Brian Herbert - Mentats of Dune

Roderick shook his head, lowered his voice. “I’m also disappointed, but I don’t want to disrupt the workings of the military, because they have to appear strong and reliable. We can’t simply commandeer a VenHold commercial ship and force Directeur Venport to do our bidding.”

The older woman said with a sniff, “And why not? A loyal citizen should do as the Emperor requests, not the other way around. Your father would have crushed such insubordination.”

“Yes,” Roderick said, “he probably would have.”

Gilbertus said, “My school is a place where Anna can be sheltered from the stress of political tensions.” He knew that Roderick’s brother was weak, indecisive, and easily intimidated. Emperor Salvador did not have the power to force his will on either the shipping magnate or the legless Butlerian leader.

In these days of perilous politics, though, Gilbertus had learned to keep his thoughts to himself and to maintain neutrality. He had impressed that caution on his students as well: The ideal Mentat should never be a commentator or an advocate, but a tool, an analytical device to offer guidance and projections.

“You have no political tensions here?” Roderick muttered. “Your school is too close to the Butlerian headquarters for my liking.”

“Manford Torondo is on the other side of the continent, my Lord, and he has no dispute with the Mentat School. In fact, several of my trainees follow the movement.” Though not my best students. “We teach humans mental skills that are the equal of any thinking machine. Every Mentat graduate who goes out to serve in the Imperium demonstrates that computers are unnecessary, and so Manford applauds us. Why should we worry about the Butlerians?”

“Indeed, why?” Roderick asked, but didn’t answer his own question.

Anna was waiting for them on the observatory deck, still gazing across the landscape. Out in the tangled sangrove swamps, a group of Mentat candidates worked their way through winding channels of brownish water and unseen pits by making use of stepping-stones hidden just beneath the surface. Any Mentat who had memorized exactly where to walk could find the safe stones. Now, as the practicing candidates worked their way through, some of them slipped off the path.

As far as Gilbertus could tell, Anna hadn’t moved since he’d left her, but her demeanor was different. Her expression was more animated than the affectless, fixated stare that indicated she was hyperfocused on some detail or calculation. She brightened upon seeing her brother and Lady Orenna.

Orenna embraced the girl. “You look well, Anna! Much stronger.”

Roderick looked relieved, even proud. He whispered to Gilbertus, “Thank you.”

Anna said, “I am having a good day. I wanted to have a good day for your visit.”

“And I’m glad you’re safe,” Roderick said. “The Mentat School has many hazards.”

Gilbertus said, “We have installed additional defenses. We can protect your sister — and all our students.”

As if to challenge his assertion, a commotion occurred out in the swamp. A spine-backed reptile lunged out of the brownish water where the Mentat students were picking their way across the submerged stepping-stones. The creature snatched the nearest student in its long jaws and dragged her into the deeper channel. Both predator and prey vanished as swiftly as a glimmer of sunlight on rippled water.

The Mentat students sprang together, ready to defend themselves, but the swamp dragon already had its meal and was gone.

Wide-eyed, Orenna shouted, “How can you protect Anna? You weren’t able to protect that young girl!”

Gilbertus did not let himself show emotion at the loss of the student. “Anna is not allowed outside the walls or on the lake. You have my personal guarantee of her safety.”

“And what about an outside attack?” Roderick said. “Anna would make a valuable hostage.”

Gilbertus said, “We are a small school for the development and improvement of the human mind. Mentats pose no threat to anyone.”

Roderick gave him a skeptical look. “You’re being coy, Headmaster.”

“I am stating a fact. We have run many projections and developed defenses against all likely scenarios. It is what a Mentat is trained to do, my Lord.”

Orenna stroked the young woman’s arm. “Protect your school at all costs. You have an incalculably precious treasure in Anna.”

Gilbertus nodded, but he was thinking instead of the priceless Erasmus memory core, which he kept hidden in the school. Protecting the last independent robot was an ongoing risk more dangerous than anything he’d been discussing with the Imperial visitors. “Yes, many treasures.”

Blind adherence to foolish ideas makes people act in ways that are demonstrably against their own interests. I care only about intelligent, rational human beings.

— DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, VenHold internal memo

The VenHold cargo ship emerged from foldspace precisely where the Navigator predicted — another example of how advanced his mutated humans were.

From the high navigation deck, Josef Venport watched as his ship approached the planet Baridge. Few crewmembers and no passengers were allowed in the vicinity of the Navigator’s tank, but Josef could go wherever he pleased. He owned the VenHold Spacing Fleet, controlled the creation of Navigators, and dominated most interplanetary commerce.

His great-grandmother Norma Cenva had transformed herself into the first Navigator through supersaturation with melange, and Josef had created hundreds more because his expanded fleet needed them. That effort triggered a long cascade of requirements: In order to create more Navigators, he needed vast quantities of spice, which necessitated an expansion of operations on Arrakis … which forced the VenHold Spacing Fleet to make record-breaking investments, which in turn required him to make immense company profits. One piece after another after another fell together like a beautiful puzzle.

He hated it when some fool disrupted that pattern.

His ship cruised in toward unremarkable Baridge, adjusting position as it entered orbit. Shaking his head, Josef turned to his wife, Cioba. “I doubt they even know we’ve arrived. If the barbarians hate technology so much, they must have gotten rid of long-range scanners and communication devices.” He gave a rude snort. “Maybe they wear furs instead of garments.”

Cioba was a beautiful, dark-haired woman trained on Rossak by the Sisterhood before it was disbanded by the Emperor. In a calm, reasonable voice, she said, “Baridge may have taken Manford Torondo’s pledge, but that doesn’t mean they’ve discarded all technology. Even people who pay lip service to Butlerian demands may be reluctant to change their lives entirely.”

Josef’s thick, reddish mustache bristled when he smiled at her. “And that is why we’ll win, my dear. Philosophical objections are well and good, but such extreme faith fades as soon as it becomes inconvenient.”

The planet showed the usual blue of water, a white swirl of clouds, the browns and greens of land masses. Inhabited worlds had a certain sameness, but Josef ground his teeth as he looked at this one, because of what it represented and the foolish decision their leader Deacon Kalifer had made.

Josef did not have patience for short-sighted people, especially when they were in positions of power. “This is a wasted errand. We should not have expended the fuel and time to come here. There’s no profit in gloating.”

Cioba leaned close, touching his arm. “Baridge deserves a second chance, and you need to remind them of what their decision costs. Deacon Kalifer may have reconsidered by now.” She stroked her husband’s thick hair.