Mentats of Dune

Chapter 12 (Humans and machines are fundamentally)

Traveling from the isolated Mentat School to Empok, the capital city on Lampadas, was doubly inconvenient. When Manford summoned him, Gilbertus could have taken the school’s private emergency flyer and made the journey in a couple of hours, but the Headmaster was in no hurry, since he dreaded what Manford would demand of him now. If the Butlerian leader complained about the delay, Gilbertus could innocently point out that he chose not to use the technologically advanced means of travel, even though it was faster.

More than a day after Alys Carroll delivered the summons, Gilbertus arrived at the modest Butlerian headquarters building. Empok was an old-fashioned city. At first glance, some might have considered it quaint and bucolic, a throwback to innocent times, but Gilbertus could see the weaknesses. He had spent his early life in the fabulous machine city on Corrin, where everything was perfect, tidy, and efficient. This was a far cry from that utopia. The sanitation, power, and transportation capabilities were outdated and deteriorating.

Since founding his Mentat School, Gilbertus had studied the human perspectives on Serena Butler’s Jihad. Objectively, he understood the dangers and flaws of thinking machines, the excesses, the pain — and he knew Erasmus did not grasp the complex depths of emotional pain — yet Gilbertus had firsthand experience with the remarkable advantages of technology. If only the Butlerians would accept progress while maintaining their own humanity …

He dared not suggest such a dangerous thought.

Anari Idaho stood outside of Manford’s office. Though the Swordmaster recognized Gilbertus, she gave him a guarded look, as if to assess whether he might have become a threat since their last meeting. The Headmaster wore a studied expression of calm, knowing she would never be able to read his true thoughts. Logic and reason were a powerful weapon, but that weapon’s edge was dulled when it continually encountered thick ignorance.

“Leader Torondo summoned me,” Gilbertus said, in case she wasn’t aware.

Anari stepped aside to let him enter the office. “Yes, he did. We have been waiting.”

Manford sat in a large padded chair, where he looked like a magistrate at a bench; the blocky desk concealed his missing legs. Gilbertus faced the Butlerian leader, but his attention was drawn to an ominous combat robot that stood at the fieldstone wall — a powerful fighting model with reinforced weapon arms, protected circuitry, and sharp-bladed weapons. The dull glow of the robot’s facial sensors showed that the machine was activated and aware, though at a low energy level. Coil upon coil of thick chains wrapped its body.

Gilbertus knew the combat mek was strong enough to snap those chains, so the bonds served more to comfort Manford than to immobilize the robot. The Butlerian leader wanted to show that the combat mek was his prisoner, to prove his superiority.

Bald, pale Deacon Harian stood close to the combat mek, as if confronting his own fears. Harian always looked angry and ready to unleash violence; he kept his hand on the hilt of a pulse-sword. No doubt the deacon thought he could protect Manford if the mek broke its chains and went on a rampage.

Barely acknowledging the presence of the combat mek, Gilbertus kept his attention on Manford, who regarded him with vigilant eyes. “This is a powerful fighting robot, Headmaster,” Manford said, as if he needed to explain. “Like his famous counterpart, the independent robot Erasmus, he has been defeated.”

Anari Idaho stood behind Gilbertus, ready to dispatch the machine if necessary. “On Ginaz,” she said, “Swordmaster trainees practiced against such meks. We slaughtered them by the thousands … every one we could get our hands on.”

“I recognize the design,” Gilbertus said. “We studied such fighting machines at the Mentat School, so my students could understand and analyze the enemy of humanity.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “But you required me to destroy them all. How did this one come to be here?”

“This mek serves my purpose,” Manford said in a hard voice. “I’m going to use it to show the Imperial court and all of Salusa Secundus — all of humanity, in fact — that humans are superior to computers in every way. More proof that Omnius, Erasmus, and their minions are utterly and completely inferior.” Manford glared at the mek, as if expecting it to respond. But it didn’t.

Gilbertus gave a slow nod, knowing he would have to agree to whatever the Butlerian leader asked. “My Mentats have demonstrated their proficiency in your service. Countless times, in fact.”

“And one of your Mentats will demonstrate it again for Emperor Salvador. This captive mek is still functional and responsive. We intend to transport it to the Imperial Palace, and there, before all observers, a Mentat will play pyramid chess against this thinking machine. You are confident that a Mentat can indeed defeat this robot?” Though Manford’s voice remained even, it carried an undertone of threat.

