In quieter times, Gurney had often played ballads about Galacia’s beautiful and supposedly wanton women, but he had never before visited the small, cool world. Until now. Unfortunately, he saw more carnage than beauty. Part of it was his own fault, for promoting Enno too quickly to the rank of lieutenant — after the young soldier’s near-drowning in the practice pool.

In his new position, Enno showed a proclivity for issuing orders, demanding that the fighters carry out what he saw as Muad’Dib’s vision. Since his return from the dead, Enno believed that he had a holy purpose. His presence and charisma had visibly increased, and his Fremen comrades viewed him with awe. This proved to be a problem for Gurney.

After the battle frigates landed on Galacia, warriors ran through the streets of the village and marketplace that surrounded the colonnaded villa of Lord Colus, the planet’s Landsraad representative. With the soldiers of Muad’Dib coming toward them like D-wolves, the villagers barricaded themselves inside their homes. A few foolhardy souls stood with makeshift weapons, trying to defend their families, but the Fremen dealt harshly with any perceived resistance.

Though Gurney was technically in charge, his control over these fighters became tenuous once they scented blood. The men took great glee in planting green-and-white banners while tearing down and defacing any signs of the ruling house of Galacia. He waded among the soldiers, using his best stage voice to command them to restrain themselves.

One Fremen soldier repeatedly pummeled the bloodied mouth of a woman who wouldn’t stop screaming. Her husband lay dead on the floor next to her, his throat slashed by a crysknife. Gurney grabbed the brutal soldier by the back of his collar and swung his head against the doorframe, cracking his skull with a sickening sound. The woman looked up at Gurney and, instead of showing any gratitude, screamed again, spraying blood from her broken teeth. Then she ran into the house and barricaded the door.

Gurney’s face was red, the inkvine scar pulsing dark on his jawline. This was the sort of thing Harkonnen troops had done during their slave-gathering parties, going from village to village and brutalizing the people.

“Form ranks!” he bellowed. “Give the Galacians a chance to surrender, by the Seven Hells!”

“They are resisting us, Commander Halleck,” Enno said with maddening calm. “We must show them they have no hope. They shall know the despair that Muad’Dib brings to all who stand against him.”

The fighters had begun to set fire to any home whose inhabitants dared to bar the doors and windows against the invading army. The people inside would be roasted alive. Gurney heard the shrieks and saw the animal wildness of the unfettered army.

Though he had trained them himself, Gurney was infuriated by their ferocity. It was all so unnecessary! But if he pushed too hard against their wild frenzy, he feared that they might turn against him, labeling him a heretic and a traitor to Muad’Dib.

This type of warfare bore no semblance of the code of morality and integrity that Duke Leto Atreides had demanded of his followers. How could Paul allow this to happen?

The jihadis had moved through the village, all the way up a central hill to the governmental villa. Lord Colus had barricaded himself inside his arched home and stationed household guards at every door. From within the villa, his private army could hold off an invading force, though not for long. Even the besieged nobleman seemed to realize that. Gurney moved to take charge of the situation before the mob could do further damage.

The nobleman’s guards did not fire their weapons, but simply maintained defensive positions. Colus had taken down the pennants bearing the gold-and-red family crest of his house. When he raised the surrender flag, the Fremen howled and cheered and raced toward the barricaded entrance. But the gates would not open, no matter how hard the soldiers pounded against them.

Lord Colus stepped out onto a high balcony. It was dusk, and the fires in the village tinged the sky orange as the air filled with rising smoke. The nobleman’s face was deeply lined; his thick gray hair was long enough to fall between his shoulder blades, secured in a tight braid. He looked weary and distraught. “I would offer my surrender, but never to animals! You have massacred my people and the village is on fire. For what? They were no threat to you.”

“Surrender to us, and we will stop fighting,” Enno called, grinning at Gurney. The young officer’s uniform hung loosely on his rail-thin body.

“You, I do not trust! I will surrender only to the honorable Gurney Halleck. I see him there among you! I demand terms. The forms must be obeyed!”

