something that requires an unusually harsh landscape. He wants us to take his cymeks to Arrakis.”
Draigo nodded. “If you can arrange the transportation of the cymek test subjects from Denali, I will send word to my Mentats at Combined Mercantiles to choose an appropriate place. I would like to attend the test myself.”
Directeur Venport raised his bushy eyebrows. “You are welcome to. I’d like your analysis.”
Draigo remained silent for a moment. “The details will take some weeks to arrange, sir, and I would like to make another brief trip first. I can be back in time.”
Venport looked at him, waiting. “I can tell you have something to ask, Mentat. Speak candidly.”
“I extrapolated from basic data, assessed the political tapestry of conflicts, alliances, and shifting loyalties, then followed my thoughts to their natural conclusion. We have another potential ally against the Butlerians.”
“Which is?”
“Back at the Mentat school, Headmaster Albans pretends to support the Butlerian movement in order to protect his trainees, but I refuse to believe that the teachings he espouses come from his heart. I know him. I’ve debated him numerous times. After the bloody rampage festival in Zimia, he will not support the mobs. His cooperation with Manford Torondo has always been reluctant.”
Directeur Venport was not pleased with the idea, having felt the brunt of the Mentat Headmaster’s tactical skills. “I don’t trust him. Without Gilbertus Albans, the Half-Manford never would have conquered the Thonaris shipyards.” He shook his head. “But I respect your projections, Mentat, and I am inclined to indulge you. What do you propose to do?”
Draigo remained standing, his back straight. “While we prepare the cymek test on Arrakis, I would like to go back to the Mentat School in secret. I think I can make the Headmaster see his folly.” He turned his eyes toward the Directeur. “I intend to recruit him to our side.”
Chapter 31 (Humans never stop looking)
Humans never stop looking for ways to make their lives easier. Yet in taking that course they weaken the species and accelerate the process of genetic atrophy. When the Butlerians rail against computers, they have inadvertently stumbled upon this truth, yet in our quest to breed the perfect human we rely on computers. We have no alternative.
– MOTHER SUPERIOR RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, private notes
During her months on Wallach IX, Tula threw herself into Sisterhood training with impressive dedication. She seemed obsessed with learning the rigorous techniques as swiftly as possible. Valya had already introduced her to the basic methods on Lankiveil, but now Tula was eager – even desperate – to become as talented as her sister.
Valya was pleased to see the difference in her younger sibling. Tula’s former shyness was replaced with new confidence; she never mentioned being homesick for Lankiveil, never talked about their parents or brother, even though Valya knew the younger girl was close to Danvis, as she herself had been to Griffin. She couldn’t help but smile; her sister’s savage determination was a good sign. Tula was nearly ready. Valya kept watching.
In private, the Harkonnen sisters discussed plans against the Atreides – a goal they shared even beyond their dedication to the Sisterhood. Valya, who had already shed blood to protect the Sisterhood, primed Tula to avenge their family’s shame through bloodshed.
Her sister was no shy and trembling flower. Valya had trained with her in mock combat, and knew that Tula was coming close to beating her. No one had done that since Valya’s sparring matches with Griffin.
The young blonde had a certain allure about her, an innocence and feigned vulnerability that made her attractive to young men. Valya had been helping her develop that sexual magnetism, counseling her to use her assets wisely. Tula needed to maximize her charms in preparation for meeting the unsuspecting young Atreides on far-off Caladan.…
She knew exactly when her sister was ready. Valya hugged her in a rare display of emotion, and both knew it was time for the next step.
They entered the Mother Superior’s office, and Valya stood with pride next to her younger sister, lending silent support, while Tula bowed before the ancient woman. Keeping her tone meek, Tula said, “Mother Superior, I thank you for the training you granted me. I learned much about the Sisterhood and about myself, but for the time being, I must leave the Sisterhood with great regret.” The hitch in her voice was carefully orchestrated, and convincing. “There are personal matters that demand my attention.”
The ancient woman looked carefully at Tula as if taking the girl’s measure. “You are an excellent student – as Valya promised you would be. I don’t understand why you would leave us.”
“Our family on Lankiveil faces difficult times, and House Bushnell is attempting to seize our holdings. Now I see that my decision to leave was impulsive—”
“As mine was,” Valya said, “when Sister Arlett recruited me for the Sisterhood. But our family situation was much different then.”
Raquella raised her eyebrows. “And?”
Tula lowered her eyes and answered with only the literal truth. “Because my obligations to House Harkonnen outweigh the demands that the Sisterhood would place on me, I must meet those obligations before I commit myself entirely to the Sisterhood. I have my parents and my remaining brother to consider. They have already lost Griffin, and Valya.”
With her heightened perceptions, Valya noticed a glimmer of disbelief in Raquella’s watery eyes, as she detected the falsehood of omission. But the Mother Superior finally nodded. “Very well. If you were to stay and become Sister Tula, you would no longer be Tula of House Harkonnen, so a choice would be required. I’m glad you realized that about yourself before further complications arose. We will miss you – you have great potential.”
