A military officer arrived unexpectedly at Tleilax, announcing that he was on the “business of the Emperor” and demanding to see Count Hasimir Fenring.

Fenring did not like surprises. Agitated, he rode in a tubecar that sped away from the noxious expanse of the dead lake and across the plain from Thalidei to the isolated spaceport where the visitor had been allowed to land. What could this possibly mean? He had taken great pains to keep his location a secret, but there seemed no limit to the reach and influence of Muad’Dib.

He arrived at a high, one-story structure built of black plasmeld that was fronted with an array of tinted windows. With its curved surfaces and organic shape, the building looked like something that a worm might have excreted.

He entered the lobby, and two lower-caste Tleilaxu guided him across the glistening black floor. His escorts seemed just as displeased by the unannounced visitor. In the small and stuffy cafeteria, Fenring was surprised to see a familiar, craggy-faced man. It had been years since they’d seen each other, and it took him a moment to recall the correct name. “Bashar Zum Garon?”

The officer rose from a table where he had been drinking an oily-looking beverage. “You are a difficult person to locate, Count Fenring.”

“Hmm-ahhh, intentionally so. But I should know not to underestimate the resourcefulness of a Sardaukar officer.”

“No, you should not. I come at the request of Emperor Shaddam.” “Hmm-m-m, not the Emperor I expected. How did you find me?”

“Shaddam ordered it.”

“And a loyal Sardaukar always follows orders, hmmm? You are still in charge of Shaddam’s personal guard?”

“What little is left of it, barely more than a police force.” Garon did not look happy. “I commanded the most powerful military force in the Imperium, until Muad’Dib and his fanatical Fedaykin defeated us. Now I am the glorified equivalent of a security guard.” He regained his composure but not before Fenring saw the swift, sharp flicker of hatred there. “Sit with me. The Tleilaxu tea is palatable.”

“I know the stuff well.” Fenring had grown to loathe its faint licorice undertaste almost as much as he loathed the aftertaste of all his dealings with Shaddam. Time and again, the Emperor had stumbled into traps of his own making — and time and again, Fenring had used his resources and wiles to repair the damage. Even after the original Arrakis Affair, when the Harkonnens and the Sardaukar troops should have wiped out House Atreides, Fenring had spent more than a billion Solaris on gifts, slave women, spice bribes, and tokens of rank. Squandered money and resources. Now, though, his former friend had fallen into a pit so deep he could never claw his way out.

Fenring slid into a hard plasmeld chair that was too low to the floor, designed for the shorter Tleilaxu Masters. He waited for the Bashar to explain his business. Only one other cafeteria table was occupied, by a Tleilaxu man who ate stew in a rapid and messy fashion.

Garon stirred his tea, but didn’t drink. “I spent many years in Imperial service. Then, after the death of my son Cando defending Shaddam’s amal project…” His voice trailed off, but he regained his composure. “After that, I voluntarily stripped off all marks of my former rank and departed from Kaitain, expecting never to return. For a time I retired to my estate on Balut, but that didn’t last long before Muad’Dib ordered me back into service and assigned me to Shaddam. It seems that the former Padishah Emperor was insisting that I take charge of security in his exile. Not only did he kill my son, but he foolishly led the Sardaukar to suffer their first-ever military defeat.”

The Count clearly remembered the catastrophic end of the amal project, “Your son died valiantly in the defense of Ix. He showed great courage leading a Sardaukar charge against overwhelming odds.”

“My son died trying to protect an idiotic, greedy attempt to develop and monopolize artificial spice.”

“Hmm-ahh, and does Shaddam know you feel this way?”

“He does not. If I had my son’s courage, I would tell him so. Shaddam says he has fond memories of my flawless loyalty.” Garon cleared his throat, changed the subject, but the bitter tone remained in his voice. “Regardless, he sent me to find you and deliver a message. Shaddam wishes you to know that he still holds you in the highest esteem. He reminds you that he allowed his Imperial daughter Wensicia to marry your cousin Dalak.”

“Yes, I know.” He thought back, trying to remember his cousin. “I haven’t seen Dalak since he was a boy. I believe I taught him some fighting techniques, even spent some time counseling him about the politics of the Imperium. A good boy. Not the brightest student, but he showed some promise.”

