Crucial events from my first life stand at the forefront of my mind: the murder of Old Duke Paulus in the bull ring, the War of Assassins between Ecaz and Grumman, young Paul running off to join the Jongleurs, that terrible night in Arrakeen when the Harkonnens came . . . my own death at the hands of the attacking Sardaukar in the stronghold of Dr. Kynes. The details remain vivid.

—DUNCAN IDAHO, as put to paper by Alia Atreides

Dawn light touched the surface of the desert and the rock escarpments as a lone ornithopter flew high enough that its vibrations would not disturb the great worms. Duncan Idaho piloted the craft.

Like old times, Gurney thought. And yet completely different. For sixteen years he had known that his friend was dead, but death wasn’t always a permanent condition, thanks to the axlotl tanks of the Tleilaxu.

Ahead, flashing in the low-angled sunlight, they could see the silvery rooftops and bastions of a ground-based scanner facility. “There’s our destination,” Duncan said. “A typical base. It will tell us much about our general security status before the funeral ceremony. Tens of thousands of ships are arriving for the event from countless worlds. We have to be ready.”

While preparations for the grand spectacle continued, a stream of mourners arrived on Dune, from diplomats hoping to curry favor with the Regency to the lowliest paupers who had sacrificed everything to pay for space passage. Gurney was not sure the planetary defenses could handle the extra influx and constant turmoil.

The evening before, he had asked Duncan about the state of the defensive facilities on the outskirts of Arrakeen. Still feeling out their new/old friendship, the two men sat at a worn table in the Citadel’s commissary levels, drinking outrageously expensive spice beers, hardly caring about the cost.

Taking a long sip, Duncan had said, “I intended to inspect those sites in due course, but other duties kept me away. Now you and I can do it together.”

“The death of an emperor certainly wreaks havoc with schedules,” Gurney said bitterly.

Duncan’s previously sociable nature had been supplanted by Mentat mysticism programmed into him by the Tleilaxu, but he began to open up by the second spice beer, and Gurney’s heart felt both heavy and happy to see glimmers of his old friend. Still wary, though, he said, as a test, “I could sing us a song. I have my baliset back in my quarters—it’s the same old instrument I bought on Chusuk, when the two of us went with Thufir Hawat to search for Paul after he ran away from Ix.”

Duncan responded with a thin smile. “Thufir did not go with us. It was just you and me.”

Gurney chuckled. “Just making sure you really have all your memories.”

“I do.”

Now, as the ’thopter approached the perimeter outpost, Gurney recognized it as one of the old Harkonnen scanner stations dotted around the Plain of Arrakeen. What had once been a moderately armed facility now sported new battlements and utility structures, its multiple roofs and high walls studded with powerful ion cannons capable of destroying vessels in orbit—even Guild Heighliners, should the situation demand it.

“Because Arrakis was always a target, Paul expanded planetary defenses during the Jihad. Now that he is gone, Alia wants me to make certain we are ready to stand against opportunists.”

“Shaddam is still alive and in exile on Salusa Secundus,” Gurney pointed out. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I worry about many things, and try to be prepared for all of them.” He transmitted their identification signal as he circled the ’thopter in toward the outpost’s landing pad, retracting the wing thrusters. “I’d never turn down your assistance, Gurney. Paul would have wanted us to work together.”

Paul, Gurney thought with a wave of sadness. Though it was how the real Duncan Idaho would have remembered him, that Atreides name was a remnant of Caladan, a historical artifact. Here on Dune, Paul had become Muad’Dib, a far different person from the Duke’s son.

With a roar of jets and a masterful dance of subtle stabilizers, Duncan landed the ornithopter on a fused stone apron inside the outpost’s fortified walls. The pair disembarked and made their way to a central mustering area, where soldiers hurried through a nearby portico for the unannounced inspection.

With Gurney at his side, Duncan proceeded methodically from one station to another, chastising the soldiers for sloppy conditions. He pointed out unpolished and uncalibrated guns, dust in the tracking mechanisms, wrinkled uniforms, even the boozy odor of spice beer in the morning air.

Gurney couldn’t blame him for being displeased with the level of disarray, but he also remembered the faltering morale among Atreides troops after Duke Leto had arrived on Arrakis. “With Paul gone, these men are adrift and uncertain. ‘A soldier will always fight, but he fights hardest when he fights for something.’ Isn’t that one of your Swordmaster sayings?”

“We are both masters of the sword, Gurney Halleck, even if you didn’t do your own training on Ginaz. I taught you a few things, you know.” Looking at the men, Duncan had made his own Mentat analysis. “They will adjust. Alia needs to be made aware of this sloppiness. After Paul’s funeral, I will implement a thorough crackdown on her behalf, punishing the worst offenders harshly to shake up the others.”

The statement made Gurney uneasy, because the Atreides had not historically ruled through fear. But all of that had changed when Paul Atreides became a messianic Fremen and ascended to the throne of Dune, ruling an empire with thousands of restless worlds.

“I wish you could do it some other way,” he said.

The ghola turned to him with his metal eyes, and in that moment he did not look at all like Duncan. “You must think of realities, my old comrade. If Alia shows weakness now, it could lead to our downfall. I must protect her.”

From a high battlement, Gurney gazed out into the rugged distance at a rock escarpment that partially framed the expanse of desert. He knew Duncan was right, but there seemed no end to the governmental brutality.

“I noted subtle weaknesses in the eyes of the soldiers, and I heard it in the voice of their station commander.” Duncan glanced at his companion. “I have learned how to read the most minute details, for there are always messages beneath the surface. I even see them in your face at this very moment, the way you look at me. I am not an alien creature.”

Gurney took a moment to consider his response. “I was a friend of Duncan Idaho’s, that’s true, and I lamented his death. Such a brave, loyal warrior. You look and act like him, though you’re a bit more reserved. But a ghola is . . . beyond my comprehension. What was it like?”

Duncan had a distant gaze as he stared away into the past. “I remember my first moment of awareness, huddled afraid and confused in a pool of liquid on a hard floor. The Tleilaxu said I had been a friend of the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib, and that I was to ingratiate myself so that I could destroy him. They gave me subconscious programming . . . and ultimately I found it unbearable. In refusing to follow the fundamental commands they imposed upon me, I shattered that artificial psyche, and in that moment I became Duncan Idaho again. It’s me, Gurney. Really, I’m back.”

Gurney’s voice was a low growl, more of a promise than a threat, and he held his hand on the hilt of his sheathed knife. “If I ever suspect that you intend to harm the Atreides family, I’ll kill you.”

“And if that were truly the case, then I would let you.” Duncan lifted his chin, tilted his head back. “Draw your dagger, Gurney Halleck. Here, I bare my throat to you now, if you feel this is the time.”

A long moment passed, and Gurney did not move. Finally, he removed his hand from the hilt of his weapon. “The real Duncan would offer his life like that. I’ll accept you, for now . . . and accept that I’ll never be able to understand what you’ve been through.”

Duncan shook his head as they went down the steep, winding staircase to the landing field and the waiting ’thopter. “One day you’ll die, and then you’ll be halfway to understanding.”