Anari had read the documents carefully, a number of related reports that had been prepared for her. In one of them, Rolli Escon had admitted that some vessels had been lost due to “unforeseen difficulties,” but he claimed the same thing occurred with any foldspace shipping company.
Ellonda bustled through the door carrying a tray with two cups and a pot of fragrant herbal tea. The old woman was more hurried in her movements than usual; she had been outside the office door arranging and rearranging the cups as Anari and Manford talked, waiting for an appropriate time to interrupt. Now she came in, smiling. “An evening tea to relax you before you go to sleep. You always talk about serious business, but you know it is best to settle down and not worry about everything, because God is on our side.”
Even though Ellonda had cooked his meals for several years now, Anari intercepted the cup, tasted the tea, and waited for a few seconds before pronouncing it safe, finally passing it over to Manford. Ellonda did not look offended; it was a daily ritual. Anari did not fully trust anyone, when it came to protecting Manford.
He said, “Thank you, Ellonda. God is on our side, and I am His tool, with a sacred mission.” He nodded. “Just as Anari’s mission is apparently to worry about me.”
“In all things,” she said. Without question Anari would give her life for him—she would also give her soul to this man, and that was worth a great deal more to her. But whose side was God on? She was hesitant to point out that VenHold ships had impeccable safety records. Why would God protect vessels belonging to the blasphemous Josef Venport?
Ellonda bustled around the room, setting up cups, straightening furniture, arranging pillows. She tried to remain unobtrusive, without success, but Anari turned her attention to the documents on Manford’s desk. Spreading them open, she pointed to a summary page. “Until now, we feared that EsconTran’s failure rate might be as high as one percent. Judging by the most recent information, I think their losses are many times that.” She became implacable. “Based on my research into the matter, it is too dangerous for you to travel aboard their ships. Each time you take a foldspace voyage, there is a significant risk that you could disappear.”
He shook his head. “Too many worlds need to hear my message and be reminded. Every time I speak to a wayward populace, it is necessary. I am required by God to make certain my people fight the temptation of machines. That is what Rayna Butler taught me, and I must show them how to be strong.”
“You cannot teach them if you are killed!”
“And we will all lose if I don’t press forward to complete my work.”
Anari couldn’t hide her frustration. “Send me in your place, then, if you don’t absolutely have to be there yourself. Or send your double.”
Manford frowned. “I will go where I need to go.” He sighed, looking at her with great meaning in his eyes—not quite tears, but a reflection of his deep caring. “Your fears are misplaced. It is not my destiny to die a small and remote death.”
* * *
THE ORTHODOX SISTER came as a gesture of good +C. pfaith from Reverend Mother Dorotea at the Imperial Court, although Manford was certain Emperor Salvador knew nothing about it.
Sister Woodra arrived at dawn, dressed in conservative dark robes that concealed her figure. She was middle-aged, neither unattractive nor attractive—not that Manford bothered with such considerations. Woodra followed her faith and helped strengthen the unspoken alliance between the antitechnology Sisters and the Butlerians.
Upon arriving at Lampadas, she had convinced Deacon Harian to escort her directly to the leader’s home. A scowling Anari Idaho answered the door at daybreak, not wanting Manford interrupted. The broad-shouldered Swordmaster stood in the doorway, wearing her weapon at her hip and denying them entry. “He is still asleep.”
Deacon Harian bowed his shaved head in deference but refused to depart. “Apologies, but Sister Woodra comes on urgent business from Salusa Secundus. She has not adjusted to our time.”
“Then she can wait. Manford does not accept intrusions into his private home, especially not at this hour. He conducts business in his headquarters offices in town. Tell her to come back later.”
Though it was barely dawn, Manford had actually been up for some time, always troubled by nightmares when he slept and deep concerns when he was awake. Before the argument could escalate, he called from the back room, “Thank you, Anari. I will meet her now. She has traveled a long way.”
