Mentats of Dune 6 страница

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.

There is great wisdom in some of the voices I hear, but others are mere distractions. I must be careful which ones I listen to.

—ANNA CORRINO, letter to her brother Roderick

Even before her mind was altered by the ordeal with poison, Anna Corrino had heard the voices of people who weren’t necessarily there. As a girl, she’d often talked about those voices and repeated their advice; her instructors and court mentors dismissed the “imaginary friends” as a child’s fantasies.

Lady Orenna, though, was more sensitive to Anna; the Virgin Empress understood her better than anyone else at court. Gossipers found the pair’s closeness peculiar, because Orenna had reason to resent her husband’s bastard daughter, but the old woman chose not to punish an innocent girl for the indiscretions of Emperor Jules Corrino.

When Anna was only twelve years old, Lady Orenna said to her, “I’ve discovered more information about your real mother.” Anna had never known the Emperor’s mistress, who disappeared shortly after giving birth to her. “Bridgit Arquettas was more than just a concubine—your mother had Sorceress blood, from Rossak. That means you’re special, dear Anna. You might have abilities the rest of us can’t understand.” Orenna had smiled. “That’s why I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the voices you hear.”

On the grounds of the Imperial Palace, Anna had her own special hiding place in a fogwood tree, an impressive growth with drooping branches and multiple trunks that formed a labyrinthine thicket. Her mind was attuned to the psychically sensitive plant, and with her thoughts Anna could manipulate the tree’s growth and shape the branches into a special fortress that only she could enter. Even after Orenna had discovered the girl’s hiding place, the old woman kept it a close secret, strengthening the bond between them.…

That had been so long ago.

Now, at the Mentat School, Anna sometimes recognized where she was, while at other times she wandered down empty, complicated halls of memories, many of which she knew were not her own. And there were more voices after she had consumed the Rossak poison in an attempt to become a Reverend Mother.

When Anna had emerged from that coma, her mind was like a kaleidoscope image, beautiful colors and fascinating patterns, but fractured and never the same from one moment to the next. In one memory fragment, she saw herself blundering into a private cottage on the palace grounds. There she found Lady Orenna naked and entwined with Toure Bomoko, one of the exiled members of the Commission of Ecumenical Translators.

The CET’s blasphemous attempts to consolidate all human religion into a single orthodox tome, the Orange Catholic Bible, had created such an uproar that the public wanted to tear the translators apart—and had actually done so in several instances. A few of the scholars had taken sanctuary under the protection of Emperor Jules.

When Anna witnessed Bomoko attacking Orenna, the girl fled, screaming, and sounded the alarm. Afterward, Emperor Jules had forced her to watch the horrific executions, which had scarred Anna deeply. And those scars only grew thicker and uglier when she realized, years later, that what she’d witnessed might not have actually been a rape.…

The memory kaleidoscope shifted, and Anna found herself back at the Mentat School studying complex tables of numbers and examining intricate patterns, a huge grid of lights that blinked on and off in a sequence that only a Mentat or thinking machine could discern. Anna spotted the pattern right away.

With a start, she realized that this was now.

She remembered Roderick sending her to Lampadas so she could train with Headmaster Albans. She tried to fit in among the Mentat students, and the exercises did help her learn to focus and organize the voices in her mind. On her lucid days, Anna could become almost normal.

She remembered what it was like to interact with people, to hold a pleasant conversation that was not inundated with a universe of factual details, including lists of names and numbers. With a slight shift of the memory-kaleidoscope images, she suddenly recalled the names of every one of the 362 Mentat trainees currently at the Lampadas school. Then another shift, and she recalled the thousands of previous graduates: 2, 641. The names of every student scrolled in front of her mind, but she pushed away the distracting list, telling herself it was not necessary to review them now. She could do that later, put them in proper order, alphabetically or chronologically, perhaps by birth date or planet of origin.