Shaddam had allowed his third daughter to marry him? A true sign of desperation, obviously intended to influence Fenring. Did that mean there might soon be a Corrino heir with Fenring blood? He darkened. “I do not like to be manipulated.”

“No one does. Even so, Shaddam begs you to return to him. He needs your counsel and friendship.”

Fenring did not doubt what Shaddam must have in mind. The Count resented the fallen Emperor for his insistence on ill-advised plans as much as Bashar Garon did. Shaddam has a dangerous sort of intelligence that leads him to believe he is much smarter than he actually is. This causes him to make serious mistakes.

Garon drew an ornate, jewel-handled knife from his sleeve. Fenring’s muscles tightened. Has he been sent to assassinate me? He placed his hand over the concealed needle launcher in his sleeve.

But the Bashar just slid the knife across the table, jeweled hilt first. “This is yours now, a gift from your boyhood friend. He said you would recognize it, know its significance.”

“Yes, I am familiar with this.” The Count turned it over to examine the sharp edge of the blade. “Shaddam presented it to Duke Leto at the Trial By Forfeiture, and later the Duke gave it back to him.”

“More importantly, it is the knife with which Feyd Rautha-Harkonnen dueled Muad’Dib.”

“Ahh, and if that Harkonnen pup had fought better, none of us would be here. Not that Shaddam would have continued to be anything but an unremarkable ruler.”

“At least the Imperium would be stable and not torn apart by Muad’Dib’s growing Jihad,” Garon said quietly.

And Feyd would still be alive… Marie’s true father. But few people knew that.

‘“Honor and the legion,’” Fenring said pensively. It was a Sardaukar motto.

“Precisely. A Sardaukar never dishonors himself, even though Shaddam has brought dishonor upon us. He remains oblivious to how much resentment his remaining Sardaukar feel toward him.”

A smile worked its way across Fenring’s narrow face. “Entire library planets could be filled with the things Shaddam doesn’t know.”

Garon finally took a sip of tea. “His foolishness has cost both of us. A man never gets over losing his son, or his honor.”

“And now you are torn by your oath as a Sardaukar, your duty to serve the Corrinos, and your memories of your son.”

“You understand me too well.”

“If you and I had made the decisions, ahhh, we might have prevented the rise of Muad’Dib. But there are still things we can do, hmm? We have an opportunity here, you and I. If he were removed from the equation, being clever and resourceful, we could easily manipulate the ensuing turmoil to our own ends.”

The old Bashar studied Fenring. “You suggest that we work together? You will return to Salusa Secundus, then?”

Fenring stared at the jewel-handled knife. “Tell the Emperor that while I appreciate his offer, my answer must be no, for the time being. I have other… opportunities here, and I intend to pursue them.”

“Shaddam will be angry that I have failed in my mission.”

“Hmm, then leave open the possibility that I might change my mind. Keep him on nice, sharp tenterhooks. To maintain that illusion, I’ll keep his gift of the knife. I know the way he thinks. He will, ahhh, believe that I owe him a favor in return. In the meantime, my darling little daughter requires a great deal of shaping and instruction.”

“And what significance does this daughter hold?”

Sardaukar had such a tendency to see everything in black-and-white terms! “She has a great deal of significance, my dear Bashar. What if we were to bypass the fool on Salusa and find a way to overthrow Paul-Muad’Dib ourselves?”

Garon sat back in his chair, struggling not to show his shock. “Harsh times require harsh actions.”

Fenring pressed his point. “Shaddam’s failings as an Emperor left the people so eager to replace him that a violent upstart such as Muad’Dib could step into the vacuum, bolstered by his fanatics. Now, however, it’s becoming clear that Muad’Dib may be worse than Shaddam ever was — and we need to stop the slaughter any way we can, and establish a new order.”

Garon inhaled a long, deep breath, and nodded. “We must take the course of honor. In doing so, we can reverse a great wrong that is being committed against humanity. We are honor-bound to make the effort.”

Fenring extended his hand across the table, and Garon grasped it firmly. Personally, the Count didn’t care that much about honor, but this old soldier certainly did. It was both Bashar Zum Garon’s strength, and his weakness. It only remained for Fenring to work out the details and put a plan into action.