Gilbertus assessed the question. “No one can absolutely predict the outcome of a strategy game, but yes, my Mentats are equal to any thinking machine. Human intuition would give them an advantage in such a contest.”

Manford smiled at him. “Exactly as I expected. This will be an important performance, a human pitted against a mek.” Such challenges had been staged before, and Manford was creating a spectacle that would prove nothing … but Gilbertus realized full well that the Butlerian leader would insist. “Headmaster, select a Mentat from your school to travel with me to Salusa — someone who will defeat this thinking machine for all to see. The robot knows that if it loses the game, we will destroy it.”

Deacon Harian said, “We should destroy it, regardless.”

“Since the robot will not win, its destruction is a certainty anyway,” Gilbertus said. He also knew that if the chosen Mentat did not manage to defeat the mek, Manford would be shamed and furious. The Mentat student would be killed … and the combat mek would be destroyed either way.

The Butlerian leader mused, “Do you think it wants to live, Mentat? Does it have that sort of awareness?”

Gilbertus stared at the robot. “It is a machine — it doesn’t want anything. It has no soul. However, such meks have strong defensive abilities and self-preservation programming. It will attempt to remain intact.”

The combat robot had been constructed on Corrin, as Gilbertus could tell by its design and configuration. Somewhere buried deep in its memory core, the mek might even remember him from when he’d lived as the ward of Erasmus. Had the mek been a human, it might have wheedled and begged to survive, might have revealed Gilbertus’s dangerous secret past in hopes of keeping itself alive. But the fighting robot did not care about human politics and interactions.

As Gilbertus studied the chained mek, he noticed that Deacon Harian was regarding him with narrowed eyes and obvious suspicion.

Though he had faith in his trainees, Gilbertus would not risk one of them — not even the Butlerian fanatic Alys Carroll — on such a foolish and unpredictable spectacle. “Any of my students would make me proud, Leader Torondo, but I am here right now. I will accept the task myself.” He smiled at Anari and at Deacon Harian, then turned back to Manford, dismissing the chained mek. “We can leave immediately, if you’re so inclined.”

Manford was pleased. “Good. EsconTran already has a vessel waiting in orbit.”

THE SHIPS IN the EsconTran fleet were not luxury models, but Rolli Escon had modified a set of cabins so Manford Torondo could have an opulent suite instead of a stripped-down passenger cabin. Assigned to less lavish quarters, Headmaster Albans kept himself separate from Manford. The two of them were political allies but not friends, and did not socialize — exactly as both men wished it. Manford recognized the worth of human minds that could perform the functions of thinking machines, but he had doubts about the purity of Gilbertus’s thoughts.

The Butlerian leader preferred solitude so he could meditate and pray. Though loyal Anari wanted to be with him constantly, there were times when Manford needed to be undisturbed, with only the company of his own thoughts. When he wrestled with his nightmares, he did not want Anari to see him. The Swordmaster worshiped him, followed his every command without hesitation. He didn’t let her see his weakness. Although Anari would never pity him, he didn’t want her to worry.

She delivered him to his cabin, and Manford walked inside on his hands, getting around without legs. He wasn’t entirely dependent upon others, though Anari would not have minded carrying him. She stood at the doorway, waiting, but he asked her to close the door and leave him. “I’ll be fine. If I need anything, I will summon you.”

Mild displeasure played across her face. “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.”

He sealed the cabin, and then, when he was finally away from curious eyes, he removed the accursed volume that he could permit no one else to see. For years he had studied the appalling writings of Erasmus, fascinated and horrified by them, and now he once again dipped into the mind of the greatest evil he had ever encountered. Manford held one of the journals of the notorious independent robot, dangerous writings that had been retrieved from the wreckage of Corrin.

Manford couldn’t help himself. By now, he had memorized most of the words, but he was still repulsed each time he read Erasmus’s cool observations of massacring innocent human prisoners. Experiments. The demon robot dissected living humans, tortured them in order to analyze their responses, used measuring devices to record fear, terror, and even loathing. The robot had studied death images in all portions of the spectrum, employing nanosecond-scale monitoring of murder victims in an attempt to glimpse the soul, to prove or disprove its existence.