The kaleidoscope shifted yet again, showing her things she had never personally experienced. Anna saw the spectacle of the Imperial Palace on Salusa Secundus, the lavish rooms, the concubine chambers—and Emperor Jules as a handsome young man, aggressive and charismatic. Anna had never seen her father that way, and she realized this was a memory direct from her mother. As she thought back along the train of dusty images, Anna recognized young Bridgit Arquettas in the cliff city on Rossak. Bridgit had grown up with a trace of Sorceress blood in her veins, before being taken away from Rossak by her father. The family moved to Ecaz, which also had many jungles.

In a rush, the images blurred with the speed of decades passing, Anna saw how her mother was—actually herself, if these memories were now part of her. Bridgit had auditioned to become part of the Emperor’s enclave, and she had caught the eye of Jules Corrino. Anna heard more whispered voices from the past in her head: Jules flattering Bridgit after they made love, whispering promises that they both knew were as empty as a discarded gift box.

Anna had never experienced those memories before taking the Sisterhood’s poison, and now they filled her mind in fragmented bursts. No, she had not succeeded in becoming a Reverend Mother as she hoped, but the Rossak drug had unlocked memories that were not her own. None of the other failed candidates were like this; most remained comatose. But Anna saw images of other Sorceresses in her mind—her mother’s mother and beyond, ancestors who’d fought in the Jihad, women oppressed by thinking machines—a long tunnel of memories that gave her a spinning, swooning sense of vertigo. These were her genetic predecessors in the female line, flickers and images that somehow remained inside her.…

Whenever Anna grew bored with her classes, when the Mentat exercises were too easy for her, she could dip into those other memories and live those past lives randomly, as they came to her. Some of the prior lives seemed far more interesting than her own, while one life in particular—a woman who had been captured by thinking machines more than two centuries ago and slowly flayed to death—was far worse. Anna could barely endure a glimpse of that gruesome memory before she shut it down.

She thought of Hirondo Nef, a chef at the Imperial Palace, a dashing young man who made special pastries and candies for her, and whose words were even sweeter. Longing to be treasured, Anna had become infatuated with him, filled with the all-consuming passion of a first love. She gave her heart to Hirondo with complete abandon. They would have run away together and lived like simple folk, but her two brothers crushed that romantic dream. Hirondo had been too easily convinced that he did not really love her after all, and his failure to fight for her still stung. He had vanished.

Anna’s imaginary friends, her memory friends, were much more loyal.

Though she kept track of countless details on many esoteric subjects, she paid little attention to what day, month, or year it was, or how long she had been at the Mentat School. Such information seemed frivolous to her. Roderick and Orenna had visited her here … recently? She couldn’t recall.

When another day ended, Anna ate with the students, as usual. Some tried to befriend her, while other trainees avoided her. For the most part, Mentat students were preoccupied with their own business.

When it was time, Anna went to bed in her private quarters. Many of the students had to share chambers in the school’s dormitory, but as the Emperor’s sister she warranted a private room. She hadn’t asked for one—it was just provided for her. And now, because it was time (not because she noticed she was tired), she lay on her small bed and closed her eyes, surrounded by the darkness. Alone and peaceful, finally able to concentrate …

Oddly, she heard a clear whisper beside her ear in an erudite yet soothing voice. But a male voice this time. Most peculiar. “Hello, Anna Corrino, I am your friend. I can help.”

She smiled but did not open her eyes. She wondered where this memory had come from, which ghostly presence in her mind had decided to visit her as she drifted off to sleep.

“I can strengthen your thoughts, ” the voice continued. It sounded friendly, powerful, and confident. Anna desperately wanted a friend. “I can teach you to organize your mind. You can have clarity—if you let me explore the avenues and byways of your mind. Let us discover them together.”

She liked his voice. Anna smiled again, gave a noncommittal “mmmm, ” and listened while he gave her ideas, made promises, and offered suggestions. She was still listening to the soothing words when she fell asleep.

