Draigo interrupted, speaking with Mentat calm. “Norma, you have foreseen, but isn’t your prescience uncertain?”

“Yes,” she said.

“What you described was only one probable future. If we do defeat the Butlerians and change the collective mindset, that future will not occur.”

“You are correct.”

“Therefore,” Draigo continued, as if completing a mathematical proof, “we must defeat the Butlerians.”

“That has always been my intent,” Josef said.

Norma withdrew into her fog of melange gas and would answer no further questions from either man.

The caustic vapors swirling outside the isolated laboratory domes had a hypnotic effect on him. Ptolemy liked to stare out there and let his thoughts roam free. Too often, though, his ruminations were twisted by painful memories. He blamed the misguided Butlerians and their freakish, madman leader.

Directeur Venport had established a research facility on the poisonous planet Denali, a protected fortress where the best intellects could develop ways to fight against the ignorance and fear spread by the antitechnology fools.

Ptolemy turned away from the curls of discolored mist and focused his attention on the bright laboratory interior with its clean alloy fixtures and transparent plaz tanks. The tanks held enlarged living brains surgically removed from the bodies of failed Navigators.

On his home planet of Zenith, Ptolemy once had another facility, where he had spent years with his best friend and research partner, Dr. Elchan, a Tlulaxa biological scientist. Elchan’s innovations on nerve-muscle-thoughtrode linkages allowed Ptolemy to make great breakthroughs in limb replacement methods. Those had been exciting, golden days!

Even though Elchan’s progress had been based on information gleaned from forbidden cymek technology, Ptolemy had worked diligently (and obliviously, he realized later) on Zenith, convinced that his research benefited all humanity. No reasonable person could possibly object. He thought of the amputees and paralyzed people he could help, glad to put once-hated technology to work for the greater good. Ptolemy believed that science was a neutral thing that could help the masses, if used by a good-hearted person — like himself. Or it could cause great damage, if corrupted by an evil man.

Yes, Ptolemy had been naïve about the strength of hatred and fear. Despite his Tlulaxa partner’s misgivings, he had happily offered Manford Torondo new artificial legs, which could have served the Butlerian leader as well as his original limbs. Ptolemy had been certain he could soften Manford’s heart by showing him the good side of advanced technology.

But his kind gesture had been like stepping on a serpent. At Manford’s command, barbarian fanatics had swooped into Ptolemy’s research facility, burned the laboratory down, and forced him to watch as they roasted his friend alive. It was Manford’s perverted way of teaching a “necessary” lesson.

Ptolemy had indeed learned a lesson, which set him on a path that none of those monsters would have expected. These Denali facilities were even more sophisticated than his labs on Zenith. Out here, Ptolemy didn’t need to justify his work to anyone, nor worry about funding or prying eyes. He could do whatever he wanted … whatever was needed.

The tanks containing disembodied proto-Navigator brains bubbled and fizzed, emitting a sour smell laced with ozone. The pale blue electrafluid provided nutrients and conducted thoughts to speakerpatches, although the Navigator brains were not very conversational.

The minds understood what had happened to them. Originally, they had volunteered to become Navigators, but sometimes the oversaturation of spice gas caused too much mutation, and their bodies failed. Nevertheless, these enhanced brains had given themselves into the service of Josef Venport and the future of human civilization. They understood the grave danger posed by the Butlerians, and would become formidable weapons in the fight for civilization.

As part of his continuing progress, Ptolemy had implanted thoughtrodes into the back of his skull, which enabled him to communicate with the disembodied brains. What he received was a blur of sensation, a panoply of confusing thoughts. Disconnected from their original bodies, the Navigator brains were listless and disoriented. But that would soon change.

Ptolemy knew their names, but had not met any of them in their normal corporeal existence. He merely received the remnants of their minds and bodies after they had failed the transformation. One of the disembodied brains, Yabido Onel, had so badly wanted to be a Navigator that he took his failure harder than the others and became despondent to the point of surrender, but Ptolemy’s labs had kept his brain alive.

Yabido’s companions included a failed female Navigator, Xinshop. Ptolemy had seen images of her on the day she volunteered to be a Navigator, an incredibly beautiful young woman with dark hair and blue eyes — and images after she had mutated into a hideously deformed creature inside a melange tank. Xinshop had nearly died when she failed to achieve the accelerated mental state of a Navigator. Now Xinshop was a glistening mass of gray and pink brain matter in a container of biofluids, connected to thoughtrodes and feeding tubes that kept her alive.

The airlock door hissed open from the connector passage in the domed facility, and Administrator Noffe entered. The small Tlulaxa man wore a snug white cleansuit. In the sterile Denali facilities, hygiene was second nature to all researchers.

Because of scandals during Serena Butler’s Jihad, members of the Tlulaxa race were widely despised, but they were still brilliant researchers and bioengineers. Directeur Venport didn’t waste time with prejudice when he needed the imagination of brilliant people. Noffe, who had been rescued from Thalim after the barbarians deemed his work “unacceptable,” now ran the entire Denali research complex.

For his own part, Ptolemy had developed a plan to create a fearsome new cymek army that the Butlerians could not resist, and now the work at Denali had grown more focused than ever. The barbarians had to be stopped before they destroyed civilization.

“My teams of engineers finished refurbishing ten more of the old cymek walkers,” Noffe announced. The skin on his face was discolored by a large pale blotch that looked as if it had been bleached by a spilled experimental chemical. “They are ready to be tested with your Navigator brains.”

Ptolemy was pleased to hear this. “The old Titans were magnificent, but we can do better. When Manford Torondo sees them, I want our cymeks to be more than just nightmares from the past. His superstitious savages are dead weight on human society, and they’ll drag us under unless we cut them loose.” He drew several breaths to calm himself.

Noffe offered him a warm smile. “I couldn’t agree more, my friend. They held me in one of their prisons and were going to kill me because they didn’t like my research.” He shuddered at the familiar story. So many scientists had been murdered by the ignorant ones. Noffe had escaped, thanks to Venport, but other Tlulaxa researchers had been gagged, hobbled, and denied any avenue of investigation that might raise questions. Yet investigation, by its very nature, was supposed to raise questions.

“Our new Time of Titans will demonstrate that we’ve learned from the mistakes of our predecessors. These Navigator brains are superior and enlightened. They won’t suffer from the hubris of the original Titans. Rather, they will become the guardians of progress.”