Mentats of Dune

Chapter 20 (Is anything truly as we perceive it)

To celebrate the symbolic triumph of humans over thinking machines — no matter that it was just a pyramid chess game — Salvador Corrino had scheduled a parade through the capital city of Zimia. He would sit in an ornate open carriage pulled by four spirited golden lions and listen to the cheers of the crowd.

He had the uneasy feeling, though, that they would be cheering for Manford Torondo, not him. The Butlerian leader had brought out his intense, fanatical followers, and they were already crowding the streets. How could there be so many of them in Salvador’s own capital city?

Manford rode beside the Emperor on a specially designed seat in the carriage, so that both of them could wave to the bright-eyed throngs on each side of the street. With a clang and a clatter, the remnants of the defeated combat mek were dragged along behind the royal carriage, like the corpse of an overthrown tyrant. For security, uniformed Imperial troops marched behind the carriage.

Oddly, the legless Butlerian leader had already been in his seat when Salvador climbed into the carriage. Other than an indecipherable nod and a mild expression, Manford had not communicated with Salvador as the procession got under way. The legless man showed no deference toward the Imperial Presence, merely waved to the throngs in a stiff, robotic manner.

Suspicious, the Emperor studied Manford more closely. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His features, his eyes, even the way he sat …

Sensing the scrutiny, the legless man looked back at him. “Is my makeup credible?”

“Makeup? What do you mean?”

“I am told my resemblance to Leader Torondo is quite striking. And you, too — most convincing!” The man blinked at him. “Let’s not fool each other. We understand our roles. I’m not the real Manford Torondo, and you cannot be the true Emperor Salvador. For the safety of our holy leaders, you and I must accept the public risk in their stead.”

Feeling his face burn, Salvador said, “You’re Manford’s double?”

The false Manford continued to wave at the crowds, drinking in the cheers. He said out of the corner of his mouth, “You are an excellent substitute. Even your voice is perfect.”

“This is an outrage!” Salvador half rose from his seat, then remembered to keep smiling and waving as the lions plodded along. “I am the real Corrino Emperor!”

The man in the seat beside him looked astonished. “Truly? Well, Sire, then this is quite an honor. You are very brave to face the threat of assassination so openly. I do my best not to show any fear, for Leader Torondo’s sake.” The man beamed with pride. “His previous double died horribly from poison, but maybe I’ll be more fortunate.”

Salvador was aghast, but embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of the idea himself. He couldn’t take his eyes from the double, whose legs were clearly missing. The impostor noticed his attention. “Yes, it was necessary for me to have my legs amputated. Otherwise my disguise would have been unconvincing.” He smirked, finding humor in his situation.

“You … did that voluntarily?”

“Of course. Leader Torondo asked it of me. A small sacrifice on my part for the greater glory of the human soul.” He gazed out at the burgeoning crowds. “And I keep a great man safe so he can continue his work, regardless of the numerous threats against him.” Seeing Salvador’s alarm, the fake Manford tried to sound reassuring. “I’m sure there’s nothing to fear today, Sire. You have a goodly number of your soldiers providing security along the parade route.”

The Emperor mopped cold perspiration from his forehead. “Don’t say another word to me.” Now he imagined wild assassins in the crowd, and he wanted to bolt from the carriage and run for his life … but that would cause him great public embarrassment. He would have to complete this procession. His pulse pounded, but the Manford double did not seem concerned. Salvador wished that in retaliation for this trick he could turn the real Butlerian leader over to Quemada for a few questions.

As Emperor, Salvador was the leader of all humanity, and if the Butlerian leader needed a double, then the Emperor should have one, too … and Roderick as well. If anything happened to his brother, Salvador would never be able to rule the Imperium alone. Either the Butlerians would run roughshod over him with unreasonable mob demands, or Josef Venport would insist on unconscionable concessions to benefit his powerful industries.

Salvador was caught between these two mortal enemies — each inflexible and both focused on their respective passions. Although he and Roderick had close business and political relationships with Venport Holdings, the Corrinos had also made concessions to the mad Butlerians. The situation was a powder keg waiting to explode.

At Manford’s demand, the Emperor had formed a Committee of Orthodoxy to monitor and judge technology throughout the Imperium. The Butlerians provided a list of unacceptable items — a list that always changed, and never grew shorter. Salvador had to accept the list or rabid mobs would storm the capital city and bring him down.

Meanwhile, most of the ships in the Imperial Armed Forces were carried to their destinations aboard VenHold spacefolders, in a service provided at low cost with great safety. The VenHold Spacing Fleet was clearly the superior alternative.

Fortunately for Emperor Salvador, Manford Torondo and Josef Venport hated each other. Maybe they would neutralize each other — so long as the conflict didn’t take Salvador down with it.