Tula seemed to notice the same hint of skepticism. “Perhaps someday I’ll come back, after I’ve accomplished what I need to do.”
“Of course,” Raquella said. “But I suspect that will be a decision of the next Mother Superior.” She glanced at Valya, and Valya’s heart skipped a beat. She looked so old! Has she chosen me?
The rheumy eyes focused on Tula. “Should you decide to return, make certain you are willing to commit wholeheartedly first. Reflect on all you have learned among us.”
“I am grateful to have so much to reflect on, Mother Superior,” Tula said.
Valya knew her sister was also thinking about the knowledge from the breeding index, especially the locations of the Atreides descendants.
Chapter 32 (Crossing the line from friend)
Crossing the line from friend to enemy takes only a small step. The opposite journey, however, is far more difficult.
– Zensunni wisdom of the desert
Although Lampadas was surrounded by the Half-Manford’s Butlerian warships, their defenses were as effective as using a frayed net to hold back the rain. Draigo Roget took passage aboard a small VenHold ship and spent much of the voyage in a Mentat trance, planning conversations with his mentor, imagining outcomes.
He did not want to admit that he was nervous about the prospect of facing the Headmaster. Their last encounter at the Thonaris shipyards had nearly killed him, but he didn’t think he had misjudged Gilbertus’s true mindset, despite his – reluctant? – cooperation with the Butlerians.
After arranging a return rendezvous with the spacefolder that remained in distant orbit, Draigo descended to the wild part of the continent in a small unmarked shuttle. Headmaster Albans would not be expecting him, and Draigo didn’t know what sort of reception he would receive. He needed to be cautious.
A handful of the Mentat trainees were loyal to Manford Torondo. Gilbertus had been forced to welcome zealous Butlerian students to keep the leader satisfied. Draigo was more than a match for them, but he could never count on outthinking Gilbertus Albans.
The Headmaster kept his emotions tightly reined, but Draigo thought he knew the man’s heart. The two of them had grown close during years of instruction, and he didn’t think their bond would ever be broken. Although the Mentat curriculum was designed to teach human candidates to think without computers, Gilbertus was no mindless barbarian. He was a reasonable man, and Draigo had to count on that.…
By the light of the Lampadas moon, he landed his shuttle on the edge of the sangrove swamp and set off on foot across the sodden wilderness, through tall grasses and thorny thickets. He carried weapons and a personal body shield, not because he expected to fight his way through the school, but to defend against swamp predators. Although he remained alert for nocturnal creatures, his primary focus was on the tall buildings and the new defensive walls.
He envisioned the tangled waterways woven through the marshes in the shallows of the lake and brought forth the perfect memory picture of a path used by the Mentats. The labyrinth of sluggish, shallow channels provided an additional obstacle to protect the walled school, but he had long ago memorized where the submerged stepping-stones were, only centimeters beneath the surface. By taking careful steps now, he splashed his way across, barely getting his feet wet – but if he should miss a step, he would plunge in, with little chance of scrambling back out before razorjaws swarmed him or a swamp dragon lunged out to pick him off.
Draigo took pride in the knowledge that he was the greatest student the Mentat school had ever produced, the Headmaster’s trusted protégé. Gilbertus had wanted him to remain behind and teach other Mentats, but Draigo had other obligations to Directeur Venport.
When he had been pitted against Gilbertus at the Thonaris shipyards, Draigo had lost. But surely the Headmaster regretted the senseless mayhem and all the deaths the Butlerians had caused. A Mentat must be rational, if not compassionate. A Mentat must revere efficiency over chaos. The frenzied mob that Manford had later unleashed on Zimia only reinforced how dangerous and uncontrolled the fanatics were.
A man such as Gilbertus Albans could not truly believe that savagery was preferable to civilization. The Headmaster could help bring sanity back to the Imperium … or so Draigo hoped, and that hope drove him onward.
After passing through the swamp obstacle course, he finally reached the imposing gates of the Mentat School. He scaled one of the high wooden barriers, crossed a suspended footbridge that creaked under his feet, and ducked into the connected buildings.
If nothing else, Draigo thought, the Headmaster would want to know about the flaws in his school’s defenses.
* * *
GILBERTUS ALBANS SLEPT little. The life-extension treatment he’d received long ago made his bodily processes more efficient, and thereby gave him additional hours to use his mind for important things.
The Headmaster regularly monitored the news that trickled in through the Butlerian censors, and did his best to obtain secondary sources as well, through coded reports that didn’t always say what Manford Torondo wanted others to hear.
Over the decades, Gilbertus had pondered recording his own memoirs for posterity. He wished he could go into his internal Memory Vault, recapture every detail, and leave an extensive record of everything he had done and experienced, not just his years as a slave of the thinking machines but also his later years among the humans, his peaceful existence as a farmer on bucolic Lectaire, his beautiful lost love Jewelia, and then his dedication to his Mentat School.
Yes, his life was a story worth telling. He had lived on Corrin for a century, then another eight decades among free humans. He was more qualified than any other living person to judge and compare the conflicting viewpoints. But he didn’t dare write down such dangerous facts. He shielded even thoughts about his background, because someone with special skills of observation might detect flickers of his true mindset.
