Shurko would have wanted to return in a moment … but now he was dead, vanished out in space.
Directeur Venport tapped his fingertips on the desk surface. “You must have been glad to be rescued from that place. I hope you don’t mind returning.”
“I will return there if you command it,” Taref said, though he felt reluctant. “What is it you need?”
“We’re so pleased with your performance that we would like to recruit more Freemen. We want you to speak to the tribes on our behalf and present our offer. Find others who would like to join you in your work.” The Directeur smiled. “I’m sure you can find young people eager to leave that dust pit. Aren’t you glad you left yourself?”
Taref hesitated. Being away from Arrakis had opened his eyes, but many of his people would never imagine leaving the desert. If Shurko had stayed behind, he would have spent his entire life in the sietch, never straying from the desert, except maybe to Arrakis City on occasion. It would have been a small and unremarkable life, but a much longer one.
“I will ask them,” Taref said, then admitted, “It will be good to feel sand beneath my feet again.”
Standing beside the Directeur’s desk, the Mentat touched his earadio, listened, and his normally flat expression broke into a broad smile. Josef Venport raised his bushy eyebrows, waiting for the report.
“Good news from the planet Baridge, Directeur,” Draigo said. “The people have capitulated. They say they will tear up the Butlerian pledge if we trade with them again.”
Chapter 40 (If a person is properly instructed)
If a person is properly instructed, yet continues to make mistakes, he must be severely disciplined. Such is the heavy responsibility every devout person must bear.
— RAYNA BUTLER, last rally on Parmentier
In his half-timbered cottage on Lampadas, Anari tended the Butlerian leader. She felt possessive of Manford and always made herself available, should he need her in any way. She wanted him to feel safe and protected, but not helpless.
In her efforts, she was aided by a meek and matronly woman who cooked meals, maintained the cottage, and performed chores. Ellonda was soft-spoken and sweet, without the slightest whisper of doubt about the Butlerian cause. The housekeeper accepted the holy teachings as a matter of course, not bothering with nuances, simply agreeing with Manford in all cases. She often hummed as she darned his clothes or helped him into bed, though Manford was perfectly capable of moving about his own quarters.
Anari passed Ellonda in the hallway, and without knocking she walked into the room where Manford was reading at his private desk. He promptly closed a book, startled. Anari noticed his jerky movements, the sweat on his brow, and immediately looked for a threat. “What’s wrong?”
His tone was uncharacteristically defensive. “Nothing you need to worry about. I am merely … disturbed by what I just read.”
Manford tried to hide the book — which, in itself, told Anari what it was, because she’d seen him with it before. “Why do you torture yourself by reading the lab journals of Erasmus?”
His shoulders slumped in shame, but he still held the volume close. “To understand our enemies. We must never forget how dangerous they are. This strengthens my resolve.”
Anari sniffed. “We defeated the thinking machines. Our only enemy now is the weakness of human resolve.”
“The thinking machines remain a danger. The robot Erasmus wrote, ‘Given enough time, they will forget … and will create us all over again.’ I cannot let that happen.”
“I want to burn those books,” Anari grumbled, “so no one can read them — and so you no longer have nightmares.”
He placed the volume in a desk drawer and locked it. “I have more than enough nightmares — I’ve lived my life with them. They won’t go away, whether or not you burn the journals in my possession. I … need to know what they contain.”
Anari was disturbed to see him like this. He often read the laboratory journals in private, and she worried that he was increasingly obsessed with Erasmus, like a child playing with fire. Someday, for his own protection, she might slip into his office and destroy the volumes anyway. He would be angry with her, but she would be doing it for the proper reasons, to protect him.
He glanced at papers she carried, awkwardly changed the subject. “Something important?”
She placed a set of documents on his desk. “Despite your public blessing, it is clear that the ships of EsconTran are not divinely protected. You need to know just how bad it is, before you decide to travel offworld.”
For weeks Anari had been studying schedules and actual witness reports of ship arrivals, as well as a complete accounting of which vessels vanished en route. There were far, far too many accidents.
He pushed the papers aside without reading them. “I’ll be safe. You don’t need to worry about me.”
She remained firm. “You’re wrong, Manford — I do need to worry about you. It’s my main reason for existence.”
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.”