Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 58 (I prefer to celebrate my decisions)
I prefer to celebrate my decisions, whatever they are, rather than regret them.
– JOSEF VENPORT, VenHold internal memo
News of Manford Torondo’s death traveled slowly across the Imperium, especially with so many interdicted worlds and rerouted spaceship schedules. For weeks now, the Butlerians had been oddly quiet about their loss.
After assassinating the leader, Taref was treated better than a Naib at the Kolhar space complex. He was considered a hero, and he told the story repeatedly, describing how he’d seen the opportunity and taken the successful shot.
At night, though, he felt qualms as he remembered the whizz-clack of the Maula pistol projectile, the splash of blood as the man’s skull shattered, and his body tumbling to the streets. A powerful leader of a terrible movement, killed so easily … and so much more personally than all those who had died when Taref sabotaged EsconTran ships. With his own eyes, he had seen the blood, the falling body.…
Reports from other operatives on Arrakis verified the news of the kill. As a reward, Directeur Venport offered Taref a large bonus, but the desert man asked for nothing more than a chance to meet with his friends and wish them well whenever they came back to Kolhar. If he could get them all together again, maybe they would travel to Caladan, as Venport had promised them.
Then Taref learned that one more of his desert friends, Waddoch, had also been killed, caught committing sabotage on an EsconTran ship. Other engineers had discovered his false identity, and seized him, but Waddoch took his own life before he could be turned over for questioning. As a matter of honor, the young man had done the only correct thing.
The loss opened another deep wound in Taref.…
Lillis was the most like Taref, the person who most closely shared his dreams and imaginings. She had spent her youth fancying what lay beyond the stars and cultures other than her own. She even seemed interested in finding Zensunni remnants who still lived on distant planets – ancestors of the desert people of Arrakis. Like him, Lillis had always thought about more than going on desert raids to sabotage spice harvesters, or playing tricks on offworlders. Few young women turned their backs on sietch life, and he knew she had grand dreams.
Taref could not deny that their imaginings were far different from the missions Directeur Venport had assigned them. He and his companions weren’t being sent out to find the roots of their culture, nor were they exploring exotic places that would make wonderful tales back on Arrakis. Instead, they were destroying a rival’s ships and killing everyone aboard without regard to guilt or innocence. And Venport rewarded them well for doing it.
That wasn’t how any of them had expected it to be, certainly not what he had promised them when he pressured them to follow him on a grand adventure.…
When Lillis returned to Kolhar from another mission, Taref hurried to greet her. He felt joy in his heart again to know she was back. The weather was gray and windy. Cold raindrops and hail pellets whipped across the sky, spattering their faces as they stood outside the main barracks. When he saw her face, though, he could see she was miserable and shivering, her eyes downcast.
“It’s so cold here, Taref,” she said. “So cold everywhere compared with home. And the moisture in the air makes it hard to breathe. So much water.” Her dark eyes still showed the deep blue of a lifetime of melange consumption. “They have a word for it—drowning—when one is submerged in the water until the lungs fill.”
Taref tried to summon excitement in his voice, for her sake. “But remember, we’re on another world. I thought you wanted to get away from Arrakis, just as I did. One day we’ll go to Caladan together and see the oceans.”
She extended her hand, palm up, and it trembled as the drizzle came down. “I don’t want to see those places, not anymore. I’d rather be … home.”
Taref’s heart went out to her. “I’ll arrange it so you can return to Arrakis, if that’s what you really want. Directeur Venport told me to ask for any favor I wish. Go back to our sietch – will that make you happy?”
Lillis sighed. “I feel like a hatchling taken out of a hawk’s nest. Even when it’s put back, the other birds never accept it. They kill it.”
He didn’t know how to help her. “I have been back there,” he said. “You will see the desert differently.”
“I see the whole universe differently, Taref.” Her voice sounded so empty. “My dreams are gone. And my home is gone. All I have is this.…” She looked up at the gray skies, held out her palms to the cold sleet. “And I don’t want it.”
* * *
AT DAWN THE next morning, Taref emerged from the barracks and found Lillis lying on the pebbled ground outside the building, face up, arms spread at her sides. Not moving.
Taref rushed to her, picked up her shoulders, and cradled her head. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he whispered her name. Lillis’s eyes were open, but she was covered with a light dusting of snow. She had no body warmth left. Sometime during the night, she had lain down on the ground, and just died.
Taref groaned, holding her stiff, cold body, rocking her back and forth. Lillis would never go back to the dunes now. She had perished far from home, far from the sunshine and golden sands, the pungent smell of melange, and the majesty of the giant sandworms.