* * *

While Gilbertus Albans was gone from the school after Manford’s summons, Erasmus remained in his secret cabinet, an isolated memory core without a body, unable to move about – but able to speak and think…

The wise instructor does not teach everything she knows.

—REVEREND MOTHER VALYA HARKONNEN

When she returned with her new Sister Mentats to Wallach IX, Raquella was delighted to find that Valya Harkonnen had come back to the fold. She was also relieved. Despite her youth, Valya was one of the Mother Superior’s most trusted proté gé es, and she needed her. Raquella had trained the young woman, groomed her, given her vital responsibilities on Rossak, and even allowed her into the inner circle of Sisters who knew about the secret breeding-record computers.

Ambitious and talented, Valya was driven to serve the Sisterhood school—enough so that Raquella had even considered her to be a likely successor … before everything changed.

Knowing Valya’s hard personality, Raquella wasn’t surprised that she would risk enduring the Agony, even without Sisters to attend her. On windswept Lankiveil, where Sister Arlett had recruited her years ago, Valya had consumed the tailored poison all by herself—and had emerged strong as a new Reverend Mother. Raquella had always seen the potential in her.

Yet the Harkonnen woman had a dark side, too, a not-quite-hidden obsessive loyalty to her own family, enough to give the Mother Superior reason to doubt. Even so, Raquella knew she might not have a choice, because time was running out.

Raquella’s recent health crisis on Lampadas had been yet another reminder of her mortality. Her ancient body struggled to hold on to a thread of life, and she did not know if she had years or days remaining. She needed a clear successor. The Sisterhood she had created and nurtured was in a disturbing state of flux, split into two rival factions. She saw the rift as a mortal wound, and she had little chance left to heal—didn’t even know if it was possible.

The division was personal, more than just a power struggle or philosophical dispute. When Sister Dorotea had discovered she was Raquella’s secret granddaughter—yanked away from her mother and raised without any knowledge of her parentage—she had resented the Mother Superior and the Sisterhood’s heartless ways. Because of her emotional reaction, Dorotea made flawed decisions. The Sisterhood had been broken because of it.

Emotions caused so much collateral damage!

As she tried to rebuild her school on Wallach IX, Raquella pondered the best way to save her precious order, to heal the two broken halves. The clamoring voices of Other Memory offered no useful insights, though their cacophony continued. A few louder individuals beckoned to her, demanding that Raquella join them in the eternity of death and let these problems solve themselves, as they always did.

Perhaps she should just surrender, name Dorotea her successor, and let the two groups merge. They would become the totality of the Sisterhood, with the Emperor’s blessing. Maybe the orthodox Sisters on Salusa Secundus would welcome the most talented women from Wallach IX.…

Or if not Dorotea, then Valya might be her only hope.

Raquella felt a renewed vigor as she embraced Valya Harkonnen, a prodigal daughter come back to the Sisterhood. The young woman smiled with pride. “I’ve found you again, but it’s not just me, Mother Superior. I’d like you to meet my sister, Tula. I gave her some training on Lankiveil, and you’ll find her as dedicated and determined as I was at her age.”

Raquella turned to the girl, whose eyes were as pale as glacier ice. “Valya has set the bar high for you, but I am always pleased to welcome new recruits.” Keeping her expression mild, she reached out a withered hand to pat the young woman’s shoulder, while using all her skills as a Reverend Mother to read nuances on Tula’s face. If anything, this young woman had an even wilder intensity in her demeanor than her sister did.

A tool to be sharpened and put to good use for the Sisterhood, she thought.

During the Mother Superior’s absence, Valya and Tula had quickly settled into the Wallach IX School. Though Raquella had yet to accept Tula formally as a new student, Valya continued training her own sister, demonstrating techniques of her own devising; some of the other trainees also observed and learned. Raquella appreciated Valya’s initiative, and she would make every effort to shape her ambitions for the good of the Sisterhood.

