When his friends seemed intimidated, Taref squared his shoulders. “We learned how to operate spice machinery. We can learn the simple tasks performed by shipyard and spaceport workers.” He looked over at Draigo. “And then you want us to sabotage your rival’s engines?”
The Mentat nodded. “That time will come. We have ships of all common designs here on Kolhar. We will show you how to do basic work, teach you what you need to know, so that you’ll qualify for a job with EsconTran or any other shipping company.” As Draigo talked, Taref looked at the numerous spaceships, the rising shuttles, a cargo ship landing, a passenger vessel being constructed.
Draigo briskly got his attention again. “We’ll tell you what to say to convince others that you understand how a spacefolder works, as much as a dockhand needs to know. And”—he lowered his voice and leaned closer—“I will show you the simple things you can do to make critical systems fail.” He gestured around the busy spaceport. “You will become experts at making spacefaring vessels go wrong.”
Chapter 24 (Thinking machines did not have a monopoly on cruelty)
Thinking machines did not have a monopoly on cruelty, for human beings do unspeakable things as well. The Butlerians paint machines with too broad a stroke, and use only the color black. They do as much harm to human civilization as the thinking machines ever did.
— GILBERTUS ALBANS, personal journal, Mentat School records (redacted as inappropriate)
After the madness in the streets of Zimia, and his disturbing time with Manford Torondo, Gilbertus was glad to be safely back at the Mentat School. The Butlerian leader had not seemed at all troubled by the destruction his followers had caused.
Gilbertus hoped to calm himself by playing a round of pyramid chess with the Erasmus core. His robot mentor was far more intelligent than a combat mek and would likely win the game, as he usually did, but Gilbertus knew tricks that were not based entirely on mathematical analyses. Anytime he won a game, it was because he leveraged his humanity, adding to the knowledge this unique robot had given him over the centuries.
In his sealed and secure office, the Headmaster brought out the gelcircuitry memory core and set up the antique pyramid chessboard. Erasmus said, “I would have been disappointed if you’d lost the game to that cumbersome combat mek, my son.”
“I would have been disappointed as well, Father,” Gilbertus replied. “In fact, I would be dead, because they would have executed me.”
“Then I am doubly glad you won. That mek was a rudimentary model, utterly without sophistication. You should have had no trouble formulating a strategy to defeat it.”
“I should have had no trouble — and yet it was a close match. I was under great stress, of course, which might have disrupted my thinking processes. My emotions interfered with my Mentat abilities. My human vulnerability and mortality seeped into my mind, and nearly sabotaged me.”
The robot’s core throbbed with pale blue light. “The mek used its intelligence, meager though it was, to intimidate you into making mistakes. Doesn’t that demonstrate the superiority of thinking machines?”
Gilbertus moved a piece, then analyzed the new layout of the board. “Manford Torondo drew exactly the opposite conclusion.” He had to engage the robot, distract him.
Erasmus chose his next move, illuminated the destination square, and Gilbertus moved the piece for him. He leaned back to reassess his opponent’s strategy. He and Erasmus had played this game countless times before, so Gilbertus knew how difficult it was to surprise his mentor. He felt very calm now, without the damaging effects of emotion on his mental processes.
“They used my victory to vilify thinking machines. Prior to that, they did their best to humiliate the combat mek, cutting off its integrated weapons and even its legs. Then after the match they smashed it to pieces and dragged its body through the streets.”
“As I’ve stated many times, my son: Human society is a barbaric, feral mess,” Erasmus said. “Consider how many thinking-machine allies have been hunted down and murdered over the years — even the old man Horus Rakka, who lived his life quietly in hiding.” Gilbertus was surprised to hear agitation in the robot’s simulated voice. “Humans are monstrous and destructive. I am worried about you … about both of us. We are no longer safe here.”
For some time now Gilbertus had also been concerned, though he wanted to conceal the true danger from his mentor. He moved one of the foot soldier pieces, leaving it vulnerable to attack — intentionally so. Erasmus responded by taking the piece, as expected. Gilbertus then sacrificed a midlevel officer, luring more of his opponent’s important pieces to where he wanted them.
“You seem distracted, my son,” Erasmus said. “I worry about you.”
Gilbertus quelled his smile. The independent robot was the one who was growing distracted. “You don’t understand the concept of worrying.”
“I have been developing that capacity for centuries. I believe I have made some progress in all that time.”
Gilbertus smiled. “Yes, Father, I suppose you have. There is much weighing on my mind, especially after the rabid violence in Zimia.” Not exactly a lie, but a distraction, an excuse designed to lull his opponent, altering the independent robot’s focus. “So many people killed by the mobs, even Prince Roderick’s innocent little daughter. The Butlerians grow more and more dangerous — I did not believe it possible. I fear that I may be on the wrong side of this fight.”
“You are. I thought we had agreed about that long ago.”
Gilbertus couldn’t help but think about his former student Draigo Roget, the epitome of what a Mentat should be. By siding with Josef Venport at the Thonaris shipyards, the brilliant Draigo had embraced the cause of reason and civilization, while Gilbertus had inadvertently allied himself with those who feared technology. His finest student had chosen the correct cause … and now Gilbertus found himself in a position where he had to fight against Draigo.
The erudite robot continued, “From its inception, our Mentat School was intended to preserve the ways of logic through efficient thought processes — humans emulating thinking machines in order to preserve the advances of the Synchronized Empire.”
Gilbertus let his hand hover over one of the chess pieces. “Did I tell you that Manford is an avid student of your own laboratory journals? He told me on board our warships when we were heading toward Thonaris.”
“Oh? Manford has my journals?”
“He obtained several volumes salvaged from the ruins of Corrin, and now he studies them. I think he is even obsessed with your writing. He might be as fascinated by thinking machines as you are by humans. Wouldn’t that be a supreme irony?”
“My journals are just words. He can’t know me from them, though he might learn something from my diligent work.”
“Words are powerful things,” Gilbertus countered. “Manford knows this, and is afraid of the damage that words can do.” He remembered how his own hypothetical stance in defense of computers had nearly brought down the school. “I must be extremely careful about everything I say and write.”
The Headmaster moved a battle cruiser into position, but without sufficiently shielding it. Again, Erasmus pounced.
“Just to be safe, we must develop our long-overdue escape plan,” the robot said. “You have been at this school for too many decades. We should slip away and lie low for a few years — perhaps going back to that quaint world of Lectaire, where you pretended to be a farmer. Afterward, you and I can continue our good works.”