Leaving the covert VenHold spacefolder in orbit, Draigo used his shuttle to descend to the surface. In the darkness, his shuttle’s sensors mapped out a cluster of people camped in dry patches on the grassy marshlands. In spite of the natural defenses of the swamps, a horde of barbarian fanatics had surrounded the school, laying siege to the walled complex, with amphibious craft patrolling the marsh lake, tents and artillery posted on the moist ground.
Just glimpsing the scene infuriated Draigo. If he had brought a VenHold warship, he could scorch the Half-Manford’s entire camp!
Activating the automated guidance systems, he landed at a safe distance out on the edge of the sangroves. Draigo had turned off any of the shuttle’s external lights that the Butlerians might see. After stabilizing the craft on the waterlogged ground, he changed into nondescript attire such as the common people of Lampadas wore. Butlerians also wore a badge of their movement, a human fist clenching a stylized machine gear, but Draigo would not go so far. He slipped a pulse-stunner into his shirt.
He made his way overland to the edge of the sprawling camp, and slipped in among the restless people without difficulty. The Butlerians were angry and suspicious, but the majority were simpleminded, as Draigo had always known. They directed their fervor toward the Mentat School, never imagining that outsiders might come to defend it.
The siege camp was fairly well lit. The barbarians made campfires out of whatever dry wood they could find. In addition, there were portable lamps near and inside the tents. Draigo approached.
INSIDE ONE OF those tents, Manford Torondo sat on the fabric floor, balancing his torso with his hands at his sides. He heard Anari speaking to a guard outside. Her constant presence was reassuring and allowed the Butlerian leader to concentrate on his important work, without concern for his personal safety.
In the low light cast by a lamp, he looked intensely at Gilbertus, who sat on his low bed-pad. The Headmaster looked much younger with his aging makeup scrubbed off, and his elegant robe was wrinkled and soiled. His face was half in light, half in shadow.
“You knew Erasmus better than anyone,” Manford said, “so I want you to tell me about him, everything you can think of that might be useful to me in advancing the cause of humanity. What were his thoughts, his plans, his weaknesses?”
“You wish me to speak on behalf of a thinking machine from long ago?”
Manford’s nostrils flared. “I want you to speak about him, not for him. You must reveal these things, after the crimes you have committed. They will not remedy your crimes, but they may be of help to me. Tell me why he conducted his cruel experiments on human beings.”
“To understand. It separates some of us from those who wish to remain ignorant.”
Manford’s eyes flashed. “I have read the laboratory journals of Erasmus. I have struggled to understand the enemy. What was it like living on Corrin with the thinking machines? Is it true you considered Erasmus a father figure, and he thought of you as a son? How could such a bizarre relationship exist? He was a monster!”
“You cannot understand Erasmus, or me. The gulf between us is too great. You and Erasmus represent two extremes.”
Manford pursed his lips thoughtfully. “And I will proudly keep to my extreme, for the soul of the human race depends on it. Spend your evening in contemplation, Headmaster, for tomorrow you will die.”
DRAIGO WANDERED THROUGH the encampment, absorbing information. When he saw that many of the Butlerians sported crudely bandaged wounds, he wondered if some great battle had occurred. But after listening to conversations, he learned that the casualties had been inflicted by swamp creatures or the Butlerians’ own ineptitude at living out in the wild. Draigo found the knowledge both ironic and insulting to those who turned their backs on the conveniences and safety of civilization.
“Leader Torondo should just execute the Headmaster tonight and be done with it, so we can go home,” grumbled a man sitting by a fire. “Why wait until dawn? What’s the point?”
Next to him, a younger man sorted through broken branches, discarding wood that was too wet for the blaze. The two men noticed Draigo, and he decided that ducking away would draw more attention, so he came closer. Although his heart pounded when he heard their conversation, he remarked in a casual tone, “I never question what Leader Torondo wants to do, or his timing.”
The other two looked at each other and shrugged. The younger one discarded another wet stick. “He gave his word, though. A promise is a promise.”
The older man disagreed. “Leader Torondo gave his word to keep the Headmaster safe, but the confession changed everything. The execution order against machine sympathizers was in place long before. The Headmaster tricked everyone. He collaborated with Omnius and the demon robot Erasmus!”
Draigo was startled. “Headmaster Albans is a collaborator with the thinking machines? What proof do you have of that?”
The younger man glared at him. “How could you not know? Have you been deaf all afternoon?”
“Not deaf — I was out hunting, but didn’t have any luck.” Draigo indicated his dirt-smudged clothes.
“Headmaster Albans was raised on Corrin, and Erasmus kept him as a pet. He escaped after the Battle of Corrin and has been living as a different person all this time.”
Draigo turned his head to hide his astonishment. “That’s not possible! Corrin fell eighty-five years ago. I’ve seen … images of the Headmaster. He’s not old at all.”
“Some sort of trick from the demon machines. Deacon Harian found his past in the old records. There is conclusive proof. When that Truthsayer caught him at his lies, he had no choice but to confess.”
“I shouldn’t waste any more time hunting, then,” Draigo said. “If Leader Torondo is going to execute him in the morning, the siege is almost over.”
“This won’t be over until that machine sympathizer lies on the ground, with his head in one place and his body in another.” The older one chuckled at the grisly image.
Draigo wandered away, so as to not look too interested, but he kept his eyes and ears open, and asked questions whenever he could do so without raising suspicion. He touched the pulse-stunner concealed in his shirt. If the Butlerians caught him with the weapon, they would know he was not one of them.
As he walked further into the encampment, drawing little attention and nodding dumbly whenever someone looked at him, he spotted the muscular female Swordmaster. Wearing a determined expression, she marched through the camp, making her way toward a large tent, where she took up a sentry position by the front flap. Anari Idaho’s protection was always reserved for the Half-Manford, though, not Headmaster Albans, who was likely to be somewhere else. Draigo ducked back, keeping to the shadows, because she might recognize him.
The tent holding the prisoner was more isolated, as if the Butlerians feared Gilbertus might contaminate them by mere proximity to his thoughts. Draigo saw two nervous-looking guards standing in front of the entry flap, with a portable lamp burning beside one of them. Keeping his distance, Draigo prowled around the tent, trying to determine how he could approach and free his mentor. This was not a matter that needed Mentat projections; it was a matter requiring quick and efficient action.
In the rear, he saw the shadowy, squatting figure of a third guard. He could tell by the guard’s posture that he was awake and alert, not dozing. Unfortunate. Draigo chose not to use his pulse-stunner, because it would make a faint but perceptible noise, and the two guards at the front might come running.