He emerged walking on his hands. Pausing in the middle of the room, he looked up quizzically at Sister Woodra. “I’ve seen you on one of my visits to the Imperial Court. Your face is familiar.”
She bowed formally, regarding the Butlerian leader with respect and, best of all, without pity. “We who serve there do our best to be unobtrusive, Leader Torondo. I was with Sister Dorotea when your Mentat defeated the mek in pyramid chess, and afterward when you announced the rampage festival.”
Manford nodded. “Yes, I can place you now.”
She bowed again. “I am here to offer my services as a Truthsayer. There are those who resist the Butlerian teachings and try to undermine your efforts at every turn.”
“I am all too aware of that,” Manford said. “And what, precisely, can you do for me as a Truthsayer?”
“Some Sisters have a heightened sensitivity to falsehood, which enables us to detect lies and concealments.”
“A useful skill,” Anari interrupted. “But you will find no liars here.”
“I detect no falsehood in your voice, Swordmaster, nor in Deacon Harian’s.”
“And me?” Manford said. “What do you detect in me?”
“You are the most sincere person I have ever met. You believe in your cause without doubt or reservation.”
With a quiet grunt, Manford turned himself about and told them to follow him into his sitting room. Without being asked, Anari settled him into a chair, where he could comfortably converse with his visitors.
Woodra’s steady voice carried complete respect. “My Sisters and I understand the critical importance of your cause, Leader Torondo, but the battle is far from over. You need to know who is telling the truth and who merely pays lip service while secretly being Machine Apologists. Many have taken your pledge, yet they continue to purchase luxuries from Josef Venport.”
Manford clenched his jaw, breathed in, and exhaled a long sigh. “Do not speak that man’s name in this house.” He noticed that Anari tightened her grip on her sword hilt.
Woodra nodded. “I would prefer never to speak it again.”
Hearing that everyone was up, the housekeeper came in with a tray and proceeded to lay out a quick breakfast for the guests. “Sorry it’s such an informal meal, sir, but this should hold you while I make fresh pastries.”
“No need for pastries, Ellonda,” Manford said. “My guests understand that a simple meal is enough, and a simple life is enough.”
The old woman smiled and poured his tea first. Anari took the cup from Ellonda and tasted a sip before allowing Manford to drink.
The Butlerian leader spoke to his small audience, although he knew they were already convinced. “At first glance, we may look the same. Human beings have eyes and ears, minds and bodies. But all people don’t hear the truth that is plain to the righteous. We don’t all see the pure path that righteous people must follow. We don’t all behave in the proper manner.” His listeners remained so silent that it seemed as if they had stopped breathing. Manford gave a small nod. “Even I didn’t recognize the perfect truth at first … until Rayna taught me. And the moment I heard it, I knew.”
He closed his eyes and drifted into his memories. Humanity seemed comparatively safe now, though still scarred and weak—and struggling against the temptation of technology. Growing up, Manford had been desperately poor, and had run away from home, seeking something. He had no grandiose dreams, just wanted a truth to believe in. He didn’t even realize he was searching until the first time he heard Rayna Butler. She was an old woman then,
pale and ethereal, her skin like parchment. But she made holy pronouncements in the purest of words, reflecting her absolute purity of thought.
He heard Rayna tell a large audience that humanity’s worst possible mistake would be to forget the dangers of technology. Ambitious humans had created Omnius in the first place, she said, and the cymek Titans had once been human. “Darkness lives within the human heart, and technology feeds it.”
Young Manford had followed her from venue to venue, listening to more than a dozen speeches before she noticed him in the audience. She summoned the starry-eyed young man, talked privately with him, and he gave himself wholeheartedly to her cause, volunteering to be an assistant.
Though she was old enough to be his grandmother, Rayna was so beautiful and angelic that she captured his heart. He secretly scoured through archives until he located images of Rayna Butler as a young woman, and found that she had been as beautiful as he imagined. Soon Manford came to realize he was in love with her, in an unattainable way like the feelings that Anari now had for him.