Both Shurko and Waddoch had died on their missions, and now Lillis had simply surrendered. He would have joined her in a trip back to Arrakis, would have accompanied her to the sietch, or wherever she wanted to go – but it was too late for that now. He pulled her body closer as a hard sleet began to fall, and he felt the impenetrable cold.
He would go to Directeur Venport and demand passage back to Arrakis, would take Lillis’s water and deliver it to the sietch, as he should have delivered the water of Shurko and Waddoch. It was the way of the desert.
In that small matter at least, he would help Lillis go home. Home…
* * *
LATER THAT DAY, astonishing news came in on a spacefolder from Salusa Secundus: Manford Torondo was alive and well, and had just appeared at the Imperial Court. Worse, he had convinced the Emperor to seize all spice operations on Arrakis.
Directeur Venport didn’t know which piece of information disturbed him the most.
The Half-Manford had somehow survived the assassination in Arrakis City, and emerged without a scratch. Young Taref had been easily fooled, and Venport’s other observers, too.
Josef wondered why he had not heard the news sooner. His operatives had long been in place on Lampadas, some quietly observing for years. He should have received a message.
Then the Butlerian leader sent one of Josef’s carefully infiltrated spies back to Kolhar – an innocuous old household servant named Ellonda. She’d been cut up in small pieces and sent in seventeen separate packages, each one personally addressed to Directeur Josef Venport.
It was shock on top of shock.
But the greatest outrage was the Emperor’s acquiescence. Cowardly Salvador had let the barbarian leader bully him into making his ridiculous power grab for Arrakis. According to a sweeping Imperial decree, the spice from the desert world was a “treasure for all humankind,” not for the profit of one man. By signing the order, Salvador annexed Combined Mercantiles, the spice fields, storage silos, processing plants, factories, and even the cargoes already aboard VenHold ships.
Filled with fury, Josef and his wife and his Mentat walked out to the templelike structure that surrounded Norma Cenva’s spice tank. “If the Emperor thinks he can do that, we’ll topple his throne and show him where the real power lies. Norma’s spice supplies will not be cut off or restricted!”
VenHold’s demand for spice production had increased month after month as the Navigator conversion program expanded. Even after the mutated humans finished their transformation, they required extensive amounts of melange to maintain proper saturation levels. Josef refused to tolerate any disruption in the flow of melange – neither by the barbarians, nor by the Emperor.
It had been more than eighty years since Faykan Butler, a great hero of the Jihad, renamed his family House Corrino and established the new Imperium. But in those years, the throne had lost effectiveness. “Perhaps it’s time for a major change,” Josef muttered. “If Salvador means to declare war, then we will be forced to fight back.”
“The Imperium is already crumbling,” Draigo said. “I have run projections, and it matters surprisingly little who sits on the throne. The strands that bind the government are laid down by transportation and communication. Interaction among the worlds is what knits a multiplanet civilization together.”
“We need someone better than Salvador Corrino,” Josef said.
As they arrived at Norma Cenva’s tank, Cioba was troubled. “That is a very ambitious plan, husband. An overthrow of the Imperial government would create as much havoc as the Butlerian mobs do now. Maybe there is a less extreme way, a more focused way?” She raised her eyes and looked into Josef’s.
Draigo seemed distant, running calculations through his head. “Norma Cenva told us the conflict will be wide-reaching, and now is the time to draw lines, take sides – we need powerful allies.” He paused, gathering courage. “We need my mentor Gilbertus Albans more than ever. I know he is torn. Let me speak to him again, and plead with him as a Mentat – he needs to choose the side of reason. If Mentats would all fight on the side of civilization, we could not lose.”
Josef nodded. If he had hundreds more like Draigo Roget, the opportunities would be incalculable. “Very well, return to Lampadas and get that alliance. I hope you have a better result this time, for we are more desperate than ever. Go immediately – before it is too late.”
Inside the swirls of thick mist, Norma drifted close to the curved observation plates. Even with her distorted face, she looked troubled. Before Josef could explain anything to her, she said, “Our supply of spice is threatened. Politics and turmoil must not be allowed to disrupt our great tapestry.”
“What do you foresee this time?”
“I foresee patterns – the large plan, not precise details. The ripples of my prescience are very strong now. We face great peril.” She blinked, and Josef looked into her face, trying to read her emotions.
“Salvador is the problem,” Josef said. “He is weak and indecisive, a poor leader. We all know that Roderick would make a far better Emperor, a rational person who wouldn’t be so afraid of the barbarians.”
“His daughter was killed in a Butlerian riot,” Cioba said. “He holds no love for Manford Torondo.”
Norma continued, “Nothing can be allowed to stop the delivery of spice.”