Because he couldn’t sleep, Gilbertus was awake when an unexpected visitor arrived at his office. The Headmaster was working with the door closed, but had left the additional security systems deactivated. The Erasmus core remained hidden in its cabinet.
Gilbertus sat at his desk, reviewing the academic records of his trainees. Administrator Zendur had passed along his assessment of which ones were most qualified to go out into the Imperium and offer their Mentat abilities. When he looked up, he did not at all expect to see Draigo Roget entering the office.
Draigo wore a smile as he closed the door behind him. “Headmaster, I’ve missed our discussions. Despite everything, I never stopped thinking of you as a friend.”
Gilbertus struggled to suppress his astonished reaction. Another person might have sounded a security alarm, but he found himself fascinated. “You never cease to surprise me, Draigo – though I question your wisdom in coming to Lampadas. I was startled, but pleased, when you escaped certain defeat at Thonaris. You know the Butlerians put a price on your head?”
“Just as Directeur Venport has a price on Manford’s head. Those men would love to kill each other. You won fairly at Thonaris, and I survived only because of unexpected assistance from Norma Cenva.”
“A Mentat must factor the unexpected into his projections,” Gilbertus said. “And your arrival this evening is most definitely unexpected.”
Draigo stepped closer to the desk and studied Gilbertus in silence. Because of the late hour and his solitude, Gilbertus had not bothered to apply the makeup he used to increase his apparent age. A mistake. Too late now. Draigo had already noticed something.
“I am healthy, although I probably consume more melange than I should,” Gilbertus said.
Draigo glanced at the pyramid chess board set up on a side table, and the antique clock on the wall. He took a seat and looked across the desk at the Headmaster. “You taught me everything I need to know, and I am training Mentats on my own, away from any Butlerian influence.”
Gilbertus paused to assess that revelation. “You’ve replicated my teaching methods for Josef Venport?”
“I train my Mentats for the future of humanity, but I’m not as skilled a teacher as you.” He sounded defensive. “Headmaster, we are engaged in a war of civilizations. As human computers, we can do what the thinking machines once did, but as humans we can’t fall into the same trap of hubris. You and I agree – we dare not let ourselves become too dependent on the technology that once enslaved us.” Draigo’s expression hardened. “Nor should we let ourselves fall into a pit of ignorance and destruction that harms everyone. In their own way, the Butlerians are as dangerous as the thinking machines were. They destroy human achievement and congratulate themselves while doing it.”
Gilbertus thought for a long moment. “I agree.”
Draigo’s dark eyes flashed. “Then why do you support them, sir? They are nothing more than a mob, and will continue to cause harm. I know your support for Manford Torondo has always been reluctant. If you were to publicly question the foundation of the Butlerian order, people would listen to you. You should denounce him.”
“Yes, I should, but I would not survive if I did.” He shook his head. “Manford is not interested in questions or debate, and dissent is punishable by death.”
“Then why stay here? Join us! If you and I fought side by side, we would be invincible – and could assure the advancement of human civilization. Manford’s narrow-minded lynch mob would fade away into the darkness of recorded history, where it belongs.”
Gilbertus quelled a smile at his former student’s vehemence. “But would they? I have run Mentat projections, extrapolated from knowledge of the present as well as all the nuances of history. I don’t believe victory would be as simple as you suggest.”
“I didn’t say it would be simple, Headmaster. I said that you and I are strong enough and intelligent enough to win any upcoming battles.”
Gilbertus remembered how much he had relied upon Draigo when he became a teaching assistant. He was proud of the young man’s accomplishments. He missed their dialogues.…
He knew Erasmus must be eavesdropping on the conversation. Some time ago, the Headmaster had considered revealing the robot’s memory core to Draigo. That secret was a burden he had borne alone for far too long now. If anything ever happened to him, Erasmus would be completely unprotected, vulnerable. He didn’t dare let the independent robot be lost.
“You should at least listen to Directeur Venport,” the former student said. “He is a brilliant man, a visionary who has made truly great advancements for humankind through technology and commerce.”
Gilbertus was impressed. “Your point is indisputable, Draigo. Even so, I must decline.” He considered giving the Erasmus core to Draigo to take back to Kolhar. For safekeeping. Directeur Venport would certainly protect it – but he couldn’t bear to part with his close friend and mentor, not yet. And Draigo … he wasn’t sure if he should trust him completely.
Draigo shook his head in dismay. “You make me sad, Headmaster. I hoped I could reason with you, make you realize that you’re harming our future by cooperating with the Butlerians – it doesn’t matter whether your cooperation is tacit or overt.”
In response, Gilbertus made a lackluster argument. “But by staying here and working within the Butlerian system, by having the ear of Manford Torondo, I can make subtle but important changes from within.”
Draigo scowled. “You tell yourself that, but has it worked so far, or are you just rationalizing?” The student turned and slipped out of the Headmaster’s office before Gilbertus could reply. But both of them knew what the answer was.
