The path of human destiny is not level, but fraught with high summits and deep chasms.

—the Azhar Book

The Butlerians and their fleet of warships traveled to the Tlulaxa planets. Although they had already imposed stern restrictions on the society, Manford was interested in flexing his muscle and ready to find scapegoats. This was the perfect place to make his first move.

Fifteen years ago, when Manford traveled to this star system, he’d been disgusted by what he found. Back then, the followers of Rayna Butler had showed the loathsome Tlulaxa the hard but necessary path that humanity must follow. The offensive biological projects were declared to be against the laws of man and God, and destroyed outright. Strict rules had been imposed upon all Tlulaxa scientists, and grave warnings had been issued about the consequences of misbehavior. But years had passed, and Tlulax was far from the heart of the new Imperium. Manford was certain that by now the people had strayed—and he was determined to catch them at it.

As the Butlerian fleet closed in on the main city of Bandalong, Manford and Anari studied the foreign architecture built by a race that placed the study of genetics above the value of their souls.

“I don’t trust them, Anari,” he said. “I know they’ve broken the laws, but they are a clever race. We may have to look hard to find evidence.”

“We’ll find the evidence.” Her voice was even. Manford smiled: The stars would stop shining before Anari Idaho lost her faith in him.

No one, not even Josef Venport, would raise much of an outcry in defense of the Tlulaxa people, who had never been popular around the Imperium, especially after an organ-farm scandal during the Jihad in which they were caught committing horrendous, unscrupulous acts. Manford had his two hundred ships and many new Swordmaster leaders, and soon a group of specially trained Mentats would join them, as promised by Gilbertus Albans. It was an auspicious beginning.

The Butlerian ships took over the Bandalong spaceport, and Manford’s people spread out through the city in overwhelming numbers. His handpicked Swordmasters pounded down the doors of laboratories, records buildings, and strange shrines. (He did not want to imagine the kind of religion these vile people might espouse.)

As they moved forward, Anari issued a quiet warning that Tlulaxa scientists might have hidden weapons somewhere here, crafty defenses they would turn against the Butlerians, but Manford didn’t truly think the Tlulaxa were foolish enough to provoke a bigger confrontation. They were a simpering, beaten people.

Carrying him in the harness on her shoulders, Anari strode into one of their central biological research facilities. The laboratory reeked of chemicals and spoiled garbage, of fermenting cellular material and bubbling vats of organics. The research chief was a stocky, bearlike man who was larger than most Tlulaxa, and even somewhat handsome. His eyes were as round as saucers, and he was suitably terrified. “I assure you, sir, we have never strayed from the strict guidelines—nor has any other researcher. We respect the restrictions that were imposed upon us, so you’ll find nothing objectionable here.” The man tried to smile, but it was a pitiful offering.

Manford grimaced as he looked around the laboratory. “I find many things objectionable here.”

Hearing this, the stocky research chief rushed to a series of translucent tanks, eager to prove his point. “We hate the thinking machines as much as anyone! Look, our work uses only biology—no forbidden machines or computers. Nothing that is prohibited. We study natural cells and breeding. Our work enhances human minds and human potential. It is all part of God’s plan.”

Manford reacted with sharp disgust. “It is not your place to determine God’s plan.”

The research chief became more urgent. “But look here!” He indicated a translucent vat filled with small floating spheres. “We can create new eyes for the blind. Unlike our earlier organ farms, where replacement parts were stolen from hapless victims, these projects harm no one—they only help the needy.”

Manford felt Anari tense beneath him; he knew she was growing angry, as was he. “If a man is blind, it is God’s will for him to be blind. I have no legs, and that is also God’s will. This handicap is my lot in life. You have no right to challenge God’s decisions.”

The stocky man raised both hands. “That is not—”

“Why do you assume a person must tinker with his or her body, with his or her life? Why do you believe it is necessary to live with convenience and comfort?”

Wisely, the research chief did not answer, but Manford’s decision had already been made. In fact, he had made up his mind before the ships even reached Tlulax. Finding outlets for energetic demonstrations kept the flames of faith burning. Targeting Tlulaxa research, especially programs like these that were superficially horrific and easily hated—eyeballs floating in vats!—kept his Butlerians strong and fearsome, and helped build his own strength against more insidious opponents. Many of his followers did not grasp subtleties, but they would follow him anyway, provided he gave them regular reinforcement.

The laboratory chief’s voice was thin and small as he squeaked, “But my people have adhered to every Imperial restriction!”

Manford did not doubt the man was correct, but that reality did not suit his purposes. He waved an arm around the laboratory. “This Tlulaxa research program has gone too far in exploring a realm where no human was meant to go.”

The stocky man paled in dismay. The Butlerians who had crowded inside the research complex began a restless muttering, like predators smelling blood. “This lab, and all your research, must be shut down and everything destroyed. That is my command.”

Manford’s followers quickly began wrecking the equipment, smashing the translucent containers so that eyeballs spilled out in a gush of nutrient fluid onto the clean white floor, bouncing like a child’s toys.

“Stop this!” the research chief wailed. “I demand that you stop!”

“Manford Torondo has spoken.” Anari drew her sword and struck him down with a blow that cleaved his body from shoulder to sternum.

A squeamish lab technician vomited loudly and moaned with fear. Manford pointed to the man. “You! I appoint you the new chief of this facility, and I pray you will concentrate your efforts on more appropriate and more humble work.”

The technician wiped a hand across his mouth and swayed, about to faint. He nodded weakly, but didn’t dare to speak.

From his perch on the Swordmaster’s shoulders, Manford said to Anari, “Finish here. Then we’ll go to Salusa Secundus and help the Emperor keep his promises.”

Anari wiped her sword on the murdered research chief’s coat, then looked at the shivering lab tech. “We will be watching your work very closely.”