Mentats of Dune

Chapter 71 (When the weak become powerful)

At first, the visiting Suk doctors were afraid to do what was necessary, but Ptolemy would not let them avoid their responsibilities. They were the only ones who could help Noffe. The scientist commanded them, bullied them, and hovered beside them inside the Denali surgical center as they completed the work. This was not, after all, much different from what they had done many times before to extract and preserve the brains from dying Navigator bodies.

For the first week after the surgery, Ptolemy rarely left the preservation tank that held the administrator’s brain, and the thoughtrodes functioned exactly as he expected. He connected the speakerpatch first, along with the conversion software that translated Noffe’s panicked thoughts into words.

Initially, the responses were jumbled gibberish, but Ptolemy had infinite patience. He spoke calmly, giving explanations so that his disoriented friend wouldn’t be so lost and frightened. The input sensors converted his softly spoken words into comprehensible pulses so that Noffe’s disembodied brain could understand him.

Finally, as Noffe calmed himself enough to focus on a single thought, he kept expressing, “Dark … too dark … too dark.”

Ptolemy leaned closer to the tank. “That’s because you have no eyes, my friend. Those will come next — optic threads to give you a visual clarity beyond anything your human eyes could ever have. After you adjust, you will be able to see all parts of the spectrum, and vast distances. Imagine the clarity. You will focus and see things no one else has ever seen! I envy you, in a way.”

In the speakerpatch, Noffe’s voice fumbled, tried several times, and then finally said, “Don’t envy me.…”

Several days later, once the optic sensors were installed and Noffe could “see” the laboratory around him, the administrator changed his dreary, disoriented gloom to optimistic marveling. Most importantly, he could now discern Ptolemy nearby, which he found reassuring; Noffe said he could even read an expression of concern and wonder on his friend’s face. Ptolemy responded with increasing excitement. “I’ll do everything to make this the best experience for you that it can possibly be, I promise.”

Noffe’s thinking was not as adept as an enhanced proto-Navigator brain, but with a week of practice he was able to control his thoughts and communicate clearly through the speakerpatch. Before long, he accepted and even embraced his new situation. “My old body was imperfect and weak, in need of repairs.”

Ptolemy fell into a fit of coughing. Despite his own treatments, his scarred lungs felt as if he had inhaled embers that refused to be extinguished. The visiting Suk doctors had treated Ptolemy’s damaged lungs, mitigating the worst symptoms, but even with the best medical attention, he would degenerate. “My body needs repairs as well.”

Noffe seemed eager. “When might I have one of the new walker bodies?”

Ptolemy was glad to consider the possibilities. “One step at a time, my good friend. I’ve trained many failed Navigators, but their minds are more adaptable than yours. I don’t want to rush you.”

“I am excited about this, very anxious,” Noffe said. “Don’t wait too long.”

Ptolemy let out a wistful sigh and tried to make a joke, but then squeezed stinging tears out of his eyes and struggled to hide his pain from Noffe’s new high-acuity sensors. “You’ll have all the time you could possibly wish,” Ptolemy finally managed. “Some of the Titans lived for thousands of years.”

“You should join me,” Noffe said. “I would hate to have humanity lose your insights … and I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”

Ptolemy had been thinking the same thing, daydreaming but not willing to succumb to the temptation. Even before his lungs were damaged, he had often looked longingly at the new cymek walkers, marveling at the strength of their mechanical arms and their protected body systems that allowed them to survive in the harshest environments … and gave them the ability to face hundreds of screaming barbarians.

“I have considered it, Noffe — many times.”

TO START WITH, Ptolemy installed Noffe’s brain canister in one of the smaller, old-model cymek walkers. The administrator reveled in being able to move about, and he gingerly tested his mechanical legs, growing more comfortable as he walked on them with increasing strength and balance.

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.”