Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Chapter 7 (A leader must use great care in selecting)
A leader must use great care in selecting his closest advisers. The wrong decision can be disastrous, even fatal.
– EMPEROR FAYKAN CORRINO I, on the execution of Finance Minister Ulberto
Prince Roderick Corrino had endless opportunities to seize the throne from his brother. Salvador’s failings were obvious, and Roderick had no doubt that he could be a better ruler of the Imperium.
Nevertheless, he refused to consider such thoughts, and discouraged others from making the offensive suggestion. His brother was the legitimate Emperor, and his family loyalty and strong moral fiber trumped any personal ambitions. Instead, Roderick devoted himself to helping Salvador become a better Emperor and guiding him through perilous waters. That was how Roderick could best serve the Imperium. The only way.
Unfortunately, Salvador did not always listen to his advice.
One of Roderick’s greatest concerns was that his brother refused to remove incompetent and dishonest officers from the Imperial Armed Forces; the Emperor filled the largely ceremonial positions according to the applicants’ noble connections, or the gifts they offered him, not their military skill. In the decades since the defeat of the thinking machines, the once-massive human military had grown sluggish and disjointed. Roderick disapproved of how the Landsraad families squabbled over their own importance, now that they no longer had a monolithic enemy to distract them from their personal ambitions.
A week ago, the Corrino brothers had been given a tour of sprawling Zimia Garrison outside the capital city. Commanding General Odmo Saxby organized and led the inspection, exuding a foolish overconfidence that anyone could see – except for Salvador, apparently.
The large garrison showed a lack of attention to detail, with poorly maintained buildings and equipment, and slovenly troops that marched in uneven formations. Saxby had a tendency to wave his arms when he became enthused, and he would fumble with his ornamental sword in front of assembled troops. His mannerisms would be laughable if he didn’t hold such an important position, and Roderick could only imagine how the soldiers must make fun of him in private.
For the sake of patronage and political influence, Salvador was allowing great harm to be done to the once-proud military forces. Morale in the ranks was obviously low, and Roderick had heard rumors that some officers were skimming money for personal use. But the Emperor did not see any of that as a concern.…
Roderick arranged some time each day to prepare the Emperor for the daily agenda. This morning, before the doors to the cavernous Audience Chamber were opened, Prince Roderick stood before his brother’s green-crystal throne. They had the chamber to themselves, but he could already hear the visitors gathering outside the closed main door. He would not rush his briefing, though.
Roderick stood almost at eye level with Salvador, who slumped on his elevated throne. The Emperor took a pinch of melange from a small jeweled box and slipped it into his mouth. Constantly fretting over imagined illnesses, he was convinced that frequent doses of spice would improve his health. Roderick warned that melange was also addictive, but his words fell on deaf ears. At least the spice sharpened his brother’s focus, which was beneficial.
Roderick spoke in an even tone. “This feud has taken its toll on commerce across the Imperium. Many worlds have taken Manford Torondo’s antitechnology pledge, and in retaliation no VenHold ships will service them.”
Salvador took another pinch of spice. “Will melange deliveries continue?”
“Arrakis is technically under Imperial control, and the Combined Mercantiles headquarters are in Arrakis City. While the desert people are fanatics in their own way, I don’t foresee that planet falling under Leader Torondo’s influence. Even though VenHold won’t deliver spice to any Butlerian world, shipments will come here without interruption.”
“That’s a relief, at least.” Salvador lounged back on the throne. “If the Butlerian planets suffer from a widespread embargo, maybe that will weaken the movement. I don’t like how important Manford thinks he is.”
Roderick didn’t want his brother to relax too much. “The Butlerians manage to receive supplies through rival, and inferior, spacefolding companies. Only Venport Holdings has a perfect safety record.”
“That’s what makes Josef Venport so arrogant. He thinks we have no other space-travel option, thanks to his Navigators!” Salvador snorted in anger.
“Our military does use VenHold ships for most of their bulk transportation, although we are also able to fly independently. Directeur Venport can be a difficult man, but I find him easier to deal with than Manford Torondo.”