Gurney pushed his way forward. “I am Halleck, and I accept your surrender.” He turned to the Fremen. “The forms must be obeyed. Stop the bloodshed. This planet is ours, our victory already won. Go put out those fires!”

“Old Imperial rules mean nothing to us, Commander Halleck,” Enno grumbled.

“It is the will of Muad’Dib.” Let them chew on that! Gurney strode up to the gates, and Lord Colus’s guards lifted the bars to open the doorway. The Atreides veteran stepped through the looming arch, and the proud nobleman came down to greet him.

But Fremen soldiers rushed in around Gurney, and he couldn’t stop the tide. They flocked into the fortified villa, seized Galacian guards, and grabbed Lord Colus. The nobleman appeared saddened, but clung to his dignity as he was taken away.

BY THE FOLLOWING day, the fires had been quelled and the villagers subdued, and the Fremen soldiers had temporarily taken over whatever dwellings they desired. These determined desert warriors knew how to fight, but they did not know how to govern or rebuild.

Gurney had spent a sleepless night staring up at the rough ceiling of one of the outbuildings of the estate, considering what to do. It would be best for the people of Galacia if he led the Fremen to another battlefield as soon as possible, rather than allowing the conquerors to remain here and make things worse. This defeated world would cause no further trouble for Paul’s government. Gurney doubted they would have caused any in the first place….

Gurney emerged from his borrowed bedchamber in the dawn light only to stare in disbelief at the severed head of Lord Colus, which was planted on a post in front of the mansion. The expression on the dead nobleman’s face looked more like disappointment than fear. His eyes stared out on a world he no longer inhabited.

Appalled and revolted, yet strangely unsurprised, Gurney stepped forward with sad resignation. His muscles bunching, his fists clenching, the loyal Atreides retainer stared up at Lord Colus’s slack face. “I am sorry — this was never what I intended.” He intoned a verse from the Orange Catholic Bible, posing an age-old question: “‘Who is worse, the liar or the fool who believes him?’”

He had given his word to Lord Colus, who had trusted in the value of a promise made by Gurney Halleck. Now, Gurney’s revulsion turned toward himself. I am not a man to make excuses, certainly not for my own actions. I am in command of these soldiers. I serve Paul of House Atreides.

The Atreides considered an “honor debt” as binding as any Fremen viewed a water debt to be. His lieutenant Enno had brought dishonor to his regiment and its commander; he had made Gurney into a liar. This is my responsibility.

In previous engagements, he had seen the blind and stubborn fury of the Jihad troops. Spurning accepted codes of warfare, they charged ahead with only vague goals and a hunger for destruction. Like maddened Salusan bulls, they stampeded any perceived enemy. Paul’s most vehement supporters never stopped to think beyond rationalizing that their actions were in concert with Muad’Dib’s wishes. Trying to stop them would be like trying to stop moving dunes in a powerful sandstorm….

Gurney’s brows drew together, and his expression became terrible to behold. He refused to salve his conscience with a weak explanation that he was not, after all, expected to control fanatics.

He was the commander; they were his soldiers.

And soldiers must follow orders. Enno and the Fremen had heard his explicit orders. They could not feign confusion or pretend to have misunderstood his promise. Enno had committed mutiny. He had defied the clear instructions of his superior officer.

Not even turning to see who might be listening, Gurney roared a command in a voice that had once filled noisy halls with song. “Bring me Enno — immediately! And put him in chains!” Though he did not stop looking at the head of Lord Colus, he heard several Fremen scurry off into the growing daylight in response to his instructions.

As a leader of Fremen regiments, Gurney Halleck kept a crysknife sheathed at his waist, but he did not reach for it. Instead, he drew a different blade, a well-worn kindjal with an Atreides hawk worked into the hilt. Because this was a matter of honor, an Atreides knife would work best.

Eventually, four Fremen soldiers escorted Enno to him. As he walked along, the young man looked aloof and proud, his eyes shining with conviction. Though two soldiers held Enno’s arms, the prisoner was not shackled, as Gurney had ordered. The shades of Thufir Hawat and Duncan Idaho must be laughing at him now for letting his troops slip out of his control.