“I won’t let it happen. Emperor Salvador announced he will go to Arrakis and take formal control of all spice operations. I will pretend to welcome him and invite him to see the harvesting operations in person. In fact, I’ll escort him into the desert myself.”
Cioba seemed discouraged. “I doubt you can convince the Emperor to change his mind, husband.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll try to make him see reason. And if not … I’ll deal with the problem some other way.”
Chapter 59 (Truth is an amorphous thing)
Truth is an amorphous thing, not quantifiable. There is no such thing as Pure Truth, because any attempt to understand this ideal involves a mental journey through shades of meaning and shades of purity. Does any form of truth reside in spoken words? In demonstrable actions? In supreme exercises of logic? Or does it lie in the secret places of the human heart?
– Annals of the Mentat School
With Manford Torondo away to meet with the Emperor, Deacon Harian and his deputies were determined and ruthless in carrying out their leader’s edicts on Lampadas. In the capital city people flocked to raise their hands in front of officials, swearing their vows in the names of the Three Martyrs.
Even at the isolated Mentat School, Gilbertus Albans learned of the harsh oath that Manford now required all individuals on Lampadas to swear. “The oath collectors are on the other side of the continent,” he grumbled in his office, knowing Erasmus was listening. “But they will be here soon enough.”
“I do not doubt it,” the robot replied. “The actions of the Butlerians are both predictable and irrational. I continue to study and analyze them, even though Anna Corrino is a more interesting subject. She and I have grown close, don’t you agree?”
“Too close,” Gilbertus said. “She has started to mutter and make comments to you where other students can hear. Alys Carroll watches her intensely, suspecting she is possessed by a demon.”
Erasmus chuckled, but the Headmaster found no humor in the situation. He was afraid of what Anna might say aloud, what revelations she might blurt out about the existence of the robot’s hidden memory core.
“Manford’s deputies will demand that every trainee at my school take the oath.” Gilbertus had a copy of it in front of him, and he grew increasingly disturbed as he read it. He wondered if Manford had written the phrasing himself. “This pledge is even more bombastic and paranoid than the usual Butlerian vehemence. Condemnation of any form of advanced technology – although they don’t define exactly what that might be.”
Erasmus said, “I expect the definition will change according to Manford Torondo’s convenience.”
Before the latest flurry of activity, the Imperial Committee of Orthodoxy had already been making revisions to the old lists of banned technology. Gilbertus knew that once a device appeared on the Unorthodox list, it would never be removed. No one was allowed to appeal without facing suspicion and censure.
He regarded the printed notice with contempt, tossed it aside. “I won’t encourage my Mentats to swear allegiance to this. They’re not blind sycophants who agree without thinking.”
“You are asking for trouble from the Butlerians,” the robot said. “Why don’t you simply do as humans do – lie? Repeat the oath when asked, even if you don’t believe it. That will take care of the matter, and they will leave us alone. You must not end up like Horus Rakka, murdered because of your past. If anyone finds out who you were on Corrin, we will both be in terrible danger.”
In his recent nocturnal visit, Draigo Roget had made a great impact on Gilbertus, causing him to doubt the choices and compromises he had accepted. “As the founder of the Mentat order, as the Headmaster of this great school, I teach students to use logic to arrive at the truth. It is something to strive toward, not to muddy, and certainly not to run away from. I intend to make a stand against this oath.”
“Don’t be silly. Rise above your moral objections for the greater good.”
Gilbertus shook his head. “It’s more than that. Even if I could be convinced to set aside my moral objections for a larger purpose – such as my own survival and the survival of this school – the Butlerians could bring a Truthsayer with them. I cannot lie about something this important. I just won’t do it.”
Ever since Draigo had confronted Gilbertus about his alliance with the Butlerians, he had questioned his implicit acceptance of antitechnology fanaticism. The Headmaster had cooperated with Manford because he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to the Mentat School, but he’d been a willing participant in too many questionable Butlerian activities.
Draigo had done what an excellent student should do – challenge the educator and make him think.
Gilbertus Albans had lived a long life full of accomplishment. He had worked hard to maintain a balance, to bridge the gap between humans and thinking machines. After nearly two centuries of life, how much would he give up to ensure his personal survival? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his legacy, instead of prolonging his life at any cost?
The answer seemed clear to him, no matter the dangers involved.
Manford Torondo was exuberantly leading human civilization toward a new dark age, and Gilbertus had paid lip service to those beliefs to keep himself out of danger. But through his inaction, he only enabled the fanatics in their destruction. If he mouthed the words of this new oath without challenge, he would be condoning continued extremism, even promoting it.