Salvador fidgeted on his throne. “I’ve never liked space flight – too much risk in folding space. This is my palace. Others can come to visit me and take whatever risks they like on the journey. If they don’t agree with Venport’s politics, let them use EsconTran, or Nalgan Shipping, or Celestial Transport.”
“Celestial Transport has been gone for a year, absorbed by VenHold.” Roderick passed a document to his brother. “More troubling, though, is mounting evidence that the loss rate of the smaller companies is far worse than has been officially reported. VenHold’s rivals are concealing their high accident rates.”
Salvador skimmed the records. “So many reports, so many documents.” He glanced up, looking bored, as if he wanted to return to other diversions.
Roderick wouldn’t let him get distracted. He stepped closer to the throne so he could guide his brother through the numbers. “As you can see, the VenHold embargo has severely harmed trade across the Imperium, which impacts our tax and tariff revenues. VenHold is even bypassing worlds that claim to be neutral. Josef Venport and Manford Torondo each demand competing declarations of allegiance – no one is permitted to be neutral.”
“The rival companies should learn how to create Navigators,” Salvador said. “That would be good for competition.”
“But it is a closely held secret. Our covert advisers are always trying to glean information about how Navigators are mutated from humans, but VenHold has impeccable security and layers of protection we cannot penetrate.”
“Then bring in other advisers.”
Roderick sighed. “Salvador, you handpicked all the advisers. They’ll never argue with you on any matter of significance, or tell you what you don’t want to hear.”
The Emperor gave him a warm smile. “And you’re smarter than all of them, little brother.”
Roderick swallowed his pride. “Perhaps not smarter, but I am loyal. I’ll continue to do my best to help you grasp the complexity of the Imperium you rule.”
The Emperor chuckled. “And I am smart enough to delegate dealing with documents and treaties to you.”
Roderick sent a silent prayer of thanks that Salvador at least did that.
The Emperor’s eyes were bright and alert, now that the spice had begun to take effect; Roderick noted a tinge of blue there from the quantity he had been consuming. “If I could increase your pay, Roderick, I would do so. If I could promote you higher than you already are, I would do that, too. The whole Imperium knows how important you are to my throne. I admit freely that I could not remain in power without your dedicated, wise assistance.”
He leaned forward, shaking his head. “I’ve lost patience with the countless squabbles, agreements, and obligations – I can’t keep track of them all, and it’s not fair to heap that work on your shoulders. I need my own Mentat to help me remember things – many of the noble houses have one. I should have a Mentat, too.”
Roderick had made the same suggestion himself months ago, but Salvador must have forgotten. “A wise decision, Sire – I shall summon one immediately.”
Salvador looked to the still-closed doors and gave a weary wave of his hand. “I suppose we should take care of the business of the day. Let’s get it over with.”
* * *
THE NEXT THREE hours were a tedious parade of minor nobles with minor concerns. At Roderick’s instruction, Reverend Mother Dorotea stood on one side of the throne, using her innate skills to study each visitor for emotional nuances. She had demonstrated a remarkable talent at separating truth from falsehood, and even Salvador now acknowledged the wisdom of the decision to let Dorotea and a hundred handpicked orthodox Sisters take up residence in the palace. While they weren’t all Truthsayers, they were useful in a variety of ways.
The rotund Court Chamberlain announced a visitor from Péle, homeworld of the Empress Tabrina. Although Tabrina was Salvador’s wife, there was little warmth between them, and the Emperor’s antipathy extended to her family, House Péle, as well. Their wealth had helped him hold on to the throne during the early tumultuous years after the death of Emperor Jules Corrino, but he no longer needed them.
The stranger approaching the throne had an odd appearance. Blanton Davido was of average height, although his legs and arms seemed markedly shorter than they should have been; nevertheless, he moved with smooth grace, and bowed before the Emperor.
“In my capacity as mining executive, I supervise House Péle’s most important operations.” Davido produced an orange jewel from the pocket of his tunic. “When a miner brought us this beautiful gem, I knew it was suitable only for an Emperor. With all humility, allow me to present this to you.”