Beside him, with sparkling eyes and a vapid smile, the false Manford continued to bask in applause. The throng was a mass of faces and expressions, generating rolling swells of noise.

Finally, to Salvador’s relief, the Imperial carriage completed its celebratory procession and headed back to the golden-domed Hall of Parliament. With an uncomfortable glance at the legless double, he slipped out of the carriage without waiting for his military guards or entourage and hurried into the building, while his liveried attendants tried to keep up with him.

His brother, Roderick, waited for him on the staircase that led to the second-story balcony from which Salvador was expected to deliver a speech. Still hearing the murmur of crowd noise from the streets outside, the Emperor tried to control his breathing. His brother raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Salvador told him about Manford’s double. “That bastard kept himself safe and hidden, but allowed me to face the risk of assassins!” His nostrils flared. Outside, the crowd sounded restless, as if slipping out of control. “Find me my own double, Roderick — without delay. Oh, and you should find one for yourself as well. If anything happened to you—”

“I’ll begin the process.” Roderick’s voice was soothing and steady, and Salvador felt calmer just to have his brother’s strong presence at his side. “Right now, the crowds are expecting to see you. And if you don’t deliver a speech, Manford will probably talk without you. He’s already there riling them up.”

When they reached the balcony, the real Butlerian leader sat in his harness on the Swordmaster’s shoulders, as if ready for battle. Two Reverend Mothers from the Imperial Court stood in the shadows off to the side: his personal Truthsayer, Dorotea, and the soft and pudgy Sister Woodra — both ardent Butlerian adherents. Headmaster Gilbertus Albans, looking out of place and uncomfortable with all the attention, stood behind them. Because he had defeated the mek in the pyramid chess game, the Mentat Headmaster was required to be present for the celebration.

As soon as he saw Salvador arrive, Manford nudged Anari Idaho, and she stepped out onto the balcony where the crowd could see him. Without even waiting for the Emperor to join him — exactly as Roderick had warned — he raised his hands, and his gesture was like flinging fuel onto a fire. The roar of applause was deafening.

The Emperor felt a sinking sensation. Beside him, Roderick paused and showed clear distaste for the Butlerian leader’s disrespect for the Emperor.

From his perch on top of Anari’s shoulders, Manford raised his voice for the crowd and gestured back toward Salvador. “Our Emperor has joined us! All hail Salvador Corrino the First!”

Buoyed by all the obvious enthusiasm, Salvador stepped into view. Yes, they were shouting for him now, because the crowd was packed with Butlerians, and Manford had told them to applaud. He noted that the real Manford’s voice was distinctly different from the double’s, filled with the familiar charisma.

Before the Emperor could speak, Manford shouted out, “Our Mentat defeated a terrible thinking machine, just as the faithful will defeat evil technology in all its forms. Never forget! You have earned the right to celebrate destruction, because that destruction gained us our freedom.” His smile had a wild, uncontrolled edge. “On behalf of the Emperor, I announce another rampage festival here in Zimia! Rejoice in wrecking any remnants of machine technology! This is your time to show your energy, show your humanity — and celebrate our victory!”

The roar of the crowd became such a pounding wave of noise that the thick stone building trembled. Salvador tried to be heard, rushing forward, but he seemed small compared to the towering Swordmaster. “I did not authorize a rampage festival!” His words were lost in the noise.

Each month, the symbolic destruction of a few token machine remnants was a carefully planned spectacle, with safeguards so the crowds did not get out of hand. But Manford Torondo had just unleashed the mob.

“Wait!” Salvador shouted.

Anari raised her sword high, and as she brought it down, the crowd flowed like a flash flood into the side streets and the commercial sector, pushing aside soldiers and guards who tried to maintain order.

Roderick came forward, red-faced. “For a rampage festival, there must be preparations first, added security—”

Manford gave the Corrino brothers a maddening smile. “They are keyed up and angry — it is important to let them release some pressure. Don’t worry, it’s all harmless.”

Salvador glared at Manford, gasping, “Harmless? Look at the frenzy building out there. They’re going to ransack, burn, wreck—”

“Then you can rebuild. The whole of humanity has had to rebuild since the end of the Jihad.”

The crowd moved as if it were one organism on a rabid scavenger hunt. Even those who were not Butlerians were swept along or trampled underfoot.

Salvador watched in dismay, then turned to Roderick, but his brother also looked appalled and helpless. From the balcony, they heard breaking glass and shouts of triumph out in the plaza, and the screams of the citizens being crushed in the melee. Most terrifying of all, Salvador knew the mob could turn against him on a moment’s notice, if Manford ever told them to do so.