Mentats of Dune

Even at the isolated Mentat School, Gilbertus Albans learned of the harsh oath that Manford now required all individuals on Lampadas to swear. “The oath collectors are on the other side of the continent,” he grumbled in his office, knowing Erasmus was listening. “But they will be here soon enough.”

“I do not doubt it,” the robot replied. “The actions of the Butlerians are both predictable and irrational. I continue to study and analyze them, even though A

“Too close,” Gilbertus said. “She has started to mutter and make comments to you where other students can hear. Alys Carroll watches her intensely, suspecting she is possessed by a demon.”

Erasmus chuckled, but the Headmaster found no humor in the situation. He was afraid of what A

“Manford’s deputies will demand that every trainee at my school take the oath.” Gilbertus had a copy of it in front of him, and he grew increasingly disturbed as he read it. He wondered if Manford had written the phrasing himself. “This pledge is even more bombastic and paranoid than the usual Butlerian vehemence. Condemnation of any form of advanced technology — although they don’t define exactly what that might be.”

Erasmus said, “I expect the definition will change according to Manford Torondo’s convenience.”

Before the latest flurry of activity, the Imperial Committee of Orthodoxy had already been making revisions to the old lists of ba

He regarded the printed notice with contempt, tossed it aside. “I won’t encourage my Mentats to swear allegiance to this. They’re not blind sycophants who agree without thinking.”

“You are asking for trouble from the Butlerians,” the robot said. “Why don’t you simply do as humans do — lie? Repeat the oath when asked, even if you don’t believe it. That will take care of the matter, and they will leave us alone. You must not end up like Horus Rakka, murdered because of your past. If anyone finds out who you were on Corrin, we will both be in terrible danger.”

In his recent nocturnal visit, Draigo Roget had made a great impact on Gilbertus, causing him to doubt the choices and compromises he had accepted. “As the founder of the Mentat order, as the Headmaster of this great school, I teach students to use logic to arrive at the truth. It is something to strive toward, not to muddy, and certainly not to run away from. I intend to make a stand against this oath.”

“Don’t be silly. Rise above your moral objections for the greater good.”

Gilbertus shook his head. “It’s more than that. Even if I could be convinced to set aside my moral objections for a larger purpose — such as my own survival and the survival of this school — the Butlerians could bring a Truthsayer with them. I ca

Ever since Draigo had confronted Gilbertus about his alliance with the Butlerians, he had questioned his implicit acceptance of antitechnology fanaticism. The Headmaster had cooperated with Manford because he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to the Mentat School, but he’d been a willing participant in too many questionable Butlerian activities.

Draigo had done what an excellent student should do — challenge the educator and make him think.

Gilbertus Albans had lived a long life full of accomplishment. He had worked hard to maintain a balance, to bridge the gap between humans and thinking machines. After nearly two centuries of life, how much would he give up to ensure his personal survival? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his legacy, instead of prolonging his life at any cost?

The answer seemed clear to him, no matter the dangers involved.

Manford Torondo was exuberantly leading human civilization toward a new dark age, and Gilbertus had paid lip service to those beliefs to keep himself out of danger. But through his inaction, he only enabled the fanatics in their destruction. If he mouthed the words of this new oath without challenge, he would be condoning continued extremism, even promoting it.

“You have been silent for a long time,” Erasmus said. “That suggests you are troubled.”

“I am troubled, Father, and I have a big decision to make, the most important one I’ve ever made.”

DEACON HARIAN’S PARTY arrived days later than Gilbertus expected them. Since the Butlerians insisted on an overland journey rather than taking a swift aircraft, their travel was slow and uncertain, especially when they reached the treacherous ground near the school. The public road through the swamp was intentionally circuitous to hinder the progress of anyone who approached.

Harian arrived at the thick barricade wall with six other Butlerians in his group, all haughty and energized. Seeing them, Alys Carroll flung open the high gates, even before word reached the Headmaster. A group of the Butlerian-picked trainees, including Alys, greeted the delegation with bristly familiarity.

Erasmus’s spy-eyes warned Gilbertus before his administrator Zendur ran up to tell him the news. “Alys Carroll let them inside the walls!”

Gilbertus was disturbed by how quickly she had allowed the delegation through the defenses into the secure perimeter. He had no justification for keeping the Butlerians out — at least not yet — but the walls and the gate, as well as other less-obvious security systems, had been erected for a reason.

“I’ve been expecting them,” the Headmaster said, keeping his feelings to himself. He sent Zendur away. Then, breathing calmly, he took a few moments to touch up his makeup, put on his spectacles, and adjust his formal robes before hurrying to the main gate.

When he met the delegation at the wide courtyard deck in front of the main lecture hall, Alys was already uttering the words of Manford’s new oath before a deputy, as if reciting a sacred prayer. She was the fourth student to swear individually in front of the oath-deputy, and others were lined up behind her.

Deacon Harian had a hard countenance, and he looked dyspeptic today. No doubt he had spent days listening to thousands of oath-takers who asserted their devotion to Manford and professed abhorrence of technology, and he looked worn down and not inclined to exchange pleasantries when Gilbertus Albans faced him.

The bald deacon had always regarded the Headmaster, and everyone else, with a shadow of suspicion, as if he saw machine ghosts out of the corner of his eye. “Headmaster, summon the rest of your students in organized groups to line up. One by one they will recite the words to affirm their loyalty to Leader Torondo and the sacred Butlerian cause.”

“You can’t ask them to swear an oath they have not had time to read or consider.”

Harian arched his eyebrows. “What is there to consider?”

“A person should fully understand the words of any oath before he swears to it — otherwise the promise means nothing. That is simple logic.”

“This oath means a great deal, Headmaster,” interjected the oath-deputy. A tall beanpole of a man, he had a pointed jaw and tiny eyes. He wore a badge with his title and name: Deputy Rasa. “Everyone must take it.”

Gilbertus didn’t move. “All the more reason that it should be duly considered first, so that each person knows exactly what he or she is swearing to before uttering the words.”

“The words have been properly vetted by Leader Torondo himself,” Harian said.

“Good, that means Manford knows what he is demanding, but my students are trained to think and make their own decisions. I ca