Mentats of Dune

In the meantime, Ptolemy’s own modified walker had been repaired, the life-support systems checked, and the enclosed full-body cab reinforced against leakages or malfunctions. He rode inside, sheltered and safe. Though he still felt uneasy about how close he’d come to death because of a simple mechanical failure, he didn’t want to miss the experience.

Ptolemy accompanied Noffe across the rough Denali terrain. Because he had practiced frequently in his manual-drive walker, Ptolemy was more comfortable moving the artificial legs, but Noffe quickly familiarized himself with the systems. Thoughtrodes linked his mind to the walker mechanisms, and he soon adjusted to a new rhythm as he moved across the ground.

“With my sensor eyes, I can see all the way to the horizon — even through this mist,” Noffe transmitted. He bounded forward, using sharp claws to scuttle up a rock face that was dappled with alien lichen. His simulated voice exuded pure joy. “I can switch to different portions of the spectrum, find zones of transparency, and I can see so much more than I used to! And my hearing — with a slight adjustment I could hear a pebble fall kilometers away. In fact, I think I hear…” Swiveling his optic turret to face the west, he added, “Somewhere beyond those hills — ah, yes, it is the wind whistling through rocks.”

Ptolemy worked the controls of his primitive walker, clomping along with a rocking gait, but he soon fell behind. “This is like dancing, my friend!” Noffe said. “I’m so limber now. I could never run this fast or jump this high before.”

Ptolemy switched off the transmitter inside his life-support chamber when another coughing fit washed over him. He didn’t want Noffe to hear him over the intercom. He had so many things to finish, so many ideas to pursue, so much to accomplish for Directeur Venport.

“Freedom, strength, and immortality,” Noffe crowed. “We’d better keep this procedure a secret, or the entire human race will clamor to become cymeks.”

New Titans with Navigator brains marched over the nearby terrain, performing exercises with their superior machine bodies. They were almost ready for battle. Ptolemy badly wanted to participate in the upcoming fight, but he had always been too fearful and queasy for personal combat. He remembered how shocked and impotent he had been when Anari Idaho used her sword to butcher the new bioengineered legs he had given Manford Torondo as a gift, and how he’d been too weak to stop the burning of Dr. Elchan.

With a Titan body of his own, Ptolemy could fight the barbarians, and he could still think at a very high level, could still perform advanced research. He would no longer be plagued by a maddening cough and chronic pain. He would no longer be weak in any sense of the word.

When he activated the transmitter again, Ptolemy weighed his words, then said, “You’ve convinced me. I have no reservations — I know now that it’s possible.”

“You’ll join me?” Noffe sounded delighted through the speakerpatch. His voice was a reasonable imitation of the administrator’s original voice.

Ptolemy swung his walker around and began the march back toward the glowing domes, working the legs in perfect sequence. At the research facility, the framework of a new landing chamber was still under construction after the explosion that had nearly killed Noffe. Unhindered by the poisonous atmosphere, a team of cymeks performed the work, making significant progress. They would have the dome rebuilt within days, and space transportation would resume as before. Then the Suk doctors would return to Kolhar.

Ptolemy had to act soon.

“I’m tired of being insignificant,” he said. “I have lost too much already due to the frailty of human bodies and the brevity of human lives. I want to join you, Noffe — I want to take part in the upcoming fight … and I want to be alive afterward, so that I know how it all ends.”

A strange sound came back over the comm speaker, and Ptolemy knew that Noffe was learning how to laugh with his thoughts. “We’ll be there together.”

Ptolemy increased his pace until they reached the airlock of the remaining access dome. Noffe chose to stay outside, saying that he wished to continue his explorations. “I can map portions of Denali that my human eyes have never seen, even though I’ve been administrator here for years.”

Using the manual controls, Ptolemy lumbered his immense mechanical body through the access door and sealed the dome behind him. After the air had been exchanged, he stepped out of the life-support cab and fought down another racking spasm of coughs. He had no second thoughts, no doubts, only determination.

He marched into the infirmary, where Suk doctors were tending to a technician who had a minor chemical burn. They looked very bored. Ptolemy presented himself and said, “Now that you have practiced, now that you are experts, there is another surgery I need you to perform.”

The doctors didn’t understand what he was asking at first, until he crossed his arms over his small chest. “You’ll need to become proficient at preparing new cymeks from human volunteers. This will be only one of many such surgeries.”

Chapter 72 (I now understand regret)

I now understand regret, loss, and sadness. These are all concepts—emotions—that previously eluded me, especially the emotion of love. Now I can fit them into a workable mental framework. For my progress in this, I owe a great deal to Gilbertus Albans.

— ERASMUS, Latter-Day Laboratory Journals

The robot reviewed the entirety of his existence, fast-forwarding down the centuries of the Synchronized Empire, how he had become unique among thinking machines, a true counterpoint to the overconfident Omnius. Erasmus had never stopped trying to understand … everything. He wanted to know the entire universe, and had a specific interest in humanity, in what it meant to be a fully conscious, fully functioning Homo sapiens.

But that was not a simple problem, and there wasn’t one clear solution. The complexity and volatility of humans unsettled him.

He had seen the extremities of human emotions, including irrational and self-destructive behavior, such as when Serena Butler had reacted so strongly to the simple death of her child; and those emotions also caused extremities of overconfidence and refusal to concede logical defeat — the humans had kept fighting the Jihad long after any rational being would have seen the futility. And yet they had won.

Erasmus realized that the study of their species would be an unending quest, and their quirks would require mille

Now, with Butlerians surrounding the Mentat School and his devoted ward their prisoner, Erasmus was discouraged to think that his noble and lofty quest might end here in such an ignominious way. He had become fascinated with A

Ever since founding the Mentat School, Gilbertus had been treading lightly around antitechnology sensibilities, careful to provoke no retaliation from the Butlerians. He bowed to them, compromised with them for too long, implicitly endorsing their fanaticism by his silence. Now he had brought the current situation on himself because of his stubborn sense of honor and personal belief system.

Erasmus still struggled to understand.

Meanwhile, behind the protective walls, the Mentat students continued to keep watch. They evaluated the school’s security measures, both from the lake side and the marshes and sangrove swamps; despite its defenses, the facility could not outlast the large Butlerian force. The faculty, students, and support staff had placed their confidence in the Headmaster’s ability to negotiate with, or at least outthink, Manford Torondo. Erasmus monitored the siege through his remote spy-eyes, but could find no escape either.