Each death is different, in myriad ways.

—Zensunni axiom

On the darkened rooftop, Gurney refused to volunteer any information, even to Duncan. “I serve the Lady Jessica and House Atreides—as do you, Duncan Idaho. Or have you forgotten your loyalties?” He stared hard at his shadowy companion, trying to detect any shards of humanity there, any remnants of his old friend and comrade in arms.

The ghola did not flinch. “I’ve forgotten nothing.” Both men stood, their short swords drawn, body shields flickering.

“Damn it, Duncan, we’ve both distrusted Lady Jessica in the past. You were convinced that Jessica was the traitor to House Atreides, sure that Duke Leto himself had stopped trusting her. And you were wrong then—remember that. Just as I was wrong when I suspected her of treachery. Gods below!”

Gurney would never forget the feel of Jessica as he had grabbed her unawares in the Fremen sietch, his arm around her neck, the point of his knife at her back. His hatred for her had burned for years while he hid among the smugglers, utterly convinced that she was the one who had betrayed the Duke, when it had been Yueh all along. Back then, Gurney’s own shame was so great that he had offered his life to Paul and to Jessica, but they had let him live. He would not fail her now.

“Duke Leto and Paul both trusted Jessica implicitly,” Gurney said, “and they told us to trust her. Those are not loyalties to be taken lightly. They are Atreides loyalties.”

Duncan remained implacable. “Alia is also Atreides—and she is my wife. I cannot question her orders.”

In a sudden move, the ghola struck out, driving his blade against Gurney’s body shield, causing him to parry and use the shield to its fullest advantage. Both men were skilled fighters and had trained together for countless hours on Caladan, had fought side by side on dozens of battle-fields. Gurney drove his blade forward, penetrated Duncan’s shield at precisely the right speed, cutting his arm slightly. He withdrew to meet another blow from his opponent’s edge and was driven backward by the ghola’s anger.

Duncan seemed to have made up his mind. “I can no longer turn a blind eye to the answers that were in front of me all along. My friendship for you prevented me from acting on my suspicion that you were sabotaging or misdirecting our efforts to find Bronso. Why did you do it?”

Panting, Gurney eluded another thrust and then charged Duncan, putting him on the defensive. “Because Lady Jessica commanded me to!”

Duncan met blade against blade. “Why?” With a stiff forearm, he slammed Gurney against the ornithopter, so that the articulated metal wings creaked and flopped. He held Gurney there for a moment, pressing the blade tip against his throat. “If you refuse to answer, then your guilt is plain.”

“Listen to yourself! When have we ever required explanations from the Atreides?” He pushed Duncan away, made him stumble backward. “When is your loyalty conditional on a whim?”

Hearing this, the ghola hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty. In that moment, Gurney could have delivered a disabling blow, but he did not. “I wonder if you really are the old Duncan—the man who sacrificed his life so that Paul and Jessica could get away. Are you still guided by Tleilaxu programming? Or are you Alia’s puppet?”

“Alia is House Atreides!” Duncan repeated. “Is the Lady Jessica a puppet of the Bene Gesserit? Why does she want the Ixian traitor to live? Why has she been helping him?” He pressed closer, pushing the sharp tip of the blade against Gurney’s throat again. “You fight with words when your hand is weakened.”

“And I see you’ve forgotten the things we taught Paul when he was just a pup.” Gurney’s gaze flicked. “Look down, and see that we’d have joined each other in death.” It was a saying he’d used on occasion in practice sessions. The tip of his blade extended through the shield, touching Duncan’s side where a quick and easy thrust could deliver a fatal blow through liver and kidneys.

“I have already been through death, Gurney Halleck.”

“And what sort of ghola came back out? The real Duncan Idaho would never expose the Duke’s Lady—whom we swore to serve—to total ruin.”

Ultimately, Gurney knew he could not do this thing. He relaxed his muscles. “Do you truly believe that she would do anything against Paul? There are plans within plans here. Kill me if you must, but I will not betray her.” He lowered his blade. “She is the Lady Jessica.”

Duncan stood rigid, staring off into the tiny bright eyes of the Carthag city lights, then with a curse he threw down his short sword. It clattered on the rooftop. “If Jessica’s involvement with Bronso is proved, there will be no stopping Alia from killing her own mother. She would never accept—or choose to accept—any explanation.”

Gurney nodded. “I doubt Levenbrech Orik or his men will catch her if she has planned an escape. But if you expose her identity . . .” He clenched his hand around the hilt of the short sword. Duncan was unarmed now, and Gurney had one last chance to kill him.

The ghola remained silent for so long that Gurney feared he had fallen into one of the fabled, never-ending comatose states that flawed Mentats entered. Finally, Duncan blinked and let out a long breath. His voice was crowded with rationalizations. “Our orders were to find and capture Bronso of Ix. Accomplices are incidental, for now. Bronso has been taken into custody, as Alia requested, and I will ensure that he does not escape this time.

“For now, the extent of Lady Jessica’s involvement—and her reasons—need not concern either of us.”