Life is filled with tests, one after another, and if you don’t recognize them, you are certain to fail the most important ones.

—admonition to acolytes, the Rossak School

A lone man stood in morning sunlight on the highest rooftop of the Mentat School, staring out at the marsh lake. He wore a wide-brim hat, which he removed to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Gazing across the greenish waters, he saw only school security boats performing their rounds. It was deceptively serene out there, in contrast to the stormy mood in the classes, fostered by the rigid and angry Butlerian students.

Gilbertus still faced repercussions from the debate in which he had voiced sympathy for thinking machines, albeit theoretically and for instructional purposes only. He had been foolish to believe that the vehement antitechnology followers could even pretend to be logical or objective. And he had placed himself at risk.

Now that Manford had returned to Lampadas with all his followers and a fleet of dedicated warships, the situation was bound to grow worse. Word had leaked out, reports had been whispered. From the capital city on the main continent of Lampadas, Manford Torondo responded by publicly calling upon Gilbertus to explain himself and renounce his sympathies toward the hated thinking machines.

High above the linked floating buildings in the complex, Gilbertus walked along the roof edge to the opposite side, where he could look down on the connected buildings. Some structures had been vandalized overnight: heavy objects thrown through windows, and the words “Machine Lover!” painted on his office door. One shockingly primitive drawing depicted Gilbertus himself copulating with a thinking machine. And his students had been carefully selected as the brightest, most talented minds?

By his orders, maintenance workers were painting over the graffiti right now, and performing repairs. He realized he should have been more skillful and cautious in the debate. It was his own fault that the discontent had flared up, but he still didn’t understand how his own students could do such barbaric things to the revered school.

Many of his trainees remained objective, and quietly supportive, but afraid to criticize the outspoken Butlerians. One student had whispered quickly in passing, “We are with you, sir. We know you didn’t mean what you said in the debate.”

Now Gilbertus put the hat back on, and drew a deep breath. Despite the cool morning, he could not control the flow of perspiration. He believed in facts, data, and science—and the Mentat School had been built on that firm foundation. He had made many Mentat projections during his life. He was a mathematical fortune-teller, using statistics rather than paranormal powers to predict certain outcomes. Though the Butlerian-trained students in the school were a minority, he had not allowed for the fact that they were more vocal than the moderates, as well as prone to exaggeration and intimidation. He should have projected how swiftly they could make other students at the Mentat School turn against him, or at least fall silent rather than defending their Headmaster.

As he made his way back downstairs, Gilbertus knew he had to find a way to make the silly furor blow over.

*   *   *

IN CONTRAST WITH the rooftop, his office was dark and gloomy. He had drawn all the window coverings so he could speak to the small golden ball that comprised Erasmus.

The independent robot was adamant. “All will be lost if Manford’s mobs find my memory core. You made an error in allowing your students to glimpse our true thoughts. Was it only an exercise, or were you trying to win them over to our side with logic?”

“I wanted them to think!”

“If Manford Torondo turns his people against you, we may have to abandon the school. You must convince them. Make your apologies—and lie if necessary. Do whatever you must. If they came to lynch you, I would be helpless to defend you—or myself.”

“I understand, Father. I won’t let that happen, I promise you.”

“But what if you die, and I am condemned to remain here hidden and helpless? How could I survive? I sacrificed everything for you. I sabotaged the machine defenses at Corrin and brought about the downfall of Omnius, just to save your life!”

Gilbertus bowed his head. “I know, and I promise I will help you—but first I must convince Manford Torondo that I am no threat.”

And so, to appease the dissenters, the Headmaster delivered a speech in the school auditorium, in as convincing a tone as he could manage, “We have to stop rationalizing the extent to which technology is acceptable. We should not measure it, but rather stand strong against it.” He had spoken eloquently for the better part of an hour, doing his best to persuade the small but destructively vocal minority that he was sincere.

