Mentats of Dune

Chapter 56 (One of my primary tasks in advancing the)

The Imperial Court sparkled with ladies in jeweled gowns and dashing noblemen in exquisitely tailored uniforms, sashes, and caps. For the evening festivities, the courtiers and Corrinos were entertained by exotic performing artists, including talented musicians and dancers.

Reverend Mother Dorotea and Prince Roderick sat in smaller chairs beside Salvador on his immense throne of green crystal. Together, they watched a young woman perform a baliset ballad from her homeworld of Chusuk, a romance set during the time of thinking-machine brutality. The singer sat on a stool in her colorful native costume, holding the streamlined instrument so Dorotea could recognize the work of the master artisan Varota. At first glance, the Chusuk girl seemed too young to be entrusted with something so valuable, but she had an extraordinary talent, delivering a full range of tones with the baliset to accompany her haunting voice.

The Emperor, however, was not interested in the performance. Despite the beauty of the music, the Chusuk woman was rather drab, especially in this setting. Salvador seemed bored and irritable, consuming more than his usual amount of red wine mixed with melange. The nervous Imperial sommelier stood by, ready to call for another bottle from the palace cellars, should the Emperor require it.

Dorotea studied Salvador; he was overly concerned with his imagined physical ailments and had been increasingly uneasy and impatient after executing his personal Suk physician a year ago. Salvador was too nervous to allow another Suk until they could guarantee their new Imperial Conditioning, which was supposed to make them unbreakably loyal. Dorotea did not know which paranoia would win out — his fear of a conspiratorial doctor, or his chronic hypochondria.

Dorotea observed that the Emperor’s excessive consumption of wine and melange did not mix well with his edgy temperament. He had grown more volatile in the weeks since Empress Tabrina’s banishment from court after the scandal. Despite his long-standing marital problems, Salvador seemed oddly gloomy without her around.

With a wave of his hand, the Emperor interrupted the entertainer during her song, and she was so startled that she jangled the baliset. A robed protocol attendant hurried the Chusuk girl away. She was replaced by a storyteller, supposedly an authentic native of Arrakis who would recite traditional Zensunni fire poetry. With creased, weathered skin, the storyteller wore a desert cloak and a black distilling suit, but to Dorotea’s careful gaze, his garments and filter tubes did not appear properly fitted, making it look more like a costume than authentic attire.

In a sonorous voice the man told the timeworn tale of two children — a brother and sister — who ran away from their sietch and rode sandworms to the farthest reaches of the great Tanzerouft, never to return. They became the stuff of legend, reportedly seen for centuries afterward riding the great worms, remaining children forever, never growing into adults. While the story had some appeal, Dorotea found the man’s voice shallow, his tale-spinning abilities mediocre.

“Thank you.” Salvador interrupted the man as he was about to begin a second story. “That will be enough of that.”

The storyteller bowed and hurried away while the Emperor took another sip of wine. Salvador looked crossly toward a doorway where even more entertainers awaited their turns. Three jugglers in whimsical costumes glided across the floor, but had barely begun their tumbling before the Emperor dismissed them. “No more jugglers for the rest of this month! This is an Imperial edict. I’m not in the mood for such frivolity. If I see another juggler, I will run him through with a sword.”

He chuckled as the frightened entertainers tripped over one another to exit, while Roderick looked at him with concern. During a moment of confusion about who would perform next, the Emperor lounged back, obviously uncomfortable. “All right, that’s enough foolish entertainment for this evening. A man of intelligence and culture can only take so much of this sort of fare. I shall have more wine and spice instead, and a little serenity.”

Glancing past the throne, Dorotea met Roderick’s gaze. She could tell they both wished the evening would end quickly. Perhaps Salvador would go distract himself with his concubines.

Despite the Emperor’s words, the members of his court continued chattering about their inane concerns. Dorotea had found very few of them to be serious or interesting, but Roderick was not like the others. The beleaguered Prince had his hands full trying to keep his brother from making a fool of himself, no matter how intelligent and cultured Salvador claimed to be.

At the main entrance door, Dorotea spotted a black-robed woman who moved quietly to the side of the room — not one of the hundred orthodox Sisters who had accompanied her to the Imperial Palace. The newcomer drew little attention to herself, but Dorotea recognized Sister Arlett — her own mother!

It took all of Dorotea’s effort to control her reaction. This woman worked as a missionary Sister to recruit new students. Other Memory images showed Dorotea many details of Arlett’s life, how she had been separated from her baby girl, sent away by Raquella to prevent her from forming a bond with her daughter. Later, the old woman had likewise sent Dorotea away to observe the Butlerian movement on Lampadas … was that a further ploy to keep her even more distant from her mother?

After awakening from the fog of poison, a “newborn” Reverend Mother with access to Other Memories, Dorotea discovered that cruel knowledge and the fact that the Sisters of Rossak possessed secret computers, which turned her against the corrupt operations.

Why had Arlett come here now? She didn’t even know Dorotea was her daughter, unless Raquella had revealed it to her. No, the old Mother Superior would never do that. But Raquella was aware that Dorotea knew the truth. What was her purpose in sending Arlett here, of all the possible Sisters?

A sharp, surprising pang struck her as she thought of a possible reason. Had something happened to the Mother Superior?

