The Suk doctors at their main hospital on Parmentier were pleased to receive sophisticated medical equipment from VenHold industries — scanners, genetic analysis grids, and diagnostic machines that were dependent on complex circuitry, possibly even computers. Josef Venport did not explain the internal functioning of the analytical devices, and the Suks were wise enough not to ask uncomfortable questions; they merely accepted the generous gifts and expressed their appreciation.

Now, after Josef concluded his business with the Suk School, the VenHold transport ship departed from Parmentier. He climbed the long stairway to the Navigator deck so he could spend time with his great-grandmother. The complexities of running his huge shipping and banking empire must seem trivial to such an advanced being, far beneath the threshold of her attention. Yet he knew that Norma cared for him and wanted to protect her legacy — which included the Navigators (whom she considered her surrogate children) and the critically important spice production on Arrakis.

Up on the Navigator deck, he watched the shifting starfield. When he was with her, Josef felt like a child sitting on a wise and attentive maternal knee.

“As of last week, Grandmother, our fleet has expanded,” he told her, like a boy showing off a good school report. The news had been spread widely throughout Venport Holdings, but he didn’t think Norma paid much attention to those channels of information. “We acquired a hundred more ships.”

He saw her move inside the tank and knew she was listening. Even though she didn’t respond, he continued to explain, “Through intermediaries we expanded our stockholder base and purchased a rival transport company, Nalgan Shipping. Most of the captains still aren’t aware they’ve been absorbed by VenHold.” He smiled at the thought. “Once I make the announcement to the Landsraad, it will cause quite an uproar. The Butlerians will be outraged.”

Norma’s face drifted close to the side of the tank. Her oversize eyes watched him, seeming to focus and unfocus.

He expanded on the significance of this news. “Nalgan Shipping was one of the few companies that serviced Butlerian planets. Now that I own Nalgan Shipping, we will reroute those vessels and further cut off the barbarians. Let them have their dark ages.”

Norma stirred, and finally her voice came through the speakerpatch. “If you have more ships, you will need more Navigators.”

“Yes. We always need more Navigators.”

“You understand their importance,” Norma said. “To the future. To the Spacing Guild.”

“Spacing Guild?” he asked.

Before he could press for further information, Norma interrupted him. “A moment. I require my concentration.” Her eyes lost focus.

He fell silent, wondering if she had suddenly thought of another esoteric idea that was impossible to explain — possibly even a profitable idea.

Josef looked out the broad windowports through which Norma liked to view the universe. The hum of Holtzman engines sounded through the deck, and he felt the buildup of static electricity in the air. So near the Navigator’s tank, the ozone penetrated deep into his sinuses.

Norma Cenva’s mind was so powerful that she could fold space on her own, although with such a large vessel she used the Holtzman engines. Josef felt a wrenching sensation and the stars twisted, then jumped as the universe rippled around the hull.

With the transition completed, Josef continued the conversation. “I promise you, we will defeat the Butlerians, Grandmother. One devastating blow after another. Manford’s puppet Mentat recently defeated a captive mek in a pyramid chess game at the Imperial Court. They believe this proves humans are superior, but the riots afterward merely prove that they are savages.”

After the mob violence, Josef had hoped the Emperor would crush and disband the antitechnology movement … but Salvador didn’t have the spine. Josef was sickened by the images he had seen. “Once they run out of thinking-machine remnants, where will the Butlerians turn for scapegoats? The Half-Manford will need an outside enemy or he’ll lose his hold on the mob. He’ll have to make something up, maybe even secretly manufacture his own machines in order to destroy them in public.”

Norma took the matter seriously. “I can peer through my prescience, but the detail is not sufficient. I cannot predict exactly what he will do.”

Josef couldn’t forget the grim prescient vision she had offered: If he lost the epic battle of reason versus mob-insanity, human civilization could fall into the dark ages for thousands of years. This wasn’t just a war for profit or even a battle of ideologies. It was more fundamental than that and would span many planets, and possibly many lifetimes. “We will prepare our commercial fleet for a long war, which appears to be necessary.”

Each of the new Nalgan vessels would be taken to Kolhar to be refitted with armaments — both for defense and, should the opportunity arise, to annihilate any Butlerian ship that got in the way.

“But first, we go to Salusa Secundus. If they’ve recovered from the mayhem and riots, I intend to address the Landsraad.”

AS A POWERFUL noble in his own right, it was Josef Venport’s prerogative to address the Landsraad Council whenever he pleased. Even though he was disgusted with them and their dithering politics, he had to deal with them.

As he watched the planetary leaders gathering in the great hall, he mentally divided them into categories: those who publicly supported his cause (not nearly as many as he had hoped), those who quietly acted in their own best interests (and thus could be bribed or manipulated), those who were simply barbarians and therefore lost causes (unless he could overthrow their governments) … and those who were genuinely neutral or undecided. He didn’t understand how anyone could straddle the vast gulf that was tearing apart human civilization.

Josef had assigned junior Mentats to study the lives, connections, alliances, and shadowy secrets of all Landsraad members. Using that surreptitious information, he could cement the loyalty of those who sided with civilization, or he could use it as a weapon against his enemies.

He had never guessed the challenge would be so hard, though. Wasn’t it obvious? Common sense? Once he embargoed the worlds that took the Butlerian pledge, he had expected them to crumble quickly as they felt the lack of products and trade.

Fanatics were difficult to understand. Their foibles would have been laughable, had the fools not been so annoying and narrow-minded.

Emperor Salvador Corrino sat in his gaudy parliamentary chair, looking regal and pompous. He was surrounded by six dark-robed Sisters, with Dorotea closest to him, whispering in his ear, advising him. She was supposedly able to detect falsehood spoken in her presence, but Josef thought her a charlatan, one of the turncoat Sisters who pandered to the Emperor rather than helping to rebuild the school on Wallach IX. He knew that Dorotea was also a follower of the Half-Manford, so, in Josef’s mind, she was already suspect.

Standing in the center of the Landsraad Hall, the Directeur looked around at the empty seats. Too many nobles had chosen not to attend the meeting. Cowards, all of them. Some politicians believed that if they avoided putting their thoughts on record, they could play both sides of the conflict. Josef wouldn’t allow that, and neither would Manford Torondo. It was perhaps the only thing on which the two men agreed.

Josef addressed the diminished Council in a firm voice. “I stand on the side of civilization and prosperity rather than ignorance and destruction. Human greatness cannot cower like a child afraid of the darkness.”