The Tlulaxa representatives welcomed a smiling Iblis Ginjo, who stepped forth from his diplomatic shuttle accompanied by Jipol guardians and attendants. The politicians and elders here had engaged in numerous dealings with Iblis that had never been documented in official records. As he arrived, the Grand Patriarch made subtle gestures and shared knowing looks with the merchant Rekur Van and his colleagues. Several of the Jipol guards and attendants slipped off to take care of undisclosed matters, as previously arranged. The Tlulaxa had made special exemptions for Iblis.

At the landing platform, the Tlulaxa also received the veteran Xavier Harkonnen— a living testimonial to their biological prowess— giving him full honors. He stood like a statue, a showpiece, displaying none of the turmoil inside him.

Only one of the Primero’s low-ranking adjutants, Quinto Paolo, accompanied him. Young Paolo looked at the veteran through starry eyes, seeing him as a legendary icon rather than a human being who had made sundry mistakes and held regrets in his heart. Xavier did not require pampering; the devoted young quinto would follow his instructions without being overly attentive.

Rekur Van and other Tlulaxa representatives hosted a ceremony at their hillside organ farms. Xavier stood in the eerie technological forest under the Thalim sunlight, remembering the previous time he had been here. With Serena. The tree like stands bore swollen artificial fruits— a variety of cloned and modified organs, bearing labels in strange letters.

Rekur Van was all smiles, revealing sharp little teeth as he spread his arms to indicate the biological wealth in their organ farms. “Primero Harkonnen, so nice to see you. Tlulax is honored by your presence. With our cultured lungs in your chest, you showcase to the League the best our marvelous society has to offer.”

Xavier nodded, but said nothing. He stood straight backed and drew in a deep breath that carried the faintest whiff of chemical scents.

Since their visit here, Dr. Rajid Suk had continued his own experiments, enamored with the possibilities of cloning medical specimens, though his own attempts had been failures. Only the genetic geniuses of Tlulax had been able to provide a constant supply of compatible and perfect organs, which the Army of the Jihad desperately required….

As he took the stage, Iblis Ginjo’s squarish face was full of satisfaction. “On this occasion, we bring to fruition one of the most prominent dreams Serena Butler shared with us. It was her most fervent desire that the Tlulaxa be brought into the League. This is a difficult mission in the shadow of her recent death, but I swore not to let the dreams of our beloved Priestess perish with her.

“Therefore, I am pleased to accept Tlulax as the newest League World, welcoming the Tlulaxa people as business partners and allies. Your scientists will provide vital medical products at a time when we are sure to experience many more injuries as we seek to reach our sacred goal. The Jihad is entering a new and even more glorious phase.”

The Grand Patriarch showed exhilaration, boundless energy and optimism. He had maintained his youthful health and vitality through massive consumption of Aurelius Venport’s imported spice, melange, an exotic drug that continued to be popular among the most prominent League nobles.

In contrast, as he stood watching, Xavier felt the weight of his years and his own tragedies. Nothing more than stage-dressing himself, Xavier looked about at the strange Tlulaxa— all of them men— who had come to attend this event. No sign of females anywhere. Even though he noticed nothing he could identify as directly suspicious, he felt as if he were trespassing in a den of predators. Their sharp little teeth and black, rodent eyes only added to the effect.

A secret triumph reflected in Iblis Ginjo’s own dark eyes. His broad-shouldered Jipol officers stood by, scanning the crowd, watching everything. Only the youthful Quinto Paolo seemed to accept this celebration at face value.

“We have guaranteed the Tlulaxa their privacy, and we respect their wishes to restrict outside visitors,” the Grand Patriarch continued. “Still, we welcome them as our brothers in the holy struggle against thinking machines.”

Xavier stood in front of the organ farms, surveying the masses of carefully bred tissue. He drew a deep breath into his own lungs, which had themselves been taken from similar tanks four decades ago. He focused on spherical eyeballs drifting in murky nutrient containers. They all seemed to be staring at him like accusing ghosts.

IN A HIGH-RISE dwelling complex outside the Bandalong city perimeter, the Tlulaxa provided Xavier with a suite located in the middle of a maze of corridors, exterior balconies, and catwalks. His private room contained pleasant furniture and unusual art objects, but the basic design seemed austere and industrial; Xavier wondered if the Tlulaxa had simply added the decorations for his benefit.

Following his attendance at the organ farms ceremony, the Tlulaxa and Iblis Ginjo seemed to have no further interest in him. They sat together at a banquet table and ate a spiced meal, accompanied by strained conversation. Then the Grand Patriarch clearly dismissed Xavier, citing the veteran’s “weariness from the demands of the day” and suggesting that he retire to his own quarters for the evening.

Quinto Paolo bunked in a small room nearby. The Jipol had no business with the young adjutant, and the spaceport and business sectors of this suburban section did not offer much nightlife for an energetic military man. The core of Bandalong itself was off-limits to outsiders for purported religious reasons, although Xavier could not get a straight answer to any of his inquiries as to the reasons why.

Xavier brooded in his rooms, not wanting to sleep. He felt mentally weary, but his body was not tired. He resented having too much time to sit alone, where he had nothing to do but think and remember. Under such circumstances doubts and suspicions could run rampant….

Though Serena Butler had written passionate tracts and Iblis Ginjo had released his own popular essays and memoirs, Xavier had never felt the need to boast about his own life or military heroics. Despite his prominence, he had never bothered to document or justify his work for future generations to read. He preferred to let his actions speak for themselves.

Now Xavier spent hours far into the Tlulaxan night, poring over the last writings of Serena Butler. He found nothing new or enlightening, since he knew her thoughts and arguments so well. Nonetheless, Xavier savored the cadence and poetry of her words, as if she were speaking aloud to him once more. He opened his memories about her as if they were a separate, treasured book inside his mind, and thought of the remarkable accomplishments of her life.

Too short a life.

He heard a noise, a desperate tapping on the hard window plate of the folding door of his high balcony. Startled, Xavier noticed a shadow moving outside, the silhouette of a human form.

He might have been suspicious or afraid, but curiosity got the better of him. When he opened the balcony door and a cold, sour breeze slapped his face, he saw his mysterious visitor, a skeletal man with cadaverous, gray skin, except where livid scars embroidered it. The man had only one eye; the other hollow socket was a ghastly crater. Translucent tubes ran from his neck into packets of gelatinous fluids strapped to his waist.

Somehow the man had made his way across the catwalks and then dropped down here with the use of a wet, knotted rope. Xavier couldn’t imagine how this desiccated person had summoned the strength to accomplish such a task.

The stranger trembled as if in exhaustion or desperation. “Primero Harkonnen… I have found you.” He nearly collapsed with relief.

Xavier supported the unfortunate soul and led him into the room. Instinctively