Mentats of Dune

Chapter 69 (Some of us carry a portion of our)

Some of us carry a portion of our past hidden inside us like a small time bomb, ticking, ticking away, waiting to explode.

— GILBERTUS ALBANS, private journals (not included in Mentat School Archives)

In the siege camp outside the Mentat School, Manford Torondo’s headquarters tent was sensibly protected from the elements. Its raised floor kept it dry on the soggy ground, and the fabric walls coated with water-repellent film blocked out rain, wind, sun, and persistent insects.

The Butlerian leader asked for no special amenities — only a camp desk to do his work and cushions to sleep on — but Anari insisted on making him comfortable, wanting the tent to be more of a home than a battle headquarters. Whatever his Swordmaster didn’t provide, his followers brought for him: blankets, rugs, pillows, and lovingly prepared camp food that was as good as his meals back at home. He didn’t need the pampering, but gratefully accepted the gifts and love that his followers presented. His graciousness made them love him even more.

All that mattered to him at the moment was that his tent was a good place to parley with the intractable Headmaster of the Mentat School.

When Gilbertus Albans emerged alone from his towering school walls, he looked proud and not at all disheveled. Manford gave Deacon Harian specific orders that the Headmaster was not to be harmed or harassed in any way. “I gave him my word in front of my followers, and I won’t have it broken.”

Harian looked angry — as he often did — but he assented with a clipped nod. From observation platforms on the defensive walls, curious and intimidated Mentat students watched Gilbertus emerge from the gates and walk into the unfolding crowd of antitechnology supporters.

From the murmuring resentment in the air, Manford could tell that his own followers had already made up their minds that the Mentat Headmaster had betrayed them, that he was teaching his students heretical, forbidden techniques. His people wanted to fire artillery projectiles that would shatter and sink the school buildings in order to prove their implacable faith and demonstrate the futility of opposing the Truth. The Butlerians had shown that iron resolve at Dove’s Haven, in Zimia, and on Baridge. But in those places, only the guilty had suffered; this time, the entire Mentat School had defied him. Given the simmering, mounting rage, Manford wasn’t sure if he could control his own followers. But he had given his word.

As Harian pushed aside the tent flap and led the Headmaster inside, Gilbertus stepped past the deacon, paying him little heed. Harian continued to stare at the Headmaster as if he’d caught him doing something. Even Manford didn’t know why the bald deacon showed such hostility toward the calm and studious man. But Manford intended to put Gibertus Albans in his place, in his own way.

Manford didn’t offer any refreshment; this was no social visit. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Headmaster.”

Gilbertus gave a polite bow. “And your new oath has caused me and my students no small amount of consternation. It is ill-advised and unconscionable.”

Glowering, Anari Idaho placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, but Manford gestured for her to desist. The air around them was brittle with tension. Sister Woodra stood inside the command tent at Manford’s request, watching the Headmaster’s every gesture and expression, analyzing the tone of his voice.

Gilbertus didn’t acknowledge anyone other than the Butlerian leader. “If you had consulted me beforehand, Leader Torondo, I could have explained our concerns before this became a crisis. If your lackeys”—now he nodded toward Harian—“had listened to reason, then the matter need not have escalated.”

Manford spoke over a muttering of discontent from his aides. “And what do you find so objectionable about an expression of faith, Headmaster? Why will you not reaffirm your stance against thinking machines? Surely, you must see that your refusal raises suspicions. How can I be expected to tolerate it?”

Gilbertus remained standing. “I object to the new oath both on principle and because of its wording. I prepared a list of six hundred thirty-seven specific flaws, contradictions, and ambiguities.” He frowned at Harian. “Your deacon confiscated the document I carried with me out of the school, but I can recite the flaws from memory, if you wish.”

Even though he was not invited to do so, the Headmaster began to rattle off details. Manford was neither interested nor impressed. What sort of man was this Gilbertus Albans? He was most perplexing and irritating — but also, in a strange way, admirable. The Headmaster managed to list more than twenty specifics before Manford silenced him.

Gilbertus did not seem upset at being cut off, but said, “It’s not possible to debate the merits of an issue if one side stubbornly refuses to listen.”

“If the opposing side has no merits, one doesn’t need to listen,” Manford countered.

“Then why am I here?”

Manford glanced at the avid expressions of Deacon Harian and Anari Idaho. Sister Woodra looked calculating, her eyes bird-bright and attentive. He dismissed them all, telling Anari to stand guard outside his tent while he and the Headmaster discussed important matters.

After Manford shooed them away, Gilbertus took a seat across the camp table. The Butlerian leader hardened his expression. “You know I ca

“This matter could have been dealt with quietly. I am not the one who spread the news around Lampadas and sent a force against the school.” Gilbertus looked maddeningly calm. “Your oath was u

With a deep sigh, Manford said, “Perhaps you’re right, but make one of your Mentat projections now. You know what has to happen next: Your students must all surrender and promise to follow the Butlerian path. They must take the new oath, because if I make an exception in your case, others will demand the same. I can’t have that.”

“You also need Mentats, Leader Torondo. We provide a valuable alternative to thinking machines, and we show the Imperium that society doesn’t need computers anymore. You can’t destroy our example.” The Headmaster paused, and added, “Maybe I could rewrite the oath for you, clarify the terms and add definitions, caveats—”

“No! One exception leads to another and another. You don’t understand my followers — they are not deep thinkers who understand nuances. They must have black-and-white choices. Your tampering would only open up room for doubt.”

“Then send my school away from Lampadas as a punishment. Exile us. All my trainees will go elsewhere.”

Manford shook his head. “We could never allow you to leave.” Especially not with A