Alert for treachery, Hasimir and Margot Fenring followed the albino Tleilaxu doctor through narrow, metal-sheathed tunnels beneath the city of Thalidei. Black streaks and patches mottled the gray plates where water had trickled down and mold had formed. As Dr. Ereboam scurried through the intricate passageways, Count Fenring thought of a white lab rat moving through a complex maze.

Fenring’s persistent “persuasion” techniques had convinced Ereboam to show him what he needed to see, but the Count remained wary. He did not trust this man — not at all. At least little Marie was as safe as possible, left under the protection of Tonia Obregah-Xo, sealed in their quarters and away from any interference or counter-blackmail; the Bene Gesserit nanny would kill anyone who attempted to intrude. After years of uneasy tolerance, Fenring doubted any of the Tleilaxu would try something so bold, especially now that they had so much to gain. Marie and their would-be Kwisatz Haderach offered interesting possibilities for cooperation and synergy.

No, the danger might be directed toward him instead, or Lady Margot. Count Fenring’s instincts kept him alert for a trap or ambush, but he sensed both resignation and eagerness from Ereboam. They were going to see the supposedly successful Kwisatz Haderach candidate.

Although they had entered the labyrinth through a long, security-guarded stairway near Thalidei’s outer walls, which fronted the deep and stinking lake, they had made so many turns that Fenring no longer had his bearings. “Are we still beneath the city, or have we gone under the lake bed?” He wiped a drip of water from his face.

Ereboam clucked. “We are in the atmosphere distribution tunnels and ventilation systems of Thalidei. Please follow. Not much farther.”

A clearplaz lift in a tube carried them up into a multi-story building, ascending past floor after floor where Tleilaxu researchers bustled about, preoccupied with experimental work. When the unusual lift came to a smooth stop, its doors irised open, and Ereboam hurried them along a white-walled corridor. A pink flush of excitement enlivened his narrow white face. “This way, please. Hurry, hurry. You’re going to be very impressed.”

At the end of a corridor that was bathed in lemon-yellow illumination, Ereboam adjusted a security scanner, and the door slid open to reveal a gray mistiness beyond. They entered.

As his eyes adjusted, Fenring noticed that the walls were heavily padded, showing numerous rips and scrape marks. Squeezing Margot’s hand, he sent an urgent finger signal to be alert. She positioned herself carefully close to him, coiled to strike if necessary. He detected a chemical odor in the room, a tinge of medicinals… and something rank that he could not quite identify. He felt Margot’s back tense against his. She had noticed, too. An animal smell.

Ereboam disappeared into the fog, though Fenring could hear him murmuring something reverential in a low tone. Prayers? “No need to worry,” the doctor said. “This fog is specially tuned to the subject’s metabolism, and has made him sleepy.”

When the mist thinned, Fenring saw the albino researcher standing next to what at first appeared to be an amorphous shape on the floor. Then he realized it was a classically proportioned human crouched over, head down, wearing a beige filmsuit that clung to his body and showed his muscles as if they had been carved by a master sculptor. One of the Twisting subjects they had seen in the laboratories? Fenring didn’t think so.

The crouched figure straightened, as if unfolding his body from a chrysalis. The filmsuit hid most of his skin except for his bare hands, feet, and head. The Count noticed his wife’s gaze move over the muscular form up to the strikingly handsome face, aquiline nose, and somewhat haughty pout. But Fenring could see past the physical perfection, and he was certain that Margot did as well. The mysterious man’s acorn brown eyes revealed a strange inner torment.

“Meet Thallo.” Ereboam’s voice was filled with pride. “Our Kwisatz Haderach.”

Lady Margot’s green-gray eyes took on a sudden, intense interest. “From your own genetic map?”

When speaking to a female, the researcher’s tone automatically became condescending. “Using sophisticated laboratory techniques instead of the unpleasant vagaries of natural human reproduction, we have achieved in only a few accelerated generations something that you Bene Gesserits could not accomplish in thousands of years.”

“Hmm, that remains to be seen.” Fenring walked slowly around Thallo, looking for flaws. “He looks, ahh, younger than Paul Atreides. He is what, seventeen or eighteen years old?”

Ereboam smiled. “Chronologically, Thallo is only nine, but we accelerated his physical growth. He has made a great deal of progress. In some respects he is quite polished, but in others he is somewhat raw and unrefined.”

Reaching up, Ereboam smoothed the dark, wavy hair on the back of Thallo’s head, a gentle, caring motion. The eyes of the strange creation grew more calm as the doctor spoke. “He is the pinnacle of Tleilaxu genetic accomplishment. Our Kwisatz Haderach possesses untapped mental and even prescient abilities that we can hardly begin to fathom.”

“Can it speak?” Fenring asked.

“I can speak better than the greatest orators in history,” Thallo said, in an erudite tone, with perfect diction. “I know all of the facts in every encyclopedic work in the Imperium. I am a Mentat with enhanced computational abilities. I could debate with all of you simultaneously, and defeat every argument.”

Ereboam brought a rectangular biscuit out of a pocket of his smock and handed the treat to Thallo, as if he were a pet. The creature chewed, fixing a hard gaze on Count Fenring. Between bites, Thallo said, “And I wish to inform these guests that I am not an it. I am a human being.”

“Much more than a human being,” Ereboam asserted. “What better way to take down Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib than with our own superman?”

“Um-m-m-m-ah,” Fenring said. “Your champion would charge into the throne room and throw cookies at him?” Thallo smiled as he chewed.