His backpedaling and excuses somewhat mollified Alys Carroll and the other angry students, but Gilbertus knew the problem was not over.

He received word that Manford Torondo intended to investigate, in person.

*   *   *

WHEN THE BUTLERIAN leader came to assess the situation at the Mentat School, Gilbertus realized that this could well be his most dangerous debate.

Manford arrived by powered boat at the Mentat School’s interconnected floating platforms. He emerged riding on the shoulders of his female Swordmaster, and that in itself was a bad sign. Gilbertus knew the legless man allowed himself to be borne on a palanquin when he simply intended to have a meeting, but he rode upon Anari Idaho’s shoulders whenever he went into battle.

As he greeted Manford, Gilbertus maintained a steady demeanor of contrition and cooperation. “I apologize, Leader Torondo, that this misunderstanding has brought you away from your more important duties.”

“This is one of my important duties.” Manford looked around at the buildings. “Your Mentat School should be solidly on the side of righteousness, without equivocation. By training humans to think with the efficiency of computers, you demonstrate our inherent superiority over the thinking machines. But from what my friend Alys Carroll tells me, you have allowed yourself to be … tempted.”

Gilbertus kept his gaze downcast. “I assure you, it was merely a practice debate, an exercise to challenge the preconceptions of the students—nothing more.”

“You debated a bit too well, Headmaster, and I must emphasize that you selected a subject that was unsuitable for any debating class, because the matter of thinking machines is undebatable.” With his right hand, Manford nudged Anari, and she walked forward, herding Gilbertus back inside the school. Manford continued, “One more thing. I have always been reticent about your practice of studying combat robots and computer brains as an aid to instruction. Too dangerous.”

Gilbertus answered in a humble voice, “I understand. After much reflection, I also understand how my recent lesson was misconstrued, and I wish to make amends for my lapse in judgment.”

A look of approval flickered in Manford’s eyes. “Very well. For our first step, I want you to show me this storehouse where you keep the forbidden machines. Alys Carroll told me that your specimens are not all as deactivated as you claim.”

Gilbertus gave his best dismissive laugh. “They are merely museum pieces, dismantled components.”

“Manford said he wants to see this place,” the Swordmaster growled.

Gilbertus led them through the school buildings, along passages and across bridges; five silent but intense Butlerians also followed them, ready to do anything their leader asked.

Fishing the key out of his waistcoat pocket, Gilbertus unlocked the door and swung open the entrance to the large storehouse, which was lit by garish glowglobes. Anari and Manford remained in the hall, looking suspiciously inside, while their five Butlerian companions shifted behind them.

Manford scowled at the combat meks, the weapon arms, the detached robot heads. “I want to accept your claims of loyalty, Headmaster, but this causes me great concern. These evil artifacts should have no place in your teachings.”

Gilbertus schooled his emotions as Erasmus had taught him. “The mind of man is holy,” he said, reaching his decision. “There cannot be even a semblance of impropriety in the Mentat School. Allow me to take care of it myself.”

In the storeroom, he found a metal rod that would serve as a cudgel, picked it up, and hefted it in his hand. “Thank you for the opportunity—and for believing in me.” Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, he stepped to the shelf filled with robot heads, raised the cudgel, and brought it down with all of his strength.

As Erasmus had said, he needed to convince the Butlerians. He smashed the first robot head, crumpling the faceplate and scattering the diamondlike optic threads. He swung the club and knocked two other dismantled heads aside, then he turned and began to furiously batter an intact combat mek.

Within moments, the enthusiastic Butlerians had grabbed their own makeshift cudgels and joined him in the mayhem.

*   *   *

MANFORD TORONDO’S FOLLOWERS were too eager as they flooded through the Mentat School, peering into the students’ quarters, ransacking possessions, demanding that the students unlock sealed trunks (or breaking open the seals themselves if the students refused). In response to indignant outcries, the Butlerian searchers said, “A Machine Apologist has no right to privacy, and if you are innocent, you have nothing to hide.”