“You have been silent for a long time,” Erasmus said. “That suggests you are troubled.”
“I am troubled, Father, and I have a big decision to make, the most important one I’ve ever made.”
* * *
DEACON HARIAN’S PARTY arrived days later than Gilbertus expected them. Since the Butlerians insisted on an overland journey rather than taking a swift aircraft, their travel was slow and uncertain, especially when they reached the treacherous ground near the school. The public road through the swamp was intentionally circuitous to hinder the progress of anyone who approached.
Harian arrived at the thick barricade wall with six other Butlerians in his group, all haughty and energized. Seeing them, Alys Carroll flung open the high gates, even before word reached the Headmaster. A group of the Butlerian-picked trainees, including Alys, greeted the delegation with bristly familiarity.
Erasmus’s spy-eyes warned Gilbertus before his administrator Zendur ran up to tell him the news. “Alys Carroll let them inside the walls!”
Gilbertus was disturbed by how quickly she had allowed the delegation through the defenses into the secure perimeter. He had no justification for keeping the Butlerians out – at least not yet – but the walls and the gate, as well as other less-obvious security systems, had been erected for a reason.
“I’ve been expecting them,” the Headmaster said, keeping his feelings to himself. He sent Zendur away. Then, breathing calmly, he took a few moments to touch up his makeup, put on his spectacles, and adjust his formal robes before hurrying to the main gate.
When he met the delegation at the wide courtyard deck in front of the main lecture hall, Alys was already uttering the words of Manford’s new oath before a deputy, as if reciting a sacred prayer. She was the fourth student to swear individually in front of the oath-deputy, and others were lined up behind her.
Deacon Harian had a hard countenance, and he looked dyspeptic today. No doubt he had spent days listening to thousands of oath-takers who asserted their devotion to Manford and professed abhorrence of technology, and he looked worn down and not inclined to exchange pleasantries when Gilbertus Albans faced him.
The bald deacon had always regarded the Headmaster, and everyone else, with a shadow of suspicion, as if he saw machine ghosts out of the corner of his eye. “Headmaster, summon the rest of your students in organized groups to line up. One by one they will recite the words to affirm their loyalty to Leader Torondo and the sacred Butlerian cause.”
“You can’t ask them to swear an oath they have not had time to read or consider.”
Harian arched his eyebrows. “What is there to consider?”
“A person should fully understand the words of any oath before he swears to it – otherwise the promise means nothing. That is simple logic.”
“This oath means a great deal, Headmaster,” interjected the oath-deputy. A tall beanpole of a man, he had a pointed jaw and tiny eyes. He wore a badge with his title and name: Deputy Rasa. “Everyone must take it.”
Gilbertus didn’t move. “All the more reason that it should be duly considered first, so that each person knows exactly what he or she is swearing to before uttering the words.”
“The words have been properly vetted by Leader Torondo himself,” Harian said.
“Good, that means Manford knows what he is demanding, but my students are trained to think and make their own decisions. I cannot throw out a key tenet of Mentat instruction. You have my permission to leave the text here, and we will thoroughly discuss the matter among ourselves. Return in two months. By then, we will have completed our analysis and discussion, and will give you our decision.”
Harian blinked, as if Gilbertus had just struck him in the face. Alys Carroll stepped up. “I have already taken the oath, Headmaster. It’s plain enough, and states the truth we all know. What is there to discuss?” Her fellow Butlerian students muttered in agreement, as did the entourage accompanying Deacon Harian.
Gilbertus glanced at the printed words – which he had already reviewed in his office – then waved the copy in front of the deacon. “With only a quick glance I can see that this wording is too broad and not thoroughly thought out. It states unequivocally that anyone who uses computers must die, but what if someone accidentally finds and uses old technology? The thinking machines had a penchant for imitating human behavior. What if a person doesn’t know he is interacting with a robot?”
“Any person of faith will instantly recognize the difference,” Harian said.
“According to your oath, any person who uses advanced technology receives the penalty of death, but Leader Torondo recently flew aboard a foldspace ship to Salusa Secundus. Does that mean he has condemned himself to death, by his own terms?”
“The ships of EsconTran have received a special dispensation,” said Deputy Rasa. This was an old argument, one with no clear solution.
“There may be exceptions to the use of advanced technology in the furtherance of spreading our message,” Harian explained. “But that exception does not permit the use of forbidden computers in navigation systems or other aspects of space travel. Anyone who uses computers must die.”