The ten new Sister Mentats came forward to join the other Sisters, looking in reserved dismay at the new facilities on Wallach IX. Before they had departed for Lampadas to begin their intensive Mentat training with Headmaster Albans, the Sisterhood school had been thriving on Rossak. Now, they regarded the prefab structures Josef Venport had provided, along with the cool and bleak landscape that was so different from the lush silvery-purple jungles. Everything on Wallach IX was much rawer than the ancient and imposing caves on Rossak.

But at least the Sisterhood has survived, Raquella thought. And we will rebuild.

Fielle, the brightest of the new Sister Mentats, remained near the Mother Superior. Raquella noticed Valya’s quick assessing glances toward each of the returning Sister Mentats, as if she were trying to determine whether they might be competition. She could not help but notice Fielle’s bond with the Mother Superior, and Valya’s eyes hardened for just an instant.

Raquella was sure Valya would realize that a Mentat Reverend Mother such as Fielle had skills she did not herself possess—useful skills. While a rivalry could force both women to develop their best talents, it could also lead to friction, even another dangerous rift, and the Mother Superior could not allow that. She would intercede and make certain these two became allies. Combining their skills, Valya and Fielle could become a team far more powerful than anything Dorotea could offer.

* * *

Raquella resettled herself in the modest rooms she maintained on the school grounds. The buildings were new but drafty, without the warmth and familiarity of Rossak, without the gravitas of history. But that would change. Perhaps the Sisterhood would someday return to Rossak, or perhaps Wallach IX would grow into an important Mother School in its own right.

After resting, Raquella changed her robe and walked outside, where the weak sunshine warmed her face. She felt refreshed, better able to face her continuing obligations. So much to accomplish … and she dared not let herself die with all that important work unfinished. But she had to be realistic.

On an expanse of brittle blue-green grass outside the complex, she watched Valya and Tula practicing martial arts, with other Sisters gathered around to watch them. Though separated by seven years in age, the two Harkonnen girls were about the same height and build, both physically fit and flexible.

From prior testing, Raquella knew the Harkonnen bloodlines could be suitable for a beneficial intermingling that the breeding computers had projected. The school’s few Sister Mentats had difficulty reproducing the projections now, limited by the bound copies of the Rossak files they had managed to rescue.

It was plain to Raquella that she needed to retrieve the sophisticated computers from their hiding place in Rossak’s jungles. Those gigantic databases with a wealth of genetic data from noble houses and other significant families could not be lost. The bloodline archives would enable her experts to suggest optimum genetic matches. It was time to get them back, and Valya’s return was serendipitous. The Harkonnen woman had dismantled the computers and hidden the components. She would need to lead a retrieval mission.

As Raquella watched, the two Harkonnen sisters performed a series of swift combat moves that Valya had developed with her brother Griffin. The young women struck out at each other and fell back, feinted, advanced, dodging blows with precision, as if this were a complex, well-rehearsed dance. Their movements were fluid, graceful, and lightning fast. They charged at each other; Tula leaped over Valya and went into a smooth roll, while Valya rolled in the opposite direction. Less than ten meters apart, they sprang to their feet, whirled, and charged again, ignoring the gasps and cheers of Sisters watching them.

Raquella considered that Harkonnen genetics might offer intriguing possibilities, but she could not visualize Valya as a breeding mistress—she was too independent, too forceful. This beautiful new girl Tula, on the other hand, might be perfect for the program.

Valya and Tula stood back-to-back and each took one step, then whirled and struck out with hands and feet. A pair of blows struck home, as Valya kicked her sister in the abdomen, receiving a hard chop to the neck in return. Three more times they stood back-to-back, took a step, and whirled on each other. Raquella realized this was their variation of a less-than-deadly duel, in which they tried different attacks each time.

