Mentats of Dune

Chapter 73 (Is it better to make a vow to a person or to principles)

Draigo Roget arrived at Lampadas hoping to recruit Headmaster Albans, to bring him to the side of reason and civilization — only to find that the Butlerian world had gone insane.

Previously, Gilbertus had managed to keep his school isolated out in the inhospitable wastelands, but now Manford Torondo had roused his mob and laid siege to the school. Draigo was angry just to see it.

When he was a student here, Draigo had never revealed his loyalties to Venport Holdings; he kept his political opinions to himself, but he had been unable to hide his talent. Headmaster Albans had acknowledged that Draigo was the best student at the Mentat School.

In addition to mental exercises, Draigo had passed the rigorous physical challenges: sprinting through treacherous sangrove forests, memorizing the submerged stepping-stones through the marsh channels, keeping track of every safe path, every devious trick and trap. He understood that danger and physical effort helped trainees to attune their minds, that adrenaline and risk pushed them to the edge of their capabilities. Now he realized that Headmaster Albans had been preparing all along to defend the school against the Butlerians, even as he tried to remain neutral.

Leaving the covert VenHold spacefolder in orbit, Draigo used his shuttle to descend to the surface. In the darkness, his shuttle’s sensors mapped out a cluster of people camped in dry patches on the grassy marshlands. In spite of the natural defenses of the swamps, a horde of barbarian fanatics had surrounded the school, laying siege to the walled complex, with amphibious craft patrolling the marsh lake, tents and artillery posted on the moist ground.

Just glimpsing the scene infuriated Draigo. If he had brought a VenHold warship, he could scorch the Half-Manford’s entire camp!

Activating the automated guidance systems, he landed at a safe distance out on the edge of the sangroves. Draigo had turned off any of the shuttle’s external lights that the Butlerians might see. After stabilizing the craft on the waterlogged ground, he changed into nondescript attire such as the common people of Lampadas wore. Butlerians also wore a badge of their movement, a human fist clenching a stylized machine gear, but Draigo would not go so far. He slipped a pulse-stunner into his shirt.

He made his way overland to the edge of the sprawling camp, and slipped in among the restless people without difficulty. The Butlerians were angry and suspicious, but the majority were simpleminded, as Draigo had always known. They directed their fervor toward the Mentat School, never imagining that outsiders might come to defend it.

The siege camp was fairly well lit. The barbarians made campfires out of whatever dry wood they could find. In addition, there were portable lamps near and inside the tents. Draigo approached.

INSIDE ONE OF those tents, Manford Torondo sat on the fabric floor, balancing his torso with his hands at his sides. He heard Anari speaking to a guard outside. Her constant presence was reassuring and allowed the Butlerian leader to concentrate on his important work, without concern for his personal safety.

In the low light cast by a lamp, he looked intensely at Gilbertus, who sat on his low bed-pad. The Headmaster looked much younger with his aging makeup scrubbed off, and his elegant robe was wrinkled and soiled. His face was half in light, half in shadow.

“You knew Erasmus better than anyone,” Manford said, “so I want you to tell me about him, everything you can think of that might be useful to me in advancing the cause of humanity. What were his thoughts, his plans, his weaknesses?”

“You wish me to speak on behalf of a thinking machine from long ago?”

Manford’s nostrils flared. “I want you to speak about him, not for him. You must reveal these things, after the crimes you have committed. They will not remedy your crimes, but they may be of help to me. Tell me why he conducted his cruel experiments on human beings.”

“To understand. It separates some of us from those who wish to remain ignorant.”

Manford’s eyes flashed. “I have read the laboratory journals of Erasmus. I have struggled to understand the enemy. What was it like living on Corrin with the thinking machines? Is it true you considered Erasmus a father figure, and he thought of you as a son? How could such a bizarre relationship exist? He was a monster!”

“You cannot understand Erasmus, or me. The gulf between us is too great. You and Erasmus represent two extremes.”

Manford pursed his lips thoughtfully. “And I will proudly keep to my extreme, for the soul of the human race depends on it. Spend your evening in contemplation, Headmaster, for tomorrow you will die.”

DRAIGO WANDERED THROUGH the encampment, absorbing information. When he saw that many of the Butlerians sported crudely bandaged wounds, he wondered if some great battle had occurred. But after listening to conversations, he learned that the casualties had been inflicted by swamp creatures or the Butlerians’ own ineptitude at living out in the wild. Draigo found the knowledge both ironic and insulting to those who turned their backs on the conveniences and safety of civilization.

“Leader Torondo should just execute the Headmaster tonight and be done with it, so we can go home,” grumbled a man sitting by a fire. “Why wait until dawn? What’s the point?”

