Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 36 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 76 (The tangible expression of the human)
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 she 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.
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 exploded 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 and kill him.”
“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?”
Gilbertus found it amusing. “And my mind is sharp. What more do I need to prepare?”
Flustered, Anari shook her head. “You were raised among the demon machines. They made you strange.”
She left the prisoner tent, and Gilbertus returned to his meditation. Curiously, he found that he was able to focus better than he ever had in his life, and he understood why. He needed to cram all of his important thoughts into very little time.
* * *
AFTER TRYING TO rescue Headmaster Albans, Draigo spent most of the darkness eluding the Butlerian hunters. They chased after noises in the swamps – but he hardly made any sound at all. The hunting parties shouted back and forth, so that he knew exactly where they were. Overanxious for revenge, they blundered along, and the Mentat easily eluded them.
Still, he felt an emptiness in his chest. This wasn’t sport. The Headmaster’s life was on the line … and he had refused to be saved! If what Gilbertus said was true – that the Erasmus memory core still existed, and Anna Corrino needed to be rescued along with it – Directeur Venport would be very interested in both. Draigo had come to Lampadas in the hope of finding powerful allies against the barbarians. Even more important, he had promised his friend and mentor, Headmaster Albans, that he would keep Anna Corrino and the Erasmus core safe.
It was nearly dawn by the time he circled back toward the besieged school complex. He made his way through the sangrove swamps, threading the safe path through the hazards.
He was astonished when, out of the underbrush, Anna Corrino approached him, as if she expected to find him there. “You are Draigo Roget.” She seemed to be reciting a file. “You trained for five years at the Mentat School, and scored higher than any other Mentat candidate. You graduated and were released. You are allied with Venport Holdings. No one at the school knew the identity of your benefactor until you were later encountered at the Thonaris shipyards.”
After listening to the young woman rattle off the résumé of his life, Draigo said, “I came here to rescue the Headmaster, but he refused to accompany me. Instead, he made me promise to find you and … a thinking machine.”
Anna laughed. “Erasmus and Headmaster Albans discussed letting you in on the secret some time ago.” She paused as if listening to a voice only she could hear, then nodded to herself. “Erasmus says he wishes they had done it sooner. You would have been a great help to us.”
“My ship can take you far from Lampadas, where you will be safe.”
“Erasmus, too?” She self-consciously touched a bulge in her blouse. “Don’t take us to Salusa Secundus, though. Salvador will destroy Erasmus because he does whatever the Butlerians tell him to.”
“I have no intention of letting that robot memory core come to harm, and I won’t let you become a hostage to the Butlerians either,” Draigo said. “You should no longer be a pawn, Anna Corrino. First you went to the Sisterhood, then to the Mentat School, and now the Butlerians want you. But Directeur Venport has an isolated place to keep you where you’ll be completely safe.”
“No one can know,” Anna said. “Not about me, or about Erasmus.”
“No one will know. I promised Headmaster Albans.”
As dawn brightened the sky, Draigo led her and her precious package out of the swamps, away from the Mentat School, to his hidden ship.
* * *
THE SUNSHINE FELT bright and warm on Gilbertus’s face as the guards led him out of the prisoner tent. Lampadas had a yellow-white sun, and even though he had lived here for decades, the daylight still felt wrong to him. He’d been born under the bloated crimson sun of Corrin, a red giant whose light was so harsh that Erasmus had made him wear eye protection. Other slaves who worked outdoors went blind before they grew old … but in Erasmus’s pens few human captives ever grew old.
Manford Torondo did Gilbertus a kindness by not binding his hands, and Anari Idaho did not manhandle him as he emerged into the central camp. Gilbertus showed no fear. He knew his students would be watching from the observation platforms, and he only hoped that the spectacle of his execution would provide enough of a distraction that Draigo could get Anna Corrino and Erasmus safely away.
He had no idea what sort of plan Draigo might develop. That was out of his hands. Erasmus would also understand the danger they faced. But Anna Corrino … she was a wild card. Even so, Gilbertus had faith in all three of them.
Deacon Harian and Sister Woodra stood at the edge of a cleared area in full view of the walled school complex. Gilbertus looked up, although the sun dazzled his eyes. He saw figures up on the school walls and observation decks.
The Butlerians had brought out a special chair from the headquarters tent, and Manford Torondo sat upon it, looking like a king on a little throne.
Gilbertus halted before the Butlerian leader, who had been propped up so that their eyes were at the same level. Manford said, “Even though I am saddened by your behavior and I feel betrayed by you, Gilbertus Albans, I still see the Headmaster of this school and the Mentat who helped me accomplish good things for the Butlerian cause.”
Gilbertus raised his chin. “And I deeply regret having done any of them. I erred in trying to protect myself rather than standing up for my principles. I should have openly defied you long ago. You are wrong.”
Hearing this, the Butlerians went into a barely suppressed fury. Gilbertus had promised himself he would make a statement, but he also had to be careful, because this mob could cause inconceivable damage to the school, not just to him. “You’ll have me as your spectacle, but I remind you of your oath. You will save my school.”
“I will save your school,” Manford said. “I’ll save the Mentats from themselves. They will continue their training, but they’ll be reeducated. Mentats need to understand that their entire purpose is to supersede computers, not emulate them.”
Gilbertus remained stony, realizing that was the best promise he would get. He knew Manford would alter the terms however he wished, and would make whatever justifications he needed.
He was not afraid of Manford’s attempts at indoctrination, since he had trained his students how to think, rather than to blindly follow any doctrine. Gilbertus had given his cherished students the method, and their minds were tools that the Butlerians could not take away, short of killing them. The next Mentats would have to be careful and find ways to continue the great school, or perhaps Draigo might set up another Mentat learning academy someplace safe.
