As Emperor, Salvador was the leader of all humanity, and if the Butlerian leader needed a double, then the Emperor should have one, too … and Roderick as well. If anything happened to his brother, Salvador would never be able to rule the Imperium alone. Either the Butlerians would run roughshod over him with unreasonable mob demands, or Josef Venport would insist on unconscionable concessions to benefit his powerful industries.

Salvador was caught between these two mortal enemies — each inflexible and both focused on their respective passions. Although he and Roderick had close business and political relationships with Venport Holdings, the Corrinos had also made concessions to the mad Butlerians. The situation was a powder keg waiting to explode.

At Manford’s demand, the Emperor had formed a Committee of Orthodoxy to monitor and judge technology throughout the Imperium. The Butlerians provided a list of unacceptable items — a list that always changed, and never grew shorter. Salvador had to accept the list or rabid mobs would storm the capital city and bring him down.

Meanwhile, most of the ships in the Imperial Armed Forces were carried to their destinations aboard VenHold spacefolders, in a service provided at low cost with great safety. The VenHold Spacing Fleet was clearly the superior alternative.

Fortunately for Emperor Salvador, Manford Torondo and Josef Venport hated each other. Maybe they would neutralize each other — so long as the conflict didn’t take Salvador down with it.

Beside him, with sparkling eyes and a vapid smile, the false Manford continued to bask in applause. The throng was a mass of faces and expressions, generating rolling swells of noise.

Finally, to Salvador’s relief, the Imperial carriage completed its celebratory procession and headed back to the golden-domed Hall of Parliament. With an uncomfortable glance at the legless double, he slipped out of the carriage without waiting for his military guards or entourage and hurried into the building, while his liveried attendants tried to keep up with him.

His brother, Roderick, waited for him on the staircase that led to the second-story balcony from which Salvador was expected to deliver a speech. Still hearing the murmur of crowd noise from the streets outside, the Emperor tried to control his breathing. His brother raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Salvador told him about Manford’s double. “That bastard kept himself safe and hidden, but allowed me to face the risk of assassins!” His nostrils flared. Outside, the crowd sounded restless, as if slipping out of control. “Find me my own double, Roderick — without delay. Oh, and you should find one for yourself as well. If anything happened to you—”

“I’ll begin the process.” Roderick’s voice was soothing and steady, and Salvador felt calmer just to have his brother’s strong presence at his side. “Right now, the crowds are expecting to see you. And if you don’t deliver a speech, Manford will probably talk without you. He’s already there riling them up.”

When they reached the balcony, the real Butlerian leader sat in his harness on the Swordmaster’s shoulders, as if ready for battle. Two Reverend Mothers from the Imperial Court stood in the shadows off to the side: his personal Truthsayer, Dorotea, and the soft and pudgy Sister Woodra — both ardent Butlerian adherents. Headmaster Gilbertus Albans, looking out of place and uncomfortable with all the attention, stood behind them. Because he had defeated the mek in the pyramid chess game, the Mentat Headmaster was required to be present for the celebration.

As soon as he saw Salvador arrive, Manford nudged Anari Idaho, and she stepped out onto the balcony where the crowd could see him. Without even waiting for the Emperor to join him — exactly as Roderick had warned — he raised his hands, and his gesture was like flinging fuel onto a fire. The roar of applause was deafening.

The Emperor felt a sinking sensation. Beside him, Roderick paused and showed clear distaste for the Butlerian leader’s disrespect for the Emperor.

From his perch on top of Anari’s shoulders, Manford raised his voice for the crowd and gestured back toward Salvador. “Our Emperor has joined us! All hail Salvador Corrino the First!”

Buoyed by all the obvious enthusiasm, Salvador stepped into view. Yes, they were shouting for him now, because the crowd was packed with Butlerians, and Manford had told them to applaud. He noted that the real Manford’s voice was distinctly different from the double’s, filled with the familiar charisma.

Before the Emperor could speak, Manford shouted out, “Our Mentat defeated a terrible thinking machine, just as the faithful will defeat evil technology in all its forms. Never forget! You have earned the right to celebrate destruction, because that destruction gained us our freedom.” His smile had a wild, uncontrolled edge. “On behalf of the Emperor, I announce another rampage festival here in Zimia! Rejoice in wrecking any remnants of machine technology! This is your time to show your energy, show your humanity — and celebrate our victory!”

The roar of the crowd became such a pounding wave of noise that the thick stone building trembled. Salvador tried to be heard, rushing forward, but he seemed small compared to the towering Swordmaster. “I did not authorize a rampage festival!” His words were lost in the noise.

Each month, the symbolic destruction of a few token machine remnants was a carefully planned spectacle, with safeguards so the crowds did not get out of hand. But Manford Torondo had just unleashed the mob.

“Wait!” Salvador shouted.

Anari raised her sword high, and as she brought it down, the crowd flowed like a flash flood into the side streets and the commercial sector, pushing aside soldiers and guards who tried to maintain order.

Roderick came forward, red-faced. “For a rampage festival, there must be preparations first, added security—”

Manford gave the Corrino brothers a maddening smile. “They are keyed up and angry — it is important to let them release some pressure. Don’t worry, it’s all harmless.”

Salvador glared at Manford, gasping, “Harmless? Look at the frenzy building out there. They’re going to ransack, burn, wreck—”

“Then you can rebuild. The whole of humanity has had to rebuild since the end of the Jihad.”

The crowd moved as if it were one organism on a rabid scavenger hunt. Even those who were not Butlerians were swept along or trampled underfoot.

Salvador watched in dismay, then turned to Roderick, but his brother also looked appalled and helpless. From the balcony, they heard breaking glass and shouts of triumph out in the plaza, and the screams of the citizens being crushed in the melee. Most terrifying of all, Salvador knew the mob could turn against him on a moment’s notice, if Manford ever told them to do so.

The rampage festival swelled out of hand through the evening, and fires burned in three parts of the city. In the midst of it all, Manford Torondo and his Swordmaster seemed complacent, as if they bore no responsibility for what was happening.

Roderick was dismayed to see that Imperial troops were completely ineffective at quelling the chaotic energy. Though numerous, the soldiers and the Zimia security force had no capable leadership, and the swift rush of violence took them by surprise; when they hesitated to fire upon the crowd, they were either shoved aside or trampled. The turbulence of a mob that had no coordinated goal dispersed the stationed troops.