Gilbertus turned to his gathered students. “And yet, my trainees proudly call themselves ‘human computers.’ On Rossak, Emperor Salvador declared ten Sister Mentats to be ‘computers,’ and murdered them all – an action that was condemned afterward by many members of the Landsraad. Are you asserting that anyone who uses a Mentat is therefore using a computer and must be executed? That would be highly unusual, since Manford Torondo uses my services. Could he, on that charge alone, be subject to the execution decree?” He swept his hand out, indicating the students. “These young people have spent a great deal of effort learning to become human computers. How can I possibly have them swear such an oath, knowing they would be signing their own death warrants?”
He turned to Alys Carroll and her companions. “And what of these very students before you, who just swore your oath – do you now expect their immediate, irrational suicides? Or will you execute them yourself, since they are considered computers?” Gilbertus formed a polite smile. “As you can see, it is a slippery slope.”
Alys scowled at the Headmaster. Several trainees chuckled at the logical conundrum, which only made Deacon Harian and the oath-deputy angrier.
Gilbertus, though, remained calm. “My prior actions in cooperation with Leader Torondo prove my long-standing faithfulness and reliability. Did I not just challenge and defeat a thinking machine at the Imperial Court? My past record of cooperation is evidence enough of my loyalty.” He crossed his arms over his Headmaster gown. “Your insistence on this oath is offensive to me, as it should be to any person of intelligence.”
Anna Corrino drifted forward among the trainees with a distant smile and sparkling eyes. “Omnius used to force human captives to do things against their wishes. That’s just what Manford Torondo is doing now.”
Harian’s eyes bulged. “Thinking machines are demons! Leader Torondo protects us all from that trap – Headmaster, make her retract the statement!”
Gilbertus pushed the spectacles up on his nose. “You would have me command the Emperor’s sister? I doubt Salvador Corrino would be pleased with that.” He put a paternal hand on the young woman’s shoulder, pressing hard and hoping she understood that he didn’t want her to speak further. Erasmus could whisper in her ear as well, and he hoped the independent robot would warn her to stay silent.
Gilbertus maintained his cool smile. “You see, Deacon? Anna Corrino is a perfect example of my hesitation about forcing others to take your oath. She suffered grave mental damage and now studies among us in hopes of regaining the normal use of her mind. As her comment suggests, she is not capable of taking such a pledge.”
Harian narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “Leader Torondo decreed that all people on Lampadas must swear the new oath – including the Emperor’s sister.”
“Leader Torondo does not decree what members of the Imperial family must do,” Gilbertus said. “By implication, do you suspect the Emperor’s own sister of disloyalty?”
“I suspect that while she is vulnerable, her mind could be corrupted,” said Harian.
Deputy Rasa added, “She once attended the Sisterhood school on Rossak, which was disbanded after accusations that they used forbidden computers. Now it appears obvious you are providing a bad example for her, Headmaster Albans. The girl is at risk. Maybe we need to take Anna Corrino with us now for safekeeping.”
Gilbertus’s heart skipped a beat. “Anna was placed with me for protection, so she will remain here. I gave the Emperor my word.” This was a matter of honor, not of intellect, and he had a firm – even emotional—need to do the right thing. “My other students will not swear to this oath. It’s too vague, too draconian, and most of all, completely unnecessary.”
As a supreme irony, Gilbertus’s emotions had provided him with the key to an eminently logical conclusion, opening the gates to his own learning. He needed to make an ultimate counterpoint to Manford’s destructive emotionalism – opposing it with an act of supreme logic and human heroics that would be remembered and would ultimately bring down Manford. Gilbertus wanted to become a human ideal for others to admire, the opposite of the Butlerian leader’s terrible example.
A chill ran down his spine, as he remembered that the founder of the movement, Rayna Butler, had become a martyr. Perhaps Gilbertus would have to martyr himself in order to diminish her legendary image, push it out of the human psyche. Logic must trump hysteria. Humans should be creative and giving; they should achieve everything possible with their minds, using their mental powers for good works, not for mayhem and violence. They should build, not destroy.
His assistant Zendur and the gathered Mentat trainees watched the Headmaster’s defiance with varying degrees of fascination, support, and terror.
“I am Headmaster here, and I choose what is best for my students. Leader Torondo may discuss the matter with me in person when he returns from Salusa Secundus, but this school will retain its autonomy and its honor. Now, please leave.”
Harian, Deputy Rasa, and the small entourage looked as if they’d unexpectedly fallen off an easy path. “You just made a great deal of trouble for yourself, Headmaster Albans,” the deacon growled.
“And yet, my decision remains unchanged,” Gilbertus said. When he repeated his demand for them to leave, the group turned away, filled with obvious plans for retribution.
Gilbertus didn’t need to converse with Erasmus to know that he had, indeed, placed both of them in grave danger.
