Dune: The Butlerian Jihad by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page B

any insights to offer.”
    Beside the brain canister, the red-robed monk removed the sealed lid, exposing the agitated viscous fluid. Blinking his round eyes rapidly, he stared into the tank. Slowly, the monk slid one naked hand into the soup, immersing his fingers. He closed his eyes, drawing deep breaths, as he tentatively touched the convoluted brain. His brows furrowed with concentration and acceptance as the electrafluid soaked into his pores, linking the Cogitor with the Secondary’s neural system, using him as an extension in much the same way cymeks used artificial mechanical bodies.
    “I understand nothing,” said the monk in a strange, distant voice. Serena knew that was the first principle the Cogitors adopted, and the contemplative brains spent centuries in deep study, adding to that sense of nothingness.
    Centuries before the original Titans, a group of spiritual humans had enjoyed studying philosophy and discussing esoteric issues, but too many frailties and temptations of the flesh inhibited their ability to concentrate. In the ennui of the Old Empire, these metaphysical scholars had been the first to have their brains installed in life-support systems. Freed of biological constraints, they spent all their time learning and thinking. Each Cogitor wanted to study the entirety of human philosophy, bringing together the ingredients to understand the universe. They lived in ivory towers and contemplated, rarely bothering to note the superficial relationships and events of the mundane world.
    Kwyna, the two-thousand-year-old Cogitor who resided in Salusa’s City of Introspection, claimed to be politically neutral. “I am ready to interact,” she announced through the monk, who stared with glazed eyes at the assembly. “You may begin.”
    With intense blue eyes, Viceroy Butler gazed around the packed ballroom, pausing to look at a number of faces, including Serena’s. “My friends, we have always lived under the threat of annihilation, and now I must ask every one of you to devote your time, energies, and money to our cause.”
    He gave tribute to the tens of thousands of Salusans who had died in the cymek onslaught, along with fifty-one visiting dignitaries. “The Salusan Militia remains on full alert here, and messenger ships have been dispatched to all League Worlds, warning them of the danger. We can only hope that no other planets were attacked.”
    The Viceroy then called upon Tio Holtzman, recently arrived after nearly a month in transit from his laboratories on Poritrin. “Savant Holtzman, we are anxious to hear your assessment of the new defenses.”
    Holtzman had been eager to inspect his orbital scrambler fields, to see how they might be modified and improved. On Poritrin, the flamboyant nobleman Niko Bludd funded the Savant’s research. Given his past accomplishments, League members always held out the hope that Holtzman would pull some other miracle out of his pocket.
    Slight of body, Holtzman moved with grace and an enormous stage presence, wearing clean and stylish robes. The iron gray hair that hung to his shoulders was square-cut, framing a narrow face. A man of immense confidence and ego, he loved to speak to important dignitaries in the Parliament, but now he appeared uncharacteristically troubled. In truth, the inventor could not bring himself to admit a mistake. Unquestionably, his scrambler network had failed. The cymeks had broken through! What would he say to these people who had relied on him?
    Reaching the speaking platform, the great man cleared his throat and looked around, glancing oddly at the imposing presence of the Cogitor and the looming attendant monk. This was a most delicate matter. How could he shift the blame from himself?
    The scientist used his best voice. “In warfare, whenever one side makes a technological breakthrough, the other attempts to top it. We recently witnessed this with my atmospheric scrambler fields. Had they not been installed here, the full