Since all visitors had been checked for weapons, Salvador permitted the man to place the gem on the dais at the foot of his throne. Davido then asked for the Emperor’s dispensation for House Péle to expand mining operations to an additional planetary system.
So, it is more than just a gift, Roderick thought.
As justification for the request, Davido summarized past production levels and provided figures for anticipated future revenues, which would be subject to Imperial taxes.
Dorotea leaned close to Roderick. “I discern a disturbing falsehood in this man, my Lord. He is underreporting Péle’s production levels in order to avoid significant taxation – and he is not alone in this scheme. Lord Péle must be his collaborator.”
Startled, Roderick looked at her. “That is a grave charge to make against the Empress’s father. Are you certain?”
“I am certain.”
“And does Empress Tabrina have knowledge of this?”
“I do not know, but a few questions could easily provide the answer.”
Roderick ordered the mining executive to step back from the throne. “Await the Emperor’s command.” Salvador seemed annoyed by the interruption, but listened while his brother whispered in his ear, explaining Dorotea’s suspicions. “Due to the sensitive nature of the allegation, it would be best to tell Davido his request will require further investigation before you make your decision.”
But the Emperor gently pushed his brother aside. “No, I’ll handle this right now.” He flushed with anger. “Blanton Davido, I am informed that House Péle has falsified production records in order to reduce Imperial taxes. You are part of the scheme.”
The mining executive’s eyes flashed with fear, which he tried to hide with indignation. “That is not true, Sire! I have no part in any fraud.”
“Then who does?”
Davido had been thrown off-balance, astonished that the information had come to light, but not sure how much the Emperor knew. The widespread knowledge of Salvador’s vigorous interrogators, a team from the special Scalpel branch of the Suk Medical School, gave the man further reason to be afraid.
Dorotea made no comment as she watched the mining executive squirm.
Finally, the Péle representative said, “Sire, there may have been some underreporting in a few shipments, but I immediately took steps to rectify any discrepancies I found. After a thorough internal investigation, we determined they were honest errors. Of course, we will correct any shortfall – with interest.”
“And penalties.” Salvador smiled grimly. “How convenient for House Péle that honest errors would result in lower taxes. What do you say, brother? Should we grant the request of such a sloppy businessman?”
For once, Roderick was impressed by the Emperor’s decisiveness. Before he could answer, Dorotea whispered in his ear again. “The fraud is much larger than Davido admits. See how he sweats before the throne, the twitch of eyelids, the dilation of pupils, the angle of his neck – all indicators.”
It was true; the man’s large forehead glistened with perspiration, and his dark eyes had gone glassy, as if he already imagined being questioned by one of the Scalpel practitioners.
Roderick said, “Before we agree to anything, we need to learn more about these reporting errors and see how widespread they are.”
Emperor Salvador slammed his fist down on the throne as he glared at Davido. “You will be taken into custody until the full truth is revealed.”
Terror consumed the man’s features. As guards took his arms, he looked imploringly at the Emperor, then swung his head back to the large orange jewel on the dais, obviously wishing he’d never come here.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT day, Grand Inquisitor Quemada, head of the Emperor’s Scalpel team, completed his work and dispatched a formal transcript of the proceedings along with a handwritten note. “Sire, I regret to inform you that the subject had a very low pain threshold. I had hoped to question him more extensively, but his heart failed. I offer my sincere apologies for this failure.”
Salvador was disappointed, but Roderick pointed out that even the cursory questioning had provided more than enough to damn House Péle. At midmorning, the two brothers met with Empress Tabrina.
She stood regally in the doorway of Salvador’s ornate office, her head held high and her dark, almond-shaped eyes flashing at her husband. “What is this indignity you committed against my family’s representative? You had no cause to arrest Mr. Davido – he didn’t have a chance to defend himself!”
“He had a chance to answer detailed questions,” Roderick said. “His conversation with Quemada was brief but fruitful.”
Tabrina’s eyes widened. “You’ve been torturing him? I demand to see him – now!”
