“I am grateful to have so much to reflect on, Mother Superior,” Tula said.

Valya knew her sister was also thinking about the knowledge from the breeding index, especially the locations of the Atreides descendants.

Chapter 32 (Crossing the line from friend)

Although Lampadas was surrounded by the Half-Manford’s Butlerian warships, their defenses were as effective as using a frayed net to hold back the rain. Draigo Roget took passage aboard a small VenHold ship and spent much of the voyage in a Mentat trance, planning conversations with his mentor, imagining outcomes.

He did not want to admit that he was nervous about the prospect of facing the Headmaster. Their last encounter at the Thonaris shipyards had nearly killed him, but he didn’t think he had misjudged Gilbertus’s true mindset, despite his — reluctant? — cooperation with the Butlerians.

After arranging a return rendezvous with the spacefolder that remained in distant orbit, Draigo descended to the wild part of the continent in a small unmarked shuttle. Headmaster Albans would not be expecting him, and Draigo didn’t know what sort of reception he would receive. He needed to be cautious.

A handful of the Mentat trainees were loyal to Manford Torondo. Gilbertus had been forced to welcome zealous Butlerian students to keep the leader satisfied. Draigo was more than a match for them, but he could never count on outthinking Gilbertus Albans.

The Headmaster kept his emotions tightly reined, but Draigo thought he knew the man’s heart. The two of them had grown close during years of instruction, and he didn’t think their bond would ever be broken. Although the Mentat curriculum was designed to teach human candidates to think without computers, Gilbertus was no mindless barbarian. He was a reasonable man, and Draigo had to count on that.…

By the light of the Lampadas moon, he landed his shuttle on the edge of the sangrove swamp and set off on foot across the sodden wilderness, through tall grasses and thorny thickets. He carried weapons and a personal body shield, not because he expected to fight his way through the school, but to defend against swamp predators. Although he remained alert for nocturnal creatures, his primary focus was on the tall buildings and the new defensive walls.

He envisioned the tangled waterways woven through the marshes in the shallows of the lake and brought forth the perfect memory picture of a path used by the Mentats. The labyrinth of sluggish, shallow channels provided an additional obstacle to protect the walled school, but he had long ago memorized where the submerged stepping-stones were, only centimeters beneath the surface. By taking careful steps now, he splashed his way across, barely getting his feet wet — but if he should miss a step, he would plunge in, with little chance of scrambling back out before razorjaws swarmed him or a swamp dragon lunged out to pick him off.

Draigo took pride in the knowledge that he was the greatest student the Mentat school had ever produced, the Headmaster’s trusted protégé. Gilbertus had wanted him to remain behind and teach other Mentats, but Draigo had other obligations to Directeur Venport.

When he had been pitted against Gilbertus at the Thonaris shipyards, Draigo had lost. But surely the Headmaster regretted the senseless mayhem and all the deaths the Butlerians had caused. A Mentat must be rational, if not compassionate. A Mentat must revere efficiency over chaos. The frenzied mob that Manford had later unleashed on Zimia only reinforced how dangerous and uncontrolled the fanatics were.

A man such as Gilbertus Albans could not truly believe that savagery was preferable to civilization. The Headmaster could help bring sanity back to the Imperium … or so Draigo hoped, and that hope drove him onward.

After passing through the swamp obstacle course, he finally reached the imposing gates of the Mentat School. He scaled one of the high wooden barriers, crossed a suspended footbridge that creaked under his feet, and ducked into the connected buildings.

If nothing else, Draigo thought, the Headmaster would want to know about the flaws in his school’s defenses.

GILBERTUS ALBANS SLEPT little. The life-extension treatment he’d received long ago made his bodily processes more efficient, and thereby gave him additional hours to use his mind for important things.

The Headmaster regularly monitored the news that trickled in through the Butlerian censors, and did his best to obtain secondary sources as well, through coded reports that didn’t always say what Manford Torondo wanted others to hear.

Over the decades, Gilbertus had pondered recording his own memoirs for posterity. He wished he could go into his internal Memory Vault, recapture every detail, and leave an extensive record of everything he had done and experienced, not just his years as a slave of the thinking machines but also his later years among the humans, his peaceful existence as a farmer on bucolic Lectaire, his beautiful lost love Jewelia, and then his dedication to his Mentat School.

Yes, his life was a story worth telling. He had lived on Corrin for a century, then another eight decades among free humans. He was more qualified than any other living person to judge and compare the conflicting viewpoints. But he didn’t dare write down such dangerous facts. He shielded even thoughts about his background, because someone with special skills of observation might detect flickers of his true mindset.

Because he couldn’t sleep, Gilbertus was awake when an unexpected visitor arrived at his office. The Headmaster was working with the door closed, but had left the additional security systems deactivated. The Erasmus core remained hidden in its cabinet.

Gilbertus sat at his desk, reviewing the academic records of his trainees. Administrator Zendur had passed along his assessment of which ones were most qualified to go out into the Imperium and offer their Mentat abilities. When he looked up, he did not at all expect to see Draigo Roget entering the office.

Draigo wore a smile as he closed the door behind him. “Headmaster, I’ve missed our discussions. Despite everything, I never stopped thinking of you as a friend.”

Gilbertus struggled to suppress his astonished reaction. Another person might have sounded a security alarm, but he found himself fascinated. “You never cease to surprise me, Draigo — though I question your wisdom in coming to Lampadas. I was startled, but pleased, when you escaped certain defeat at Thonaris. You know the Butlerians put a price on your head?”

“Just as Directeur Venport has a price on Manford’s head. Those men would love to kill each other. You won fairly at Thonaris, and I survived only because of unexpected assistance from Norma Cenva.”

“A Mentat must factor the unexpected into his projections,” Gilbertus said. “And your arrival this evening is most definitely unexpected.”

Draigo stepped closer to the desk and studied Gilbertus in silence. Because of the late hour and his solitude, Gilbertus had not bothered to apply the makeup he used to increase his apparent age. A mistake. Too late now. Draigo had already noticed something.

“I am healthy, although I probably consume more melange than I should,” Gilbertus said.

Draigo glanced at the pyramid chess board set up on a side table, and the antique clock on the wall. He took a seat and looked across the desk at the Headmaster. “You taught me everything I need to know, and I am training Mentats on my own, away from any Butlerian influence.”