After he learned what Rayna had to say, Manford built upon her teachings, and she added his contributions to her lectures, until together they developed the Butlerian philosophy into an all-encompassing way of life. Reliance on human skills rather than the crutch of machines, rigorous effort and strengthening rather than the laziness of computers. She had the charisma and passion to change the universe, to reshape the human race—until a madman’s bomb tore her to pieces. Manford had thrown himself in the way, tried to protect her. In that moment, it did not occur to him not to give his life for her.
But +C. phe had not been swift enough, and Rayna died in his arms. He held her, barely conscious himself, not realizing that the lower portion of his own body had been blown off, and his legs were gone.…
“I can’t do anything less than what Rayna’s memory requires of me,” he said now. “So many human souls are slipping through our fingers.”
“Then we need to squeeze our fists tighter,” Woodra said.
They finished their simple breakfast, and Manford realized he was glad to have the Truthsayer at his side. When it was time for Anari to carry him to his headquarters, a breathless young courier arrived at his doorway. “Leader Torondo! Directeur Escon has arrived with an important message for you. His ship just arrived in orbit.”
Harian scowled. “napped up, sud
The ideal form of mob behavior is controlled chaos.
—MANFORD TORONDO, comment to Anari Idaho
As a trained Sister, Dorotea did not normally dream, but when she did, the images often stuck in her mind like actual events. Sometimes she had trouble differentiating them from reality, especially with the distinct echoes from Other Memory.
She sat up in the darkness. Around her, the chamber was silent, as if holding its breath, but she had just experienced one of her more vivid, troubling dreams.
The Emperor had given Dorotea’s followers austere quarters in a former military barracks near the palace. She had her own suite of rooms in an officer’s section on the top level. After awakening, shaken, she rose from her bed and stood at the window, gazing across the grassy parade grounds, where she and her hundred faithful Sisters trained, along with the new acolytes they were now allowed to recruit. The parade grounds were empty, except for the night watchman’s silent vehicle as he made his rounds.
She opened the window to feel a cool breeze. The air was moist and clean, suggesting that rain had fallen while she’d been deep in her dream. Moisture still clung to the air … just as the dream clung to her awareness, trying to send her a wordless message. Dorotea felt the dream forming a sharper reality in her mind, sculpting an opening for itself, a place for it to remain.
Before going to bed, she’d been thinking about one of the Sister Mentats back on Rossak, an aged Sorceress named Karee Marques. Before the schism, Dorotea had liked the old Sorceress, and had tried to learn from her. Karee had investigated Rossak plants and fungi, preparing poisonous distillates that could be used for the Agony. Though Dorotea assisted Karee in her pharmaceutical work, the old Sorceress had always been reticent, leaving Dorotea to wonder what she was hiding+DBp the other. Karee had also been one of Raquella’s closest confidantes.
Did Karee know about the forbidden computers, the hidden breeding records? Did she know Raquella is my own grandmother?
These questions still lingered, even now, but by voicing her suspicions to Emperor Salvador, Dorotea had touched a spark to kindling. She hadn’t meant to cause such a disaster at the Rossak School. She had merely wanted to bring the Sisters back to the proper, safe path. The turbulence had gone out of her control—the massacre of the Sister Mentats, the disbanding of the Rossak order.
Now, she was determined that her orthodox Sisters would rebuild the order here on Salusa, correctly, with the full support of the Imperial throne.
The recent dream was sharper in her mind now, as if those other thoughts placed it in context, giving it a framework. While sleeping, Dorotea had seen herself talking with old Sister Karee about the important secrets Josef Venport was harboring—a conversation that was impossible, because Karee was dead, cut down by the Imperial soldiers.…
Nonetheless, the Sorceress was there in Dorotea’s dream, very much alive and talking about current events after the breakup of the Rossak School. Sister Karee explained that VenHold continued to operate profitably, that their ships flew safely in direct contradiction to so many tragic losses from other shipping companies. In the dream, Karee used her Mentat skills to counsel Dorotea, outlining circumstantial but convincing evidence that suggested Josef Venport had more than good luck on his side. Not only did his ships use the skills of mysterious Navigators, they might also be taking advantage of forbidden computers.