Roderick looked away. “Unfortunately, his guilt was too heavy for his heart to bear, and he did not survive.”
The Empress was appalled by the news, but Salvador waved the printed transcript in the air. “Would you like to see what he says about your father?”
“I don’t wish to read lies about my family. Obviously, these charges were fabricated for some reason – and what is that reason, dear husband? So House Corrino can impound the assets of House Péle?”
Roderick interjected, trying to calm her. “With all due respect, Empress Tabrina, this is about honor. Our Emperor relies on the honesty of his subjects – especially the honesty of a family as highly placed as your own. Fraud committed against the Imperial throne is grave treason.”
Salvador studied the transcript, as if looking for something he had missed earlier. “Be glad that Quemada found no evidence of your personal involvement in the scheme, my dear. Taking you as my wife was a necessary business decision, so that House Péle’s wealth could help me hold on to my throne. But this fraud cannot go unpunished. I’ll require a significant portion of your family’s assets as an apology payment before I consider forgiving them.”
“You’ll need proof first!”
He gave her a smile that turned Roderick’s blood cold. “We have sufficient proof, but if you are not satisfied, then I shall summon each member of your family, one at a time, for my Scalpel interrogators to question.” He shrugged. “Or, they can just pay the penalty.”
Chapter 8 (While animals camouflage themselves)
While animals camouflage themselves for hunting or survival, the deceptions I have observed in human endeavors rise to an extreme level.
– ERASMUS, Latter-Day Laboratory Journals
Dorotea both admired and feared the Grand Inquisitor, and she did not like to admit that they had much in common. Each possessed an exceptional skill in separating truth from falsehood, “sorting the wheat from the chaff,” as Quemada liked to say. But their methods differed radically. The Reverend Mother discerned veracity through close observation, while the adept torturer employed the tactics of pain he had been taught in the Suk School’s Scalpel Academy.
Quemada stood near her now on the grass outside the palace, and his very presence seemed to suck warmth out of the air. The tall, black-haired man had a strange charisma, a predatory appeal. He watched Dorotea with a gaze as sharp as a hawk’s talons as she led her orthodox Sisters through a training session in Truthsaying. She wondered if Salvador had sent him to keep an eye on them.
By ordering the massacre on Rossak, the Emperor had tried to wipe out the Sisterhood school without regard to which women were loyal and which secretly supported the use of forbidden computers. He didn’t have the patience to sort wheat from chaff, but Dorotea had convinced him of her own usefulness. The survival of her followers – and the core of the Sisterhood itself – required that she not fail. Through their Truthsaying skill, Dorotea and her companions were beginning to prove their worth, but she had to be careful at all times.
And now the Grand Inquisitor was watching.
On some far-flung world, the defeated Mother Superior Raquella was trying to draw together her scattered Sisters, a sad, pathetic effort. Even the Emperor had lost interest in them.
Dorotea, though, had a hundred Sisters with her now, and her truthsense would help her select new candidates. When she found a protégée with the proper skills, she would supervise her training, then give her the opportunity to consume the Rossak drug when she was ready; if the candidate survived, she would become a Reverend Mother. Dorotea was building a new, strong Sisterhood, like a vibrant tree rising from the roots of an old stump.
First, though, she needed to secure the absolute trust of the Emperor.
For today’s training session, Dorotea had brought eight Sisters who were taught to use their internal skills of observation to discern truth from lies. Sister Esther-Cano led the women through the paces. As one of the last surviving pureblood Sorceresses born on Rossak, she had exceptional lie-detection skills.
Esther-Cano had searched the Imperial prisons and identified six of the most notorious liars on Salusa Secundus – embezzlers, frauds, scam artists. A team of guards had removed them from their confinement, dressed them in business attire or casual clothing, and mixed them into a group of ordinary citizen volunteers. All of them had been given instructions, while the cautious guards watched. The twelve subjects sat on chairs on the lawn, recounting their purported life stories. Some were telling the truth, and some were lying.