While Roderick led his unsteady brother out of the throne room and the Imperial sommelier dutifully followed, Dorotea glided through the droning courtiers, who were disappointed that the entertainment had ended so abruptly. Dorotea wanted to know why her mother had come here.

Arlett watched her approach and waited, her emotions carefully masked. While the members of the court filtered out of the room, the two women found a place to talk in private. Her mother said in a low voice, pitched so only Dorotea could hear, “I bring an important request from Wallach IX.”

Dorotea said, as if granting a great favor, “I will listen, even though Mother Superior Raquella has no official sanction to continue training students.”

“Emperor Salvador was vague in delineating consequences.”

Dorotea no longer had any close connections with the Sisters who remained in Raquella’s fold. While she disagreed philosophically with her rivals, Dorotea did not feel vindictive toward them. She wished the Mother Superior would show strength against temptation and fervently espouse the Butlerian philosophy, but that was not likely to happen with VenHold supporting the school on Wallach IX. Dorotea’s orthodox Sisters here would grow stronger, and her trained Truthsayers would prove more and more useful.

As far as she was concerned, Raquella’s Sisters were irrelevant.

Dorotea looked at Arlett’s pale blue eyes; even the features were similar to her own, the same nose, the same jawline. How does she not realize it? Deciding to stop the charade Raquella had established long ago, Dorotea said, “Is this a personal matter, Mother, or are you here on business?”

Arlett glanced away, as if embarrassed. “I am not a Reverend Mother. I have not yet undergone the Agony.”

Dorotea’s voice was hard. “That’s not what I meant, Mother. You gave birth to a daughter on Rossak years ago. You were attached to the girl, but Raquella sent you away before the bond could grow stronger … just as Raquella apparently felt no bond toward her own daughter—you.”

Arlett looked stunned and perplexed.

Dorotea continued, “Didn’t the Mother Superior ever tell you what became of your child? Your daughter?” She drew herself up. “As a Reverend Mother, I have access to the memories of my ancestors — including those of my own mother and grandmother. You, and Raquella Berto-Anirul.”

The missionary Sister’s eyes shone. “You are my daughter?” She didn’t look angry, but wonderstruck. It was obvious that Raquella had never told her.

“I have your memories of the day when the Sisters took me away as an infant, erased all records, placed me with other children — and sent you off. In fact, I might even remember it better than you do. In Other Memory, I can see when you made love to the man who was my father, a trader from Hagal who came to gather jungle pharmaceuticals. Hakon Iruit. You thought he had a funny laugh and a shy smile.”

She continued, and each sentence was like a weapon being fired. “You made love to him six times. His mouth tasted like bitter berries. The time I was conceived, you were in a fern glade under a tall silvery tree.” She raised her eyebrows. “I remember you were looking at a green butterfly as you lay on your back in the soft moss.”

Arlett’s words were barely more than a breath. “Its wings were like multicolored glass.”

“Afterward, while you were away for years on missionary assignments, traveling from planet to planet, the Sisterhood raised me, taught me their philosophy and techniques. We were not told who our mothers were. We didn’t think anything of it. Then, after I grew old enough, they sent me away to Lampadas, where I learned from the Butlerians.”

Arlett didn’t seem to be listening anymore. She said again in wonder, “You’re my daughter?”

“Yes. How can you forgive Raquella for what she did to us?”

Arlett summoned surprising inner strength. “I am a loyal member of the Sisterhood, so I understand their reasons. I always do as our Mother Superior commands.”

From Arlett’s demeanor, Dorotea could see that she had not forgiven her mother, but remained loyal nonetheless. She used the tension to put the missionary Sister in her proper place. “What is your errand, woman?”

Arlett struggled to compose herself. Her eyes burned with pain, sadness, and anger. She took several calming breaths, and the blue eyes softened as she looked at Dorotea, then became unreadable and distant. “I am here to appeal to you. This schism weakens the Sisterhood, and Raquella would like to remove the fences between us.”

“Her use of forbidden computers weakened the Sisters of Rossak and brought about their downfall. Your downfall.”

Arlett forcibly controlled the tone of her voice, did not continue the old argument. “We have our minds and abilities, and we are not alone. The two groups of Sisters have much in common. We all want to help our race reach its potential. The VenHold Spacing Fleet is developing Navigators, unlocking the human abilities of their minds, as are the Mentats at their Lampadas school. Do we not all want to improve humanity without thinking machines?”

Dorotea wanted to nod, but remained wary of being guided to a conclusion that she hadn’t reached on her own.

Arlett pressed on. “You understand the need for mapping and monitoring human bloodlines, with or without computers. When our Sister Mentats were killed on Rossak, the entire Sisterhood was weakened, and this in turn weakened the human species. You had a part in that. Don’t deny it, daughter, because you know it is true.”

Dorotea felt personal guilt over her role in Salvador’s overreaction, but knew she could not go back. “I wish it had been different. I did save the Sisterhood from being completely erased — at least a part of it.”

Arlett shook her head. “You sought personal advancement with the Emperor, no matter what your selfishness did to the core of the Sisterhood. It is time for you to repair the damage you caused.” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “I plead with you, and I demand it of you. Mother Superior Raquella summons you to see her at Wallach IX before it is too late.”

Dorotea saw something strange on her mother’s face. “Too late for what? What more aren’t you telling me?”

Arlett’s eyes were suddenly full of compassion. “The Mother Superior is dying, and she will soon announce her successor. You must come immediately — we have very little time.”