Without proof of his twisted dealings, though, Dorotea could not expose Venport. She had already made a grave error in voicing suspicions about the Sisterhood’s illicit computers, without having actual evidence. Many of her Sisters had died because of that. She would not make premature accusations again.
The dream-Karee wore the customary white robe of a Sorceress, giving her an air of mystery and secret knowledge. After the conversation, Karee watched Dorotea like a wise counselor while the younger woman ran a series of questions about Venport through her mind, as if she were using Truthsayer abilities on herself, rather than on someone else. Now her conscious mind asked questions of her subconscious, interrogating herself to get both sides of the truth.
Dorotea wore the black robe of a Reverend Mother, and somehow she was looking at herself as she spoke to herself, as if there were two versions of her at the same time—an older, wiser one and a younger version who still had much to learn. The older one acted as the Truthsayer.
“Speak to me of VenHold and of Combined Mercantiles,” the older Dorotea said. “Tell me what you know.”
The younger person hesitated, then said, “Directeur Venport has cut off the delivery of vital Combined Mercantiles products to any planet that supports the Butlerians.”
“And what is the most valuable product that Combined Mercantiles delivers?”
“Melange, of course. Combined Mercantiles is the prime supplier, and they run their own spice-harvesting crews on Arrakis. After Directeur Venport’s recent announcement, his Spacing Fleet will be the only distributor of spice. Aboard his own ships, Venport’s Navigators consume enormous quantities of melange. VenHold and Combined Mercantiles are inextricably connected.”
“What else? What about the spice?” escape plan,” the robot said, and s woman
“Spice is increasingly popular across the Imperium. It extends life, it promotes health. Many people are addicted. With the VenHold embargo, the inhabitants of Butlerian worlds are unable to get their spice by any means, and they grow more desperate. Venport expects this unrest to weaken their faith in Manford Torondo. The deprivation may drive them to break their pledge—as Baridge just did.”
The older, more sagacious version of Dorot
ea nodded. “Is it just political, or is Josef Venport using the embargo to increase profits as well? Speak to me of VenHold and the major banks. What do you know of the flow of money?”
Wrestling with her memories, the hints as well as actual data that seeped into her mind, Dorotea was aided by Other Memory. Information surfaced from all directions.
“In addition to the shipping embargo, there are credible reports that the major planetary banks have acted in collusion to freeze the assets of planets that took the Butlerian pledge.” She paused, followed another thread. “The planetary banks have also refused to grant financing to VenHold competitors, such as EsconTran. Nalgan Shipping nearly went bankrupt and was forced to sell its fleet to Venport. Meanwhile, the banks grant generous terms to Venport Holdings—and also to Combined Mercantiles.”
The dreaming, younger Dorotea blinked as pieces clicked into place.
“And what have you seen that you don’t know you’ve seen? Josef Venport is the Directeur of Venport Holdings. Who are the officers of Combined Mercantiles? Who are the officers of the major planetary banks?”
“I—I don’t know their names.”
“The names do not matter. You are missing the heart of the question.”
The words were heavy as the younger Dorotea lifted them out of her mind. “Venport Holdings and Combined Mercantiles are one. Venport Holdings and the planetary banks are one. The puppet strings all go back to Kolhar.”
The older Dorotea nodded like a wise teacher. “And the connections are likely to go farther still.”
Off to the side of the dream, white-robed Karee Marques folded her gnarled hands in her white sleeves. She listened, nodding as the student dissected the problem.
The younger Dorotea remembered Venport’s wife, Cioba, a powerful Sister from Rossak, someone else with Sorceress blood. Cioba and Josef had two young daughters, who were also being taught by Mother Superior Raquella. And Venport fostered and funded the new Sisterhood school in exile on Wallach IX.
Mentats of Dune Page 22