“I grew up in the slums of south Zimia, so I began life with a setback,” said a slender, middle-aged woman. Dorotea raised her eyebrows, sure that Emperor Salvador would never admit slums existed anywhere in the capital city. “Stealing was the only way I could survive. I took things from my parents, from my teachers, and from local merchants.” She paused, shuddered, and continued. “Only when I found the truth written in the Orange Catholic Bible did I understand that I needed to save other people, rather than take advantage of them.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she continued to relate her tale. “I shared the word, preached to anyone who would listen.”
When the woman finished recounting her story, Esther-Cano selected one of her students to comment. Sister Avemar was young and pretty, with dark curly hair and attentive brown eyes. “I don’t trust what she’s saying. Her story is fiction.” She ticked off telltale indicators: perspiration on the brow and lip, a slight trembling of the hands, a change in the tenor of the voice that indicated falsehood, posture, direction of gaze, even the selection of evasive words.
Dorotea smiled, for she had come to the same conclusion.
“Now close your eyes and look inward,” Esther-Cano said to Avemar, while the liar squirmed on her chair, forced to remain silent during the discussion. “Take a moment, and tell me more about this subject.”
Avemar meditated, breathing shallowly, and when she finally opened her eyes, they shone with a new brightness. “Everything this woman said was true, but it was also a lie – a lie by way of concealment. She did engage in many illegal activities as a young woman, she did use religion to turn her life around, she did take up the cause of preaching from the Orange Catholic Bible. But she used her fervor to advance her own cause. She took money from her faithful listeners under false pretenses.”
The woman on the chair flushed, squirmed, and finally nodded. Avemar pointed out, “The tears pouring down her cheeks are real.”
“Very good,” Esther-Cano said. “Concealment can be as great a lie as an overt falsehood.”
Next, an elderly man in another chair said in an accented voice, “My life history is not interesting at all. After serving in the armed forces of Emperor Jules, I attended the Zimia college to study accounting. After graduating, I worked for an export company on Ecaz for years, then took a similar position on Hagal. My wife and I accumulated a nest egg by honest means, then retired here on Salusa.”
Esther-Cano indicated for another man to tell his story, so the students had two to consider at the same time. The next speaker was a technician who maintained the Emperor’s lion-drawn royal carriages. He tried to elicit a chuckle as he recounted the time a male lion tried to mount a female lion in heat while both of them were in harness; they overturned the whole carriage with two footmen inside.
After Reverend Mothers critiqued the stories, the other test subjects told their tales until all twelve had spoken. Dorotea watched, easily drawing the correct conclusions. Every one of the subjects told falsehoods or exaggerated to some degree; it didn’t matter whether they were criminals or ordinary citizens. She was also pleased to see that the other Sisters were gradually learning to utilize their instincts and subconscious thoughts to ascertain information.
“It is all about observation,” Esther-Cano said to them. “Using the human senses available to you.”
Quemada was silent beside Dorotea. His handsome, even kindly features concealed his efficient cruelty – his own form of a lie. None of the Grand Inquisitor’s subjects would ever consider him a gentle person, no matter his appearance. When the twelve subjects finished their tales, Dorotea turned to him. “And what is your assessment?” She met his seemingly unthreatening gaze.
“I think your students need considerably more practice.”
“That is why they are called students.”
He gave a thin smile. “My methods are superior. The Suk School has seen to that.”
“Your methods are different, and forthright. I don’t deny their effectiveness, but ours are less obtrusive. And we do not kill subjects before they reveal everything they know. I was able to detect Blanton Davido’s deception the moment he presented himself to Emperor Salvador.”
Quemada remained skeptical. “Anyone can make accusations. I obtained a confession.”
“After I identified the crime.” She stared at him for a long moment. “There are different ways of arriving at the truth – where one method may fail, another might succeed. You and I are not in competition. We both serve the Imperium. As the Emperor succeeds, so do we.” She regarded the twelve subjects, thought of all the deception and lies that came into the Imperial court with each session. “In fact, Quemada, I may well increase your workload by acting as a screener, and sending more people your way.”
The Grand Inquisitor gave a small nod. “Emperor Salvador will be pleased to know that the lies will be exposed, by whatever method.”