Next to him, a younger man sorted through broken branches, discarding wood that was too wet for the blaze. The two men noticed Draigo, and he decided that ducking away would draw more attention, so he came closer. Although his heart pounded when he heard their conversation, he remarked in a casual tone, “I never question what Leader Torondo wants to do, or his timing.”

The other two looked at each other and shrugged. The younger one discarded another wet stick. “He gave his word, though. A promise is a promise.”

The older man disagreed. “Leader Torondo gave his word to keep the Headmaster safe, but the confession changed everything. The execution order against machine sympathizers was in place long before. The Headmaster tricked everyone. He collaborated with Omnius and the demon robot Erasmus!”

Draigo was startled. “Headmaster Albans is a collaborator with the thinking machines? What proof do you have of that?”

The younger man glared at him. “How could you not know? Have you been deaf all afternoon?”

“Not deaf — I was out hunting, but didn’t have any luck.” Draigo indicated his dirt-smudged clothes.

“Headmaster Albans was raised on Corrin, and Erasmus kept him as a pet. He escaped after the Battle of Corrin and has been living as a different person all this time.”

Draigo turned his head to hide his astonishment. “That’s not possible! Corrin fell eighty-five years ago. I’ve seen … images of the Headmaster. He’s not old at all.”

“Some sort of trick from the demon machines. Deacon Harian found his past in the old records. There is conclusive proof. When that Truthsayer caught him at his lies, he had no choice but to confess.”

“I shouldn’t waste any more time hunting, then,” Draigo said. “If Leader Torondo is going to execute him in the morning, the siege is almost over.”

“This won’t be over until that machine sympathizer lies on the ground, with his head in one place and his body in another.” The older one chuckled at the grisly image.

Draigo wandered away, so as to not look too interested, but he kept his eyes and ears open, and asked questions whenever he could do so without raising suspicion. He touched the pulse-stunner concealed in his shirt. If the Butlerians caught him with the weapon, they would know he was not one of them.

As he walked further into the encampment, drawing little attention and nodding dumbly whenever someone looked at him, he spotted the muscular female Swordmaster. Wearing a determined expression, she marched through the camp, making her way toward a large tent, where she took up a sentry position by the front flap. Anari Idaho’s protection was always reserved for the Half-Manford, though, not Headmaster Albans, who was likely to be somewhere else. Draigo ducked back, keeping to the shadows, because she might recognize him.

The tent holding the prisoner was more isolated, as if the Butlerians feared Gilbertus might contaminate them by mere proximity to his thoughts. Draigo saw two nervous-looking guards standing in front of the entry flap, with a portable lamp burning beside one of them. Keeping his distance, Draigo prowled around the tent, trying to determine how he could approach and free his mentor. This was not a matter that needed Mentat projections; it was a matter requiring quick and efficient action.

In the rear, he saw the shadowy, squatting figure of a third guard. He could tell by the guard’s posture that he was awake and alert, not dozing. Unfortunate. Draigo chose not to use his pulse-stunner, because it would make a faint but perceptible noise, and the two guards at the front might come running.

He approached the tent from the rear, moving as cautiously and silently as only a person with full Mentat awareness could. He knew he could defeat all three of them, but he couldn’t afford to have them sound an alarm.

Draigo withdrew his small throwing-knife — a crude weapon and less accurate than the stunner, but at least it was silent. From this short distance it was simply a mathematical problem: calculating parabolic arcs, air resistance, gravity. In a flash, he checked and rechecked his calculations, cocked back his arm, and hurled the knife. The challenge was not in striking his target, but in how quickly he could kill the man. If the knife struck the wrong place and left the guard alive long enough to flail and gurgle, it would be a mistake.

Draigo Roget did not like to make mistakes.

The blade sank neatly into the hollow of the man’s throat. The guard grabbed at the blade, but his jerking and squirming only drove the point deeper. One of his legs kicked out and just missed the side of the tent. Draigo darted forward and seized the man’s head, slashing with the knife to cut the jugular. After that, the twitching was inconsequential.

He could have sliced through the tent fabric, but even that small noise might have alerted the two front guards; once inside he would also have to talk with Headmaster Albans, and their voices might draw attention. Draigo wanted to make this neat and clean, so that they would have the best chance of slipping away from the barbarian camp and back through the swamps to his ship.

No other choice: He had to incapacitate the other two guards.

Acting casual, he circled out into the shadows and sauntered up to the two guards at the front of the tent. When they saw him coming, he raised a hand in the traditional Butlerian salute, to which they responded.

“I’ve come to relieve you,” he said.

“Not till dawn,” said the man on the left.