Raquella had already observed Valya’s impressive fighting abilities on Rossak, but her speed and fluidity had improved significantly. Additional Sisterhood training, as well as greater control as a Reverend Mother, had made Valya astonishing. She monitored her muscles, reflexes, and every move she made with precise control. It was obvious that Valya had taught Tula a great deal, because they shared the same instincts and speed. As a fighting team, they could be quite lethal.

When the young women concluded their impromptu demonstration, some of the onlookers asked Valya about her technique, while Tula stood looking quiet and shy. With a glance at the Mother Superior, Valya raised her voice. “When I trained with the Sisterhood, I identified a number of talented fighters in our ranks. Back then, the exercises were informal demonstrations of bodily control, but now they should be more than that.” She wiped perspiration from her brow. “We Sisters know our bodies and our reflexes better than any typical fighter—we can take advantage of that, develop it. We need to be able to defend ourselves against outside threats. Our Sisterhood has already been massacred once.”

Raquella stepped forward. “What are you suggesting? ”

Valya flicked dark hair from her eyes. “Remember how easily the Sister Mentats were killed by Imperial troops? They were helpless in the face of brutish soldiers! ”

The Mother Superior listened and considered. “The Sisterhood’s mission is to improve human abilities in all our candidates. Training is physical as well as mental, and mental abilities are enhanced by well-honed bodies. I agree that personal combat training would make the Sisterhood stronger.”

“Our enemies definitely won’t expect it.” Valya stood next to her sister as they faced the old woman. “Do we have your permission to show other Sisters our methods? ”

“Of course. Each individual contributes to the whole. Develop an instruction routine as you see fit. But first I have a different mission for you.” She extended her arm. “Come, Valya, walk with me.”

As they crossed the grass, Raquella leaned on the younger woman’s arm, though she could have kept her balance without the assistance. The support she needed from Valya was far more than this.

Anyone who searches for the meaning of life is on a fool’s journey. Human life has no redeeming purpose or value.

—the cymek GENERAL AGAMEMNON, A Time for Titans

On a side street in Arrakis City, Vorian Atreides remained with Captain Phillips in the crowded, noisy gaming den for the better part of an hour. They watched the gamblers, the drug consumers, and those who imbibed potent spice beer or expensive offworld liquors. The dingy place smelled of dust, melange, and a faint background odor of urine from a poorly sealed reclamation chamber. Vor frowned; no true desert worker would be so careless as to let that moisture go to waste. He shuffled his boots to find a more comfortable position for his sore infected toe.

Griffin Harkonnen had frequent escape places like this, spreading bribes, endangering himself, desperate to find any information about where Vorian Atreides had hidden on the desert world.…

Captain Phillips wanted to eavesdrop on conversations, hoping to find a supplier who could offer a cargo of melange for a better price than Qimmit’s. So far, Phillips had remained silent, but now he caught Vor’s gaze, then nodded over his shoulder. Vor took a careful, casual sip of his spice beer while glancing where the captain had indicated. He spotted Qimmit in the crowd, chatting with miners and Combined Mercantiles businessmen.

“He’s moving in our direction … and not by accident, ” Phillips said. “I’ve been watching his way toward us.”

With his dusty stillsuit hood down to reveal his matted, unruly hair, Qimmit glided through the throng, pretending not to look at the two men.

“We won’t need to find an alternate supplier if he decides to lower his price, ” the captain continued. “Qimmit is a crafty one, but he’s the least crooked of the possible suppliers. At least he never sells me diluted product.”

“Should we turn our backs on him? ” Vor asked. He guessed that Qimmit had never expected them to walk away in the first place, and he wouldn’t want to lose their business to a rival. “To show him he’ll have to work to get us back? ”

Phillips clicked his glass against his companion’s, nodded. “A good negotiating ploy, Vorian Kepler.”

Kepler. The alternate surname still jarred Vor. He wished he could tell the captain the full truth, but Vor preferred to remain anonymous.

