Mentats of Dune

“Emperor Roderick Corrino, I come to congratulate you and swear my allegiance. I look forward to many great goals that the Imperial throne and Venport Holdings can achieve together.” Perhaps he smiled too much.

Roderick looked awkward on the throne. His expression showed no warmth. “Salvador may yet return, Directeur. My brother’s fate is still a mystery, and our investigation continues. I have Truthsayers to assist me in finding answers.”

Josef felt the chill in the air. Did Roderick suspect him of something? Cioba had told him about the skills of the Sisterhood’s Truthsayers. He had been so careful to leave no evidence, but if a Truthsayer were to interrogate him about Salvador’s disappearance, he doubted even Norma could help him.

He responded with carefully chosen words. “We all want the truth about our beloved Emperor, Sire.” He drew a breath. “But the Imperium is far larger than any one man, and your responsibilities now extend across hundreds of worlds, and countless trillions of people who are your loyal subjects — including myself. I am here to assist you in any way you deem fit.”

From her tank, Norma’s voice resonated, startling the audience in the chamber. “The spice is essential. Operations on Arrakis must continue unhindered. Our Navigators require melange.”

Josef was glad for the distraction. “Sire, we should discuss certain spice operations on Arrakis, Imperial interactions with Combined Mercantiles. Your brother asserted a claim to the entire industry, but the implementation of such an idea is complex and, frankly, impractical. It would needlessly disrupt spice commerce across the Imperium to the many who depend on it for health and vitality. We should proceed with caution so as not to cause any u

Months ago, Draigo Roget had estimated the number of people addicted to melange to be in the billions, and Josef had not waited quietly while Salvador made his clumsy claims. He had already armed most of his VenHold ships, and was ready to put battleships in place around Arrakis, should it come to a direct showdown against the Imperial Armed Forces. Roderick Corrino would have his spies, but VenHold had numerous hidden resources of its own. Josef would have more than enough force to defend both Arrakis and Kolhar, but that was not the outcome he desired. He hoped the new Emperor would become his partner, rather than a hindrance.

Roderick remained silent as he pondered, then finally spoke. “Directeur Venport, the Imperium needs to prosper, but there is much more we need to accomplish. My father and grandfather helped form this Imperium after the Battle of Corrin, and now I want to ensure that we lay a stable moral and commercial foundation for future generations.” His expression softened and he already looked weary of all the problems. “With the resources and cooperation of Venport Holdings, it is possible for us to achieve that prosperity together. I believe we have a mutual vision.”

“I concur, Sire. We should focus on building rather than destroying. We must choose hope over fear. To that end, I beg you to consider strenuous efforts to control Manford Torondo and his dangerous Butlerian fanatics. On Baridge, they destroyed one of my ships, its cargo, crew, and a priceless Navigator. Here in Zimia, they killed your poor daughter and countless others, burned parts of the city. Emperor Salvador may have let them run unchecked, but you—”

The sounds of turmoil among the audience — mutters of agreement and disagreement — grew loud.

Roderick looked gray and angry. He leaned forward. “I am well aware of that, Directeur Venport. I agree that something must be done.”

To hide his elation, Josef bowed his head and pretended to be meek. “If there is any way that Venport Holdings can help, Sire, we—”

A courier burst into the Audience Chamber, rushing toward the throne. Imperial guards braced themselves to stop the intruder, then touched earadios, listened to urgent a

Josef looked around, wondering what was happening. Norma Cenva drifted in her tank, and her face came closer to the transparent walls. Her words emerged from the speakerpatch, addressing Josef, although others nearby could hear. “The Imperial Barge just returned, battered, but intact. They were lost in foldspace, but the pilot was talented and desperate. He managed to bring the barge back home, and the surviving crew just broadcast an urgent message.”

The courier bounded up the steps to the throne, gasping, and spoke to Emperor Roderick.

Josef felt as if an executioner’s blade were swinging down toward him. The barge was intact? Then the witnesses were alive! Taref had failed to properly sabotage the emergency Holtzman engines.

The Imperial crew knew that Josef had betrayed and murdered Salvador, and the barge itself had barely escaped from the attacking VenHold ships around Arrakis. If they had somehow survived and returned, they would tell the new Emperor that Josef Venport had caused it all.

He turned to Norma in her tank, whispering, “We are ruined!”

Even before the courier finished his breathless message, Roderick Corrino rose from the throne, his face filled with sickened fury. “You, Directeur Venport! You assassinated my brother!”

He shouted for the guards, who raced forward, drawing their weapons. Josef was surrounded by them and by hundreds of audience members. They would tear him apart. He saw no way to escape.

“This is not a scenario I foresaw,” Norma Cenva said. “Once again, I must rescue you.”

Josef felt a tingle, and the Audience Chamber around him blurred and crackled. With a pop of displaced air, Norma folded space around them and whisked her own tank and Josef Venport away.

Chapter 82 (When studying history)

When studying history, spectacular failures can provide great inspiration to improve.

— ERASMUS, Latter-Day Laboratory Journals

When the spacefolder carrying Draigo Roget’s ship arrived at Denali, Erasmus finally let himself believe they were safe. Their circumstances had dramatically improved, and he was intrigued by all the new experiences that awaited him and A

But that was small consolation for the loss of Gilbertus, and very probably the end of the Mentat School; the teachings would either be ba

Erasmus felt deeply disturbed. He thought back to the day before, when Draigo’s scout ship had raced to the covert spacefolder in orbit over Lampadas. Even from there, the robot had continued to observe through his linked network of spy-eyes, but without his usual analytical detachment. He’d felt unsettled curiosity as he watched his dedicated ward kneel down amidst the jeering barbarians, in full view of the Mentat school. This sense of loss was not strictly quantifiable.

Erasmus had rescued the young man from slave pens on Corrin, mentoring Gilbertus and treating him exceptionally well. He had changed the slave boy’s life, and his own. Both had grown from the experience.

And it had all culminated in the horrific scene on Lampadas. Surrounded by rabid Butlerians, Gilbertus had bowed his head and closed his eyes. Interestingly, his expression had been filled with remarkable contentment, enviable peace. A smile had even curled his lips at the last moment. Erasmus did not understand.