Mentats of Dune

Gilbertus paused to assess that revelation. “You’ve replicated my teaching methods for Josef Venport?”

“I train my Mentats for the future of humanity, but I’m not as skilled a teacher as you.” He sounded defensive. “Headmaster, we are engaged in a war of civilizations. As human computers, we can do what the thinking machines once did, but as humans we can’t fall into the same trap of hubris. You and I agree — we dare not let ourselves become too dependent on the technology that once enslaved us.” Draigo’s expression hardened. “Nor should we let ourselves fall into a pit of ignorance and destruction that harms everyone. In their own way, the Butlerians are as dangerous as the thinking machines were. They destroy human achievement and congratulate themselves while doing it.”

Gilbertus thought for a long moment. “I agree.”

Draigo’s dark eyes flashed. “Then why do you support them, sir? They are nothing more than a mob, and will continue to cause harm. I know your support for Manford Torondo has always been reluctant. If you were to publicly question the foundation of the Butlerian order, people would listen to you. You should denounce him.”

“Yes, I should, but I would not survive if I did.” He shook his head. “Manford is not interested in questions or debate, and dissent is punishable by death.”

“Then why stay here? Join us! If you and I fought side by side, we would be invincible — and could assure the advancement of human civilization. Manford’s narrow-minded lynch mob would fade away into the darkness of recorded history, where it belongs.”

Gilbertus quelled a smile at his former student’s vehemence. “But would they? I have run Mentat projections, extrapolated from knowledge of the present as well as all the nuances of history. I don’t believe victory would be as simple as you suggest.”

“I didn’t say it would be simple, Headmaster. I said that you and I are strong enough and intelligent enough to win any upcoming battles.”

Gilbertus remembered how much he had relied upon Draigo when he became a teaching assistant. He was proud of the young man’s accomplishments. He missed their dialogues.…

He knew Erasmus must be eavesdropping on the conversation. Some time ago, the Headmaster had considered revealing the robot’s memory core to Draigo. That secret was a burden he had borne alone for far too long now. If anything ever happened to him, Erasmus would be completely unprotected, vulnerable. He didn’t dare let the independent robot be lost.

“You should at least listen to Directeur Venport,” the former student said. “He is a brilliant man, a visionary who has made truly great advancements for humankind through technology and commerce.”

Gilbertus was impressed. “Your point is indisputable, Draigo. Even so, I must decline.” He considered giving the Erasmus core to Draigo to take back to Kolhar. For safekeeping. Directeur Venport would certainly protect it — but he couldn’t bear to part with his close friend and mentor, not yet. And Draigo … he wasn’t sure if he should trust him completely.

Draigo shook his head in dismay. “You make me sad, Headmaster. I hoped I could reason with you, make you realize that you’re harming our future by cooperating with the Butlerians — it doesn’t matter whether your cooperation is tacit or overt.”

In response, Gilbertus made a lackluster argument. “But by staying here and working within the Butlerian system, by having the ear of Manford Torondo, I can make subtle but important changes from within.”

Draigo scowled. “You tell yourself that, but has it worked so far, or are you just rationalizing?” The student turned and slipped out of the Headmaster’s office before Gilbertus could reply. But both of them knew what the answer was.

Chapter 33 (There is no such thing as perfect security)

There is no such thing as perfect security. Any protection can be defeated.

— teaching of the Ginaz School for Swordmasters

Prince Roderick went on a brief hunting trip in the woods of the northern continent; he wanted time away from the city, the politics, and the memory of the rampage festival. Haditha had taken the other children to stay with her sister in a distant city, needing to find her own peace. Back in their quarters, Nantha’s belongings remained where they had always been, because Haditha couldn’t bear to pack them away, nor would she allow anyone else to do it.

The scar of their lost daughter would always be with them, but Roderick needed to find a way to function. Though he would never admit it aloud, he knew the Imperium depended on him. Salvador couldn’t rule by himself.

For his few days of escape out in the quiet forest, Roderick was accompanied by three friends, one of whom owned a small lodge. The simple accommodations were rugged enough that even a Butlerian would have found nothing to object to. After the mayhem in the streets, Roderick found the lodge relaxing. He cleared his mind and tried to think of nothing other than hunting Salusan pheasants and roasting them over a fire.

But he couldn’t forget the terrible loss of Nantha for long, or his duties to Salvador, and all too soon he had to return to the Imperial Palace. Despite the brief respite, his heart wasn’t healed.

Arriving back in Zimia, he encountered an immediate reminder of why he had left. In the large central square outside the Hall of Parliament, Grand Inquisitor Quemada and his Scalpel team were putting on a public demonstration while Imperial soldiers stood guard over the proceedings. The Emperor had decided that showing off the skills of his interrogators would be an excellent deterrent to crime. Roderick did not approve, considering Dorotea’s subtle Truthsayer skills much more effective … but his brother insisted on the show.

A boisterous crowd had gathered to watch, and Roderick felt a knot form in his stomach. The imposing, black-haired Quemada was already on his fourth victim.

After what had happened to poor Nantha, Roderick would have liked to see Manford Torondo undergo such an ordeal. All the violence he had sparked, all those i

As a beefy woman in an Imperial army uniform led him toward the Emperor’s observation suite, she explained what was going on, assuming Roderick would want to know. “Four petty criminals so far, my Lord. The Grand Inquisitor’s team has subjected them to various forms of ‘coaxing.’ Ancient methods, but they are all quite effective. Entertaining, too.”

Glancing through a wide window, Roderick saw a portable strappado out in the plaza, along with a spiked chair, compression helmets, and a medieval rack. Far from being modern and streamlined, each item was a functional museum piece from distant history with a brutish design. It was to create an intimidating effect, Roderick knew. After intensive training at the Suk Medical School, the Scalpel practitioners could wring agony from their captives using nothing more than a pebble or a stylus.

Three men lay on the stone pavement off to one side, bleeding and trembling, having been released from the interrogation machinery after confessing to the inquisitor’s satisfaction. A fourth man was having his fingers and toes crushed one at a time, which made him scream horrendously; so far, though, he had not admitted anything.

Prince Roderick grimaced, not certain what he found more offensive — the barbaric display or the cheering of the crowd. He hurried up to the Emperor’s suite, hoping to talk sense into Salvador, to warn him against playing into the barbaric madness embraced by the Butlerians. Was his brother creating a culture in which vicious destruction became ordinary and expected?

Roderick thought that Directeur Josef Venport was fighting on the correct side of the divide — reason versus violence. Salvador would have to be strong to stand up to the swelling antitechnology movement, but he was deathly afraid of the Butlerians. Roderick would discuss the matter with him in private and advise the best course of action, seeking to bolster his courage and strengthen his resolve.