The other guard narrowed his eyes. “Is that blood?”

Draigo recognized him as one of the Butlerian Mentat students, and the trainee recognized him as well, but Draigo was prepared. He slipped the pulse-stunner out of his bloodstained shirt and dropped both men quickly; though not dead, they fell like corpses cut down from a gallows. They would remain unconscious, but for an unpredictable amount of time.

A wise Mentat eliminated as many variables as possible. Not willing to take chances, he cut their throats with the knife he had retrieved from the first body and left the bodies propped outside the tent.

Slipping through the front flap, he stood up in the shadows and presented himself. His heart was pounding wildly. “Headmaster, I’ve come to rescue you.”

Gilbertus Albans was awake, seated on a mat on the ground. “Draigo Roget — this is unexpected.”

“It’s meant to be unexpected. I have a ship. I can take you away from these savages.”

Gilbertus didn’t stir from his mat, but looked at Draigo, his eyes bright in the shadows. The Headmaster’s spectacles were gone, but he didn’t act as if he needed them. “I can’t go, Draigo. While I appreciate your effort, I’m honor-bound to stay here.”

“Honor-bound? I don’t give a damn what promise you made to Manford. He intends to execute you at dawn. These people are irrational and won’t be satisfied until they’ve killed you. They’re even saying that you collaborated with Erasmus back on Corrin. They’ll say anything!”

“That part, my excellent student, is true.”

Draigo stopped. “What do you mean? The notion is absurd. You would be over a century old.”

“Much more than that. I am one hundred eighty-six, by my best estimate. Since I was born in a slave pen among other feral captives on Corrin, the exact date of my birth is unknown.”

Draigo, numbed by the revelation, reassessed and reprioritized his situation; this part of the discussion could take place at a later time, in safety. “You are also the Headmaster of the Mentat School. You were my teacher and mentor, so I am honor-bound not to let them execute you. Come quickly — we have to get away.”

“I refuse. The consequences are too great. I gave my promise to Manford Torondo, and in turn Manford swore not to destroy the school. If I flee with you now, they’ll blast all the buildings to pieces with artillery and kill every one of my students. You yourself told me I had to stand up for an important belief. I cannot run away. Better that I make the sacrifice for the greater benefit of my students.”

“I have Mentat students of my own, and I’ve been training them with your methods,” Draigo said. “Come to Kolhar with me. Directeur Venport would welcome an alliance with you. We can send other ships back here, a full battle group to rescue the rest of your students.”

“They will arrive too late,” Gilbertus insisted. “The moment Manford discovers I’m gone—”

“But I can’t just leave you here!” Draigo realized his voice was getting too loud, and someone might overhear them.

“I haven’t asked you to leave. There is something I need you to do, something more important than saving my life.”

Draigo focused his thoughts, squared his shoulders. “I’m listening.”

“I’m not the one who needs rescuing. I made another promise a long time ago after the Synchronized Empire fell, when I saved a mind more precious to me than any other. I promised to protect it.”

“Who?” Draigo asked.

“I have no time to be subtle. It is Erasmus. The independent robot still exists, and he is far more important than I am. It was his idea to set up the Mentat School.”

Draigo stared in disbelief, processing the information.

“Directeur Venport would find Erasmus useful,” Gilbertus continued. “And there is also the Emperor’s sister — I gave the Corrinos my word that I would keep her safe. I am certain the Butlerians mean to take her as a hostage, to force the Emperor to agree to even more of their demands. We have improved the school’s defenses, but I can tell you a safe approach. I want you to get inside the walls and find Anna Corrino — she has Erasmus’s memory core. Directeur Venport can protect both of them. There is hope for them, but not for me.”

Gilbertus described the safe path into the school complex, the rearranged stepping-stones in the water, and an underwater access gate that he could reach after dark, without needing special equipment.

Then they heard a shout from outside the tent, a woman’s deep voice. Anari Idaho. “Raise the alarm! Someone killed the guards! Quick — to the prisoner!”

Gilbertus’s eyes widened in alarm. “You need to get away, or all is lost. Do as I told you. Help me to keep my promises.”

Draigo hesitated for an instant. “All right, Headmaster.” He took out his knife, slashed the back fabric of the tent, and dove through the opening. He leaped over the body of the third guard and raced into the darkness, melting away in the swamp as Butlerians surged toward the prisoner’s tent.

Glancing back, he saw Anari Idaho charging through the camp like a juggernaut, her sword raised as she hunted for him. Draigo wished he’d had more of a chance to say goodbye to the Headmaster, but with his organized Mentat mind, he would always be able to recall every detail of Gilbertus’s face with perfect clarity.