Gilbertus felt confident that Mentats would continue in some form or another, no matter what happened to him. And if the Mentats survived, then this was a worthwhile bargain.
Anari stood there, her sword gleaming in the bright dawn. Deacon Harian glared at him with loathing, blaming Gilbertus for the machines using human shields at the Bridge of Hrethgir, and for the generations of suffering before that. The accusations were ludicrous, and Gilbertus didn’t bother to look at him.
Manford said, “You committed horrific crimes against your own race, Gilbertus Albans. If you recant and beg for forgiveness with all your heart and soul, God may forgive you. But I can make no promises, and you will die today.”
“I wouldn’t want you making me promises on God’s behalf. He may not feel obliged to honor them.”
Harian looked even more offended than before, but Manford merely nodded. “That is your choice, Headmaster. God will do with you as He wishes.”
Gilbertus gave a last smile. “I look forward to debating him.”
Without being asked, he turned to face Anari Idaho and sank to his knees. He heard distant cries of dismay from the observation platforms and growls of outrage from the Butlerians, but it all retreated to a buzz in his mind.
“I know you’re a good Swordmaster and your blade is sharp,” he said.
Anari’s voice cut crisply through the air. “I will do my job.”
He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and withdrew into his Memory Vault, where he had many decades of life to revisit. He knew he had very little time, and memories moved at their own speed.
Gilbertus had spent the first portion of his life on Corrin, with all the care and teaching Erasmus had given him, yet now in memory he returned to his happy times on Lectaire, the seven years when he’d been a normal human being leading a quiet life, in good company. He’d made his first human friends there, including Jewelia, the first person he’d ever loved, an experience he held within him as a long-term treasure, even though it had not turned out as he hoped. Gilbertus also relived the pain of his broken heart, when she had chosen someone else, instead of him.
He remembered Jewelia’s sweet, caring face, her carefree laugh, the good times they spent together. By now she would be old and quite possibly dead, but in his Memory Vault she remained as young and vibrant as the last time he saw her.
He spent that bright moment with her now, and didn’t feel the pain when the sharp sword made its deadly arc.
Chapter 77 (Sand flows through my veins)
Sand flows through my veins, dust fills my lungs, and the taste of spice lingers in my mouth. The desert is inside me and cannot be washed away.
– desert hymn
He discarded everything from offworld before returning to the desert. He felt like a prodigal son with no family to receive him. Taref had no place to go, not on Arrakis, not anywhere.
Thanks to the largesse of Directeur Venport, he could have bought himself the finest home in Arrakis City and a tanker of water to fill his household cistern. He could have traveled to Caladan, as he’d once fantasized … but that dream had crumbled into ashes, and he wondered why it had ever seemed important.
In his galactic journeys he had felt rain and sleet on his skin, and although those were wondrous experiences, Taref could not measure them against watching a yellow sunrise spill across the dunes, or the smell of raw melange from a fresh spice blow so pungent that it made him want to pull out his nose-plugs and inhale the desert’s bounty deep into his lungs.
Taref didn’t want to return to his sietch, though, at least not in defeat. He had ideas but didn’t know what to do with them. The desert would help him find himself.
He considered his modified distilling suit, the one VenHold had given him with sophisticated “improvements.” It was comfortable and functioned efficiently, but it smelled wrong, felt wrong. He stripped off the suit, intending to dispose of it, but realized he had only offworlder clothes with him, which would not let him survive in the desert. Instead, he sold the suit to a blue-eyed vendor, who immediately saw its value. Taref accepted the man’s first offer, caring only that he had enough money to trade for an old but serviceable distilling suit. He should have thought of that before throwing away the money that Venport gave him, scattering coins in the street and watching scavengers rush in to retrieve them.
He carefully looked over the offered distilling suit before accepting it from the vendor. No true Freeman would ever surrender a good stillsuit, so this one must have come from the body of a dead man. Taref studied the fittings and seams and discovered where a knife puncture to the kidney area had been cleaned and repaired. Such things happened all the time. No desert dweller would let a suit go to waste, but would fix and reuse it. Taref donned the garment, fitted it to his body, and pronounced it acceptable. Then he left the vendor’s shop and discarded his offworld clothes. They were worthless to him.
Though Directeur Venport had covered up the assassination of Emperor Salvador Corrino, Taref felt the stain of his own actions on his conscience. The Imperial Barge had escaped – but it would likely be lost, since he had sabotaged its navigation systems. He remembered, though, that he had not taken the time to finish his work, upset by Manford’s ghost. Still, what he had done should be more than enough to make certain the barge was never seen again.
He learned that Directeur Venport had purged the records of the Arrakis City spaceport and the orbital tracking systems. Everyone back on Salusa Secundus would be mystified when the opulent Imperial Barge vanished en route – another tragic loss, like so many other ships that had been lost recently, due to the dangers of galactic travel.…
Taref also wanted to vanish. The desert would enfold and caress him, in spite of its dangers, which were at least familiar to him. Maybe he would die, and maybe he would be saved, but he needed to find out one way or the other.
He left the city behind, along with its ways that were nearly as alien to him as those of Venport Holdings. Taref had his stillsuit, a literjon of water, spice, and food. A man of the desert required nothing more.
As a dreamer, he’d once led a difficult life in the sietch, estranged from his father and brothers and from many of the other Freemen. They only wanted to keep doing things as they’d done them for centuries, never daring to extend their experiences beyond a parochial comfort zone.
Yes, Taref had seen things far away from that life, and learned from his experiences. He had dreamed, but had come to realize he’d been dreaming of the wrong things. Now it was time for a change. Again.
Alone, he wandered into the furnace-hot, shimmering wasteland.
