Mentats of Dune

Chapter 21 (There is strength in numbers)

The rampage festival swelled out of hand through the evening, and fires burned in three parts of the city. In the midst of it all, Manford Torondo and his Swordmaster seemed complacent, as if they bore no responsibility for what was happening.

Roderick was dismayed to see that Imperial troops were completely ineffective at quelling the chaotic energy. Though numerous, the soldiers and the Zimia security force had no capable leadership, and the swift rush of violence took them by surprise; when they hesitated to fire upon the crowd, they were either shoved aside or trampled. The turbulence of a mob that had no coordinated goal dispersed the stationed troops.

Even the military officers did not know how to react to the unexpected storm of feral energy. Roderick had told his brother repeatedly that the Imperial Armed Forces needed better leaders and better organization; now, upon seeing how poorly the troops performed, he felt determined to crack down. First, though, this mindless vandalism had to be brought under control.

And this was a celebration, not even a mob driven by anger.

Roderick worried about his wife and children, who could be out there if they had come to watch the victory procession. But he could do nothing about it except to send messages for guards to find them. He knew his priority was to protect the Emperor. As the violence intensified, Roderick arranged for his brother to go into hiding in a private underground network of tunnels constructed centuries ago, during a time of frequent cymek raids. Empress Tabrina was taken to a different hiding place, because Salvador had no desire to be sealed up with her.

While mayhem continued in the city above, Roderick and a contingent of elite guards led Salvador through the puzzle box of combinations and security systems that allowed access to the secret tunnels. “They’re burning my city, Roderick!”

Roderick tried to keep his brother calm. “I have dispatched troops to protect important buildings and summoned soldiers from our orbiting battleships to impose order.” He knew, though, that the guards were in chaos, many of them unresponsive; he wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had been killed. Quite a few had certainly abandoned their posts. “It’s hard to strategize against a mob that has no logical plan.”

The Emperor paused at the steel sliding wall as a thought occurred to him. “And your family, Roderick? Have them brought down here where they’ll be protected.”

“I sent word, but they haven’t been found yet.” Roderick fought against the knot in his stomach, remembering how his children always loved the spectacle of a good parade. “As soon as I’m sure that you’re safe, I’ll get back out there and find them myself, if I have to.”

At first, Salvador didn’t want his brother to leave, but he steeled himself and gave a brave nod. “I’ll be fine. Go now — I am counting on you to save Zimia!”

Leaving the Emperor with guards in the deep tunnels, Roderick hurried back to an emergency command post in the palace. When he reached his secondary office, he was surprised to find Headmaster Albans there, offering to help. Roderick paused, suspecting a trick. Wasn’t Albans a known ally of Leader Torondo? But the Headmaster, normally a cool and logical man, looked shaken by the Butlerian violence. Seeing the expression on the bespectacled Mentat’s face, Roderick ushered him into the private room and closed the door.

They could hear the crowd noises from outside. By the light of distant fires visible through the office windows, he glimpsed a crude clay sculpture on his desk — he thought it was supposed to be a puppy — that Nantha had made for him. Roderick felt a new pang of fear and hoped that Haditha and their children were safely clear of the uproar by now.

He turned to the Mentat, barely controlling his anger at the unnecessary destruction. “You offered to help, Headmaster? If you know of a way to stop this violence, I am eager to hear it. Tell Leader Torondo to command them to stop, or has he gone into protective hiding?”

The Mentat frowned. “He is among his people — that makes him safe. But he will not tell them to stop … because I believe he fears they won’t listen.” He removed his round eyeglasses, cleaned them with a handkerchief, and put them back on. “Prince Roderick, I believe you are a man of honor, or I would not be here. If I suggest how you might end this rampage, you must promise never to reveal who offered the solution, not even to the Emperor — and especially not to Manford Torondo.”

“Why not?”

“Manford is demonstrating the power he can unleash. He’s doing it to frighten the Emperor, and I suspect it won’t be long before he makes even more extreme demands.” He lowered his voice. “If he learns I worked with you to quell the violence, he would kill me, and his followers would raze my school on Lampadas.”

Roderick narrowed his gaze, not understanding the Mentat’s motivations. This man had just performed before the court, defeating a combat mek in a game to stroke Butlerian pride. And Manford had commanded the festival — wasn’t this what Gilbertus wanted? But Roderick’s primary responsibility was to restore peace and stability in Zimia. “I will hold your advice in confidence, Mentat. How do we extinguish this mob?”

“The violence will die down in the night as people return to their homes, but some Butlerians plan to incite another rampage early tomorrow morning.”

Roderick felt a flush of new anger. “Which followers, and where are they? We need to arrest them.”

“You will never find them.” Gilbertus shook his head. “No, this requires a different tactic, a trap. You must choose three outlying towns you are willing to sacrifice. I will initiate a rumor that stockpiles of preserved thinking machines are being kept in those towns — perhaps hidden by Directeur Venport himself. That is sure to drive the mob into an even greater fervor.”

The Mentat used his fingers to tick off the sequence of events. “That allows you to lure the Butlerians out of central Zimia. They will flood to the chosen villages, and the journey itself may drain their exuberance. Then you can set up security perimeters with your troops and bottle the Butlerians in those three towns.”

Roderick frowned. “I don’t like it. The mobs will ransack the target villages.”

Screams and explosions could be heard outside. A column of fire rose into the night.

“But they will be away from Zimia.” The Headmaster shrugged. “We cannot always find a solution that we like.”