They were trying to catch the bartender’s attention to order refills when a disingenuous voice said from behind, “If you two are here, then you haven’t found another supplier. Still need a load of spice? ”

Vor and the captain turned to face the grinning spice merchant, with their schooners still empty. Phillips appraised the merchant with cool reserve. “We haven’t selected another supplier yet.”

Qimmit patted the captain’s back and looked at him with unfocused blue eyes. “You’re in luck, old friend. I’ve been talking with one of my associates, and his crew just returned after excavating a large spice deposit in the deep desert. The melange is earmarked for Combined Mercantiles, of course, but he is allowed a certain percentage for, ah, discretionary use. He delivered the haul to a warehouse here in town, and he’ll be putting his percentage up for auction. But if that happens, it goes through inspectors, packagers, shipping administrators, all of whom expect bribes. Rather than bother with all that, I convinced him to offer you the load under a revised pricing structure—if we can come to a quick agreement. I am in a volatile business.”

The captain responded in a terse tone, as if holding a grudge, and Vor didn’t think it was an act. “Revised pricing structure? Exactly what price do you propose? ”

Qimmit rattled on about profit margins, equipment losses, and storage fees, and grinned again as he offered a purported discount, which brought the price down to only slightly more than Captain Phillips had offered in the first place. The deal was struck, and Qimmit saved face, while Phillips got the load for an acceptable cost. The two men finally got the bartender to provide another round of spice beer for all three of them—and the merchant paid.

Captain Phillips finished his drink, seemingly unaffected by the potency, and turned to Vor. “We’d better load the cargo right away and get back to the ship. Weathersats show a sandstorm rolling in tomorrow morning, and I don’t want to be trapped on this rock.”

* * *

As they hurried out through the dusty city, making their way along convoluted alleys that had an aversion to straight lines, Vorian and Captain Phillips encountered dusty-robed desert people gathered around a battered transport vehicle that had landed in an open square near a collapsed warehouse.

The desert people came forward with a quick efficiency of movement, like ants working together on a silent mission. Walking shoulder to shoulder, they entered the cargo bay, then returned down the ramp, each pair carrying a body loosely wrapped in a polymer tarpaulin.

Phillips stopped, his expression a mixture of fear and disgust. Vor knew what the people were doing. “Casualties, Captain—retrieved from a spice crew, judging by the orange dust swirling around. Frequent accidents occur.”

“I know, ” Phillips said, “but I thought sandworms caused most of the deaths.”

“Worms aren’t the only hazard in the desert, ” Vor said. “I remember one accident that involved an airtight evac compartment hauled away from a spice factory. It became a death trap with poisonous exhaust sealed inside.” He nodded toward the wrapped bodies the desert people were whisking away. “That hauler flies around Arrakis City, looking for bodies in the streets, whether knifed or shot, or simply dead from lack of hope.”

After each body was removed from the hold, workers quickly ran their hands over the garments, but found few treasures to retrieve. Obviously, the victims had already been robbed.

Phillips shook his head. “What a waste of life.”

“Nothing goes to waste in this place, ” Vor said. He lowered his voice. “You might think the bodies are just discarded out in the desert, dumped in a mass grave of some kind. Few will speak of what I am about to tell you, but there are rumors that the desert people are so desperate for water that they render down the bodies for whatever moisture is found within the flesh.”

Phillips looked decidedly queasy, but Vor recognized the necessities in such a harsh place. “We have the option to leave here, Captain. Many of these people don’t. When they die on Arrakis, they vanish.” He felt heaviness in his chest.

Not wanting the body of Griffin Harkonnen to suffer a similar fate, Vor had sent it home so that the young man could be buried on family ground.

Griffin had been a young man out of his depth who sought unwise and unchanneled revenge. Vor understood why Griffin blamed him for the disgrace of House Harkonnen, but the young man hadn’t needed to die.

I couldn’t save him, Vor thought. And the Harkonnens continued to hate him. Was that all Vor had accomplished with his life? Was that his legacy now, the shadow that would cling to his family name?