“Why is this man not in chains? Were my instructions not clear?” he shouted, and the Fremen soldiers flinched, taking offense at his tone. Two of them let their hands stray toward their own crysknives. Gurney stepped toward them, his inkvine scar darkening on his face. “I am your commanding officer! Muad’Dib gave you orders — orders on your lives, damn you! — to follow my instructions. I act in the name of Muad’Dib. Who are you to question me?”

Enno, though, was the main problem, and Gurney would deal with the other insubordination later. Pointing at the grisly trophy atop the gatepost, he demanded, “Did I not accept this man’s surrender? Did I not grant him terms?”

“You did, Commander Halleck. But —”

“There is no ‘but’ in a command! You are a subordinate officer, and you have defied my orders. Therefore you have defied the orders of Muad’Dib.”

While the Fremen onlookers muttered at this, Enno retorted with great confidence, as if he were being tested. “Muad’Dib knows he must appear to be merciful. Muad’Dib knows he must show the people that he can be lenient and loving.” His voice hardened. “But Muad’Dib’s fighters know what is truly in his heart — that those who are unbelievers must fall under the scythe of his punishment. By promising mercy to Lord Colus, Commander Halleck, you may have spoken on the Emperor’s behalf… but all soldiers of Muad’Dib understand what we must do to infidels. Colus resisted, and he ordered his people to resist. He was a dark force trying to eclipse the light of the Lisan-al-Gaib.” He looked up at the severed head on the spike and nodded with plain satisfaction. “I did what was necessary, as you well know.”

Gurney barely kept his fury in check. “What I know is that you defied me. The penalty for disobeying my orders is death. Kneel.”

Enno’s eyes flashed. He raised his chin in one more gesture of defiance. “I only did the will of Muad’Dib.”

“Kneel!” When Enno did not immediately obey, Gurney motioned to the four escort soldiers who, after the briefest hesitation, pushed down on Enno’s shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Gurney took the Atreides kindjal and assumed a fighting stance with it.

“I was doing the will of Muad’Dib,” Enno intoned, like a prayer.

“He was doing the will of Muad’Dib,” one of the soldiers said. But he and his companions stepped back, out of the way.

Before events could slip out of his control again, Gurney slashed sideways with the razor-edged knife. The blade bit deep, tearing across Enno’s throat, severing the jugular and the carotid, sawing through the windpipe.

Normally, a red spray would have sprouted from the larynx like the tail of a flamebird, but the thick blood and the rapid coagulation in the Fremen genes slowed the flow somewhat, so that crimson merely bubbled and poured out, spilling across Enno’s chest and the Galacian ground. Although the defiant man twitched and gurgled, his gaze never left Gurney’s until he collapsed.

As the Fremen soldiers stared at what he had done, Gurney felt a thousandfold increase in his own personal danger. So be it. He could not permit such a lack of discipline to go unpunished. He stood, looking for a moment at the blood on the kindjal and on his hand, then turned to the surprised and angry-looking men. One muttered, “He was only doing the will of —”

“I am the will of Muad’Dib!” Gurney scowled down at the body, then looked up at the trophy on the post. “Take away Lord Colus’s head and see that his people have it for a proper burial. As for Enno, you may carry his body and his water back to Dune, but his head remains here.” He pointed. “On the spike.”

From the uneasy muttering, Gurney knew that the superstitious Fremen would fear that an angry ghost might follow them. Gurney looked directly at the corpse as he spoke. “And if Enno’s shade has something to say to me, then he can follow me as he wishes. You men are merely following my orders, as every soldier is required to do.”

He stalked off, but the disgust and dismay in the pit of his stomach only increased. He suspected that the Fremen would portray Enno as a martyr, a man not only blessed because he had drowned and come back to life, but also a veritable holy man who had disobeyed his non-Fremen commander in order to do what Muad’Dib would have wanted.

Gurney knew Paul Atreides well, however, and knew the young Emperor was not nearly so bloodthirsty and vicious as his followers believed him to be. Not in his heart, anyway.

Gurney fervently prayed that he was not wrong in his own heart.