Gilbertus knew they would reach his chambers soon enough. His pulse raced as they made their way through the corridors.

Riding on his Swordmaster’s shoulders, Manford had to duck in the door-way as she walked into the Headmaster’s office. Two Butlerians followed them. “I will search your office personally, Headmaster Albans,” Manford said. “Simply a pro forma matter.”

“By all means,” Gilbertus said, because he could say nothing else. He studied the placid face of the Butlerian leader, trying to detect any hint of genuine suspicion. Did Manford have a reason to target his office, or was he just being thorough?

Anari Idaho looked at the books on his desk, studying the titles skeptically. “Why do you have so many books about the demon robot Erasmus?”

“Because it is important to know our enemy.” None of the books shed any positive light on Erasmus whatsoever; some were filled with ridiculous exaggerations, while others were eerily accurate. Gilbertus had been there on Corrin himself, had watched the bloody “panic response” experiments, the dissections of living twins, even some of the supposed “artwork” the robot had fashioned out of entrails and internal organs.

“No person with a soul can ever understand Erasmus,” Manford said. “I know this for a fact. I have studied his original laboratory journals myself.”

Gilbertus felt his pulse race. “You have the journals? Might I be allowed to peruse them?”

“No, Headmaster. Some information is too vile for any other eyes to see. I intend to burn the documents after I have finished with them.”

The Butlerians pulled out the drawers of his desk, opened cabinets, lifted corners of carpeting in search of hidden lockboxes beneath the floorboards. They took down the curtain rods, unscrewed the finials, and looked inside.

Gilbertus remained outwardly calm despite his growing fear. If they found the robot’s microscopic spyeyes, if they discovered circuitry connections that led to the secure hiding place, then the robot memory core would be destroyed, Gilbertus executed, the whole Mentat School razed to the ground.

They took books and keepsakes off the shelves, rapped the backboards looking for secret compartments. Gilbertus tried not to stare at them. His thoughts raced as he considered any possible weakness. He had never expected a search to be so meticulous.

They moved to the next section of the shelves that contained the secret compartment hiding the robot’s memory core. They pulled books from the top shelf, working their way down.

“Please be careful,” he blurted out. “Some of those items are valuable.”

Manford gave a nod to his followers. “No need to be discourteous. The Headmaster has cooperated fully. As I stated before, I do not doubt his loyalty.”

Gilbertus seized on an idea, a way to distract them from their search. Erasmus himself had suggested that he keep this precious piece of knowledge as a bargaining chip. Now he decided to play it.

“I have something important to reveal to you, sir—the result of an intricate Mentat projection.” Manford motioned for his followers to stop. Gilbertus leaned forward, lowered his voice. “But this is best discussed in private. If word should leak out before we’re ready…” He looked meaningfully at the followers. “I don’t know these people.”

Manford pondered a moment, then dismissed the Butlerians. “Anari stays.”

“That is acceptable.”

After the other Butlerians had left the office, Manford said, “Very well, I hope this is significant. Tell me more.”

Gilbertus spoke in a rush. “I believe I have located an extensive abandoned robot outpost, a large shipyard or supply station … perhaps the largest of all. According to my projections, it remains untouched … and waiting for you.”

“Excellent!” Manford looked very pleased. “We will make an example of it. Good work, Headmaster.”

“I can give you the full details of my projection. When I am proved right, I hope you will consider it a peace offering, to show you my true loyalty.”

Manford chuckled. “Headmaster, there has been enough turmoil here at your school, and this unrest, even a potential schism, does not serve my purposes. I need tactically trained Mentats for our continuing work of hunting down forbidden technology and illegal activities, so your Mentats must continue their studies.” Manford adjusted himself in the harness on Anari Idaho’s shoulders. “I’ll issue a statement that I have no concerns about the purity of the Mentat School. I’ll put an end to these mutterings, and all will return to normal.”

“And we will destroy the shipyards,” Anari Idaho said.