Manford hated Erasmus more than any other being, yet he read the reports with a sick fascination, wondering what the darkly inquisitive machine might have learned about humanity. After so many centuries of investigations, how was it possible that Erasmus remained unable to prove that human beings had a soul? Manford found it unsettling.

In his cool thinking-machine way, Erasmus had an unshakable faith in his own beliefs. Manford shuddered as that thought occurred to him: No! A robot could not possibly have faith, or a soul! Machines were not like humans in any way. Robots were artificial creations not designed by God. No robot could ever understand blessed humanity, the pure goodness of love and the entire range of emotions. To protect himself, he muttered the Butlerian mantra under his breath, “The mind of man is holy.”

On impulse, he walked on his hands to his cabin door and activated it. When it slid open, he was not surprised to discover Anari standing there; she hadn’t moved, and would no doubt remain in place, guarding him all night long. The foldspace journey itself would take only a day, but the preparations, loading, and unloading of the ship would take longer than that.

Anari turned, calmly ready for anything. “How can I help you, Manford?”

“Take me to the combat mek. I want to make absolutely certain it’s secure.”

“It’s secure,” Anari said.

“I wish to see it.”

Without asking, Anari picked him up and carried him down the ship’s corridor. A lift dropped them to a section that had been designed as a brig for criminals being sent into exile.

The mek, formerly chained, had been rendered even more helpless now. At Deacon Harian’s suggestion, the lower half of the fighting machine’s body had been disconnected, its legs severed so that the robot was only a torso with arms and head … somewhat like Manford himself. For added security during transport, they had welded the abomination to the deck.

The mek swiveled its head to look at Manford. Even without the lower half of its body, with its weapons deactivated and rendered immobile, the fighting machine was still frightening.

Manford turned to his Swordmaster. “Leave me with it.” Anari expressed her doubts, but he insisted, “I will not underestimate the danger. I’ll be safe. I’m not powerless myself.”

After more hesitation, she stepped out of the chamber. “I won’t go far.”

Manford moved forward on his hands, but remained out of the robot’s reach. Though the machine made no move to attack him, it might be like a predator lying in wait … or it might be entirely defeated after all.

“I despise you. And all thinking machines.”

The combat mek turned its bullet-shaped head toward him. Its optical sensors glowed, but the thing made no response. It was like a demon rendered mute.

Manford thought of his great-great-grandparents on Moroko. The planet’s entire population had been wiped out by the thinking-machine plagues. Moroko had been a charnel house with bodies strewn wherever they fell, cities emptied. The thinking machines’ plan had been to wait for the corpses to rot, so they could reclaim the undamaged planet for themselves. His own ancestors had only survived because they’d been away at the time.…

“You enslaved humanity,” Manford said to the robot, “and now I’ve enslaved you.”

The combat mek still did not respond. Apparently, military models were not conversational.

Manford looked at the machine, thinking that he could have had artificial legs for himself, biological appendages grafted onto him, the nerves reattached, the muscles operated through thoughtrodes like the ones the cymeks used. He remembered the bright-eyed scientists who had made him that offer: They’d been deluded and naïve — a man named Ptolemy and his companion … Manford had forgotten the other researcher’s name, though he still remembered his screams as he was burned alive. Elchan, was that it?

Why did scientists assume that every weakness must be fixed rather than endured? He knew he could have been whole again … and Manford’s most horrifying secret was how much he had been tempted by that.

Manford stared at the combat mek, enthralled and frightened. “We will defeat you,” he said, then blinked. “We’ve already defeated you.” He seemed to be convincing himself rather than the robot.

Manford hated his own relentless fascination with thinking machines. But by forcing himself to remember the horrors these artificial monsters had inflicted upon humanity, he would remain strong enough to resist the temptation, though sickened by the realization that others were not so strong.

Josef Venport continued to lure humanity toward damnation again with his blatant use of thinking machines. Manford would not allow it to continue! Humanity had achieved its hard-won salvation, and he didn’t dare let them throw it away.

“We will defeat you,” he said again in a husky whisper, but the combat mek remained unimpressed.

Without a word, Manford left the cell, walking briskly on his hands. This time, he refused to let Anari carry him.