THE REPORTS OF destruction throughout Zimia forced Roderick to cut his losses. The Mentat was right. Studying maps, he selected three underpopulated and easily defensible towns, and gave his decision to the Headmaster.

Gilbertus Albans slipped out among the Butlerians and initiated a cascade of rumors, suggesting that computers and robots were secretly stored in those three outlying villages. Roderick felt anguished about the welfare of the citizens there, but he needed to protect the capital. He dispatched urgent messages ahead of the mobs, hoping to convince the targeted townspeople to flee while they still had time.

Well after midnight, as the rampage began to die down in the heart of Zimia, Manford Torondo heard the rumors himself. Reacting quickly, he sent teams of his supporters to punish the accused towns. After making his announcement, Manford summoned his Mentat and Swordmaster to join him, and departed from Salusa Secundus, turning his back on the mayhem he had caused. Roderick felt that the man was slipping away to hide from the consequences of what he had done.

At last, though, Roderick had a chance to snuff out the uprising. With Manford gone, his followers were confused but still keyed up. Roderick rushed Imperial troops to surround the three scapegoat towns and bottle up the most vehement Butlerians — and he told the troops to be ruthless. Just before dawn, the crisis began to wind down.

Red-eyed and exhausted, Roderick sent a message to his brother, giving him the good news, although Salvador was cautious, suggesting that he remain in isolation a while longer, just to be certain. Roderick didn’t argue with him, for now, but he knew that when day broke, the people would want to be reassured that their Emperor had survived. In the interim, Roderick was the Emperor’s proxy and dealt with the response throughout Zimia. He spoke in public, looking calm and steady, a firm bastion in this crisis. Roderick Corrino was what they needed to see.

As dawn arrived, cleanup operations began in the capital city; fires were put out, “revelers” arrested, and field hospitals set up where Suk doctors triaged the injured. Numerous bodies — Butlerians, Zimia police, Imperial troops, innocent bystanders, and even children — were discovered in the rubble around the central plaza. Many of the victims had simply come out to see the parade and were swept up in the mayhem. The bodies were brought to a central holding area to be processed and identified.

Roderick felt so weary and wrung out that he indulged in a cup of bitter spice coffee, and the stimulant gave him a needed boost. At last he received the welcome news that Haditha and his children had been taken to a place of safety, but right now he had no chance to go home to them.

By midmorning, Roderick felt that the worst had been brought under control, and he began to feel a hint of calm. Then a haggard-looking Haditha burst into his office in the Hall of Parliament, pulling ahead of a distraught-looking guard. Roderick rushed to greet her with an embrace, knowing how frightened and exhausted she must be.

But when he held her, she pulled back with a terrible expression on her face, her entire body shaking so hard she could not speak. A wan-looking guard who had accompanied her stood awkwardly nearby.

“Nantha!” Haditha finally cried, and the name sounded raw, as if torn from her throat. She could form no other words.

Roderick took her by the shoulders and stared at her grief-stricken expression. Beside her, the guard mumbled, “We received word that the bodies of your youngest daughter and her nanny were found among the wreckage. Apparently they were trampled.…”

Roderick couldn’t believe what he had heard. “But I received a report that my family was safe!”

The guard looked away. “Apparently, they didn’t account for all your children, Prince. There was much confusion.”

“Nantha wanted to see the parade!” Haditha sobbed. “She begged her nanny, and they went out together. I didn’t think anything of it. And all night, I hoped — I hoped.…”

Of course Nantha would have gone out to the parade, Roderick realized with a sick despair. The seven-year-old girl had always liked the colors and pageantry. He could imagine Nantha tugging the nanny’s arm, pleading, laughing, and the nanny would have relented. And why not? They had seen many parades together.

Haditha’s moans cut through to his heart. Roderick could not focus his eyes, so he closed them. His head pounded, his eyes burned. He spoke to the guard. “And our other children?”

“Safe, my Lord.”

He recalled how Manford had rushed away, as if fleeing. What if the Butlerian leader had learned the terrible news, and departed before he could be arrested? Roderick clenched his fists. Manford Torondo could not flee swiftly enough, or go far enough away to avoid retribution. He had caused this, provoking the rampage, igniting the fires of violence. Why? To flex his muscles in front of Salvador? The Butlerians had always been dangerous, fanatical, uncontrollable, and Salvador had been too weak to stand up to them … conceding, pretending, backing down one small step at a time.

Manford Torondo had caused the riots to prove a point. And Nantha had died. Many people had died. Collateral damage.

“I will find a way to stop that man. His followers have caused too much damage, too much pain. Manford Torondo cannot create and unleash a mob, then turn his back on the consequences. The blood is on his hands.”

Haditha looked up at her husband with the saddest face he could imagine. “That won’t bring our baby back.”

He held her, rocking her, and found that he was weeping as well. “No, it won’t.” Roderick thought of what a sweet girl Nantha had been, how she always wanted to know where her father was, how she liked to play in his office and pretend to sign important documents with him. Not long ago, when he was holding her hand and standing with Salvador and Tabrina, Nantha had whispered to him, “Can I be Empress someday?”

He’d smiled and said, “Every person can dream.”

Now, all of Nantha Corrino’s dreams had been erased forever.

Flanked by three elite guards, Emperor Salvador strode into his brother’s office, looking disheveled and harried, but more confident. He did not seem to know about Nantha’s death. He grinned and said, “Roderick, there you are! Come with me — we must show the people that this painful crisis is over. Everything will be all right now.”