“I have misgivings about this,” said Shurko. “My family and the desert have always been good enough for me.”

Taref snorted. “I have heard you say otherwise.”

Shurko looked cowed. “I was just agreeing with you when I said it. But that does not mean I meant to abandon the desert entirely.”

“If you are uneasy about it, then you’re not the sort of person I’m searching for,” Draigo said. “And if you go with us, we can bring you back in a year if you like, a much wiser and more experienced person.”

“I want to see the ocean,” Taref said, as if daring the others to disagree with him. He had the mannerisms of a natural leader, but his skill-set and his confidence were not yet well honed. “And you all have said as much to me when we were out in camp.”

His remaining companions looked at one another. They had been waiting for Taref’s lead, and they all agreed to accept the offer, although with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Shurko wavered and finally said, “Then I will go along as well.”

Draigo hardened his voice. “I’m not interested in volunteers who change their minds so easily. What we ask will be difficult, but exhilarating. A chance that no other Freeman has been given. Do you want to be the first … or do you want to be nothing?”

Now, however, it was a matter of pride for Shurko. “I give you my word. I will go with my friends. We will stay together.”

Lillis expressed caution. “What is it you want from us in return?”

Draigo smiled. “Do what you’ve already proved you can do so well — sabotage. We’ll train you. On Arrakis you may understand how spice-harvesting machinery works, but spaceships with Holtzman engines are vastly more complicated. A person requires decades of education and innate intelligence to understand how a foldspace engine functions.” He paused to look at the desert people, not bothering to conceal a little disdain. “Fortunately, it takes far less training to make such an engine not function.”

Waddoch was surprised. “Sabotage? Why would you want us to ruin one of your own spaceships?”

“I want you to sabotage the spaceships of a rival company: EsconTran.”

The name obviously meant nothing to the Freemen. His two Mentat trainees were alert and attentive. Draigo tried a different explanation. “Do you not have tribes? Rivalries?”

“Of course,” said Taref. “All of us do. I am the son of a Naib.”

“The third son of a Naib,” Lillis said.

“Because of my two older brothers, I will never rule the tribe.”

“Our company has rivalries with other shipping companies. We wish to harm them.” Now the desert people understood the situation.

Taref lowered his voice, which was rich with wonder and awe. “Even if I will never be Naib, I will be the only one of my family to behold a fortune in water such as that.” He looked to the window wall. “I will be the only one to see what is out there.”

Draigo nodded. “First, let me take you and your companions to Kolhar. We will instruct you there, create convincing new identities for each of you. Because you come from Arrakis, you won’t be in any Imperial security records. Your names and identities will raise no concerns, but we need to give you eye films to cover your blue eyes, or they will draw too much attention. Ostensibly, you’ll be simple workers, proficient in basic engine maintenance, because we will give you that expertise. And then you’ll secretly make certain adjustments to critical parts and systems. EsconTran already has a dismal safety record, and with your help we can make it far worse.”

Taref glanced at his companions, then back at the faux-ocean window. When he finally turned to face Draigo, the Mentat recognized the sparkling hunger there, a longing to see new vistas and to break free from the dreary desert. “If you take us away from here and show us new worlds, Draigo Roget, then wrecking a few spaceships for you is a small price for us to pay.”

Chapter 17 (From a certain perspective, history)

It was a spectacle in the Imperial Court, and Gilbertus played his role well, because Manford Torondo was watching him. Buried behind layers of impenetrable mental walls, he resented being treated as a performing animal for the Butlerians.

Manford considered Gilbertus neither an equal nor an ally, but rather a tool, a weapon — a means for the Butlerian leader to make his point. Other than perhaps his loyal Swordmaster, Manford viewed every human the same way, from the lowliest fanatical follower all the way up to Emperor Salvador Corrino. He showed disdain for anyone not as determined as he was … and no one was as determined as he was.

Manford had made it clear that he counted on his trained Mentat to prove that the thinking machine was inferior. If Gilbertus failed to win the assigned contest, the Butlerians would take out their disappointment on the Mentat School.

Instead of his usual Headmaster’s suit, Gilbertus wore a simple Mentat robe as he entered the satellite Imperial Audience Chamber. Even this side chamber was larger than any lecture hall at the Mentat School. The floor had been cleared to create an open expanse like a gladiatorial arena, at the center of which sat a single table for Gilbertus and his game.

In seats around the perimeter, crowds already lined the room — twitching court functionaries, stern ambassadors from varying planets, trading partners, Butlerian deacons, and wealthy nobles who had signed Manford’s antitechnology pledge.

Emperor Salvador sat on a faux throne, a pale imitation of his real green-crystal chair. It was his clumsy way of showing that Manford’s spectacle was not sufficiently important to warrant the use of the Emperor’s primary chamber with its regal furnishings.

Gilbertus noted that Empress Tabrina was conspicuously absent. Searching through his memory records of other appearances at court, he recalled numerous occasions when he’d not seen Tabrina at her husband’s side.

Roderick Corrino occupied one of the special reserved seats, close enough that he could watch the pyramid chess game. His wife, Haditha, and their young son and three daughters were with him, as if this spectacle were a pleasant family outing. Laughing and whispering to her, Roderick placed his youngest daughter, Nantha, on his knee.

Several of the orthodox Sisters who served the court were also there, waiting stiffly. Reverend Mother Dorotea hovered close to the Emperor, perhaps to give him advice, perhaps to explain nuances of the game. Although Salvador understood the rules of pyramid chess, he had never demonstrated any particular skill when he played it.

Gilbertus glanced around the audience, counting the attendees and memorizing their identities in a single eyeblink. No one here would cheer for his opponent, and the combat mek was going to be destroyed regardless of the outcome. Though the robot was a relatively primitive model, Gilbertus was sure the mek had enough awareness to understand its fate.

Without speaking, Gilbertus stepped up to the table and the chess set on display. The board and pieces were larger than standard size, so that observers in the far rows could see what was happening.

The neutered combat mek was propped in place at the game board, not struggling, with its optic sensors glowing dully. The robot’s legs were still detached, and the torso was bolted to a metal platform. All the mek’s bladed weapons had been sawed off, leaving dull stumps, which comforted the observers. This mek model was deadly in many ways beyond the obvious, however, but Gilbertus didn’t want to explain how he knew this.