Logical enlightenment will always defeat emotional ignorance, although the battle is not necessarily pretty.

—mission statement, Denali Research Facility

Ptolemy had been warned that even a single breath of Denali’s atmosphere would eat away his lungs and cause his painful death. Dangerous research projects were conducted under tight security, with interlocks and fail-safes that would sterilize or annihilate an entire laboratory module should anything go wrong.

Nevertheless, when he arrived here, Ptolemy felt safer than ever before. No ship could find this place without specific guidance from a VenHold Navigator. The Butlerians could never come here. And he was free to pursue the research he chose.

He felt like a projectile that had been launched on a set trajectory. Now he understood his true calling, the most important reason for doing research. Not for profit or convenience, but to stop the savages from destroying civilization itself. An intellectual problem to solve and a passionate battle to fight. His friend Elchan’s death would not be in vain.

He traveled with a scheduled shipment of chemical containers, pressurized gases, and food supplies. The Tlulaxa research head, Noffe, welcomed him, grinning broadly. With his bald head and prominent bleached patches on his face, Noffe did not much resemble Ptolemy’s murdered comrade Dr. Elchan, but some of the Tlulaxa racial features were similar. Seeing the man, Ptolemy felt a pang in his chest; he missed Elchan.

Noffe extended a hand to the new scientist. “Welcome to Denali, a place of unfettered discovery. Since Directeur Venport recommended you personally, I shall expect great things from you.”

The administrator’s voice had a similar timbre to Elchan’s, which caused Ptolemy to hear an echo of his friend’s dying screams in his head. He drew a deep breath and forced himself not to wince. “I am honored to be here, sir. This is what I need. This is what the human race needs … and I have a plan to stand up against the Butlerians.”

Noffe seemed to hear his own set of remembered screams. “We all have a common goal here, my friend. Those monsters ransacked my labs on Tlulax, destroyed my work. They don’t want us to discover anything.” He blinked, brought himself back to the present. “Here on Denali, it is different. Our work is subsidized by Venport Holdings, and profitable discoveries will benefit the company. But also human civilization.”

“I don’t care if Josef Venport profits from my inventions.” He was anxious to get started. “I prefer to give power to rational visionaries rather than violent barbarians.”

After passing through three bulkhead doors into the heart of the facility, they reached Noffe’s administrative office. The Tlulaxa man took a seat, and folded his hands on his lap. “My heart goes out to you—I read the report about what happened on Zenith. Please accept my assurance that you don’t need to be afraid here.”

Noffe leaned back, as if a weight much heavier than planetary gravity was pushing him down. “I used to think fear was a weakness. How could a timid, frightened person accomplish much, if he was held back by his worries? But the Butlerians turn fear into violence and panic into a weapon. By creating imaginary problems and raising the specter of nonexistent enemies, they transform common people into a wild herd that destroys everything they do not understand.” He shook his head sadly. “And there is a great deal they do not understand.”

Ptolemy swallowed hard and nodded. “We have to win this battle for the minds and future of the human race. I thought the Butlerians simply had a different point of view, that we could debate the matter in a rational way.” He would never be able to forget the smashing, the ransacking, the wanton killings. “Now I see that they are evil. Truly evil. I will be one of your greatest soldiers in that upcoming war.”

Noffe chuckled. “Oh, I expect you to be much more than just a soldier—I want you to be one of my generals.”

The Tlulaxa administrator led him through the connected modules. With great pride, Noffe showed him a lab filled with sealed tanks containing the mutated, expanded brains of failed Navigators. They had been detached from physical bodies, reminding him of the legendary Cogitors, going back to before the days of the Jihad.

“Compared to us, these brains are as developmentally advanced as we are to a child learning his first steps.” Noffe rapped his knuckles against one of the curved, transparent barriers. “But even so, they are dependent upon us for life support and communication with the outside world. These subjects did not prove acceptable as Navigator-candidates, but we can test their enhanced brains as components of new machines.”

Ptolemy nodded. “My life’s work, along with Dr. Elchan’s, was to develop a superior interface between the human mind and artificial components. I want to free fragile humans from the biological prison of their mortality.” He lowered his voice. “It’s anathema to say this out in the League, but I believe the cymeks showed the way to a great many potential advances … if only Agamemnon and the other Titans hadn’t been so evil.” He shook his head.

Noffe responded with a vigorous nod. “I agree completely. If a crazed person uses a hammer to kill someone, does that mean we should outlaw hammers? Absurd!”

Ptolemy continued to talk about the work he and Elchan had done on Zenith. “All my notes and data were destroyed by the mob, but I’m confident that I can reproduce most of my studies. Unfortunately, it was very hard to find intact cymek walker bodies after the Butlerians got through with their purges.”

Noffe’s eyes sparkled. “Then I have something that may interest you.” He led Ptolemy into a large hangar dome made of white plasteel tiles, brightly lit by glowglobes. Inside the bay stood an ominous machine—an intimidating combat body with hinged, reinforced legs and a shielded core, like a mechanical tarantula.

Ptolemy drew in a sharp breath. “A cymek warrior form—and it’s complete! Until now, I’ve seen only scraps.”

Noffe was magnanimous as he activated one of the hangar dome’s viewing windows so that they could see the landscape around them. Through the deadly chlorine fog, Ptolemy discerned the shapes of similar arachnid machines as well as builder and flying bodies.

“There are at least twenty of them right here in the vicinity of the lab domes,” Noffe said. “After Vorian Atreides killed Agamemnon and the last of the Titans, the neo-cymek brains at this base all perished in the dead-man code. The machine bodies are yours, if you can do something productive with them.”

“Productive,” Ptolemy mused. “And also defensive. I’ll create a way for us to stand against the insanity sweeping the Imperium.” Again, he reached out to grasp Noffe’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “We will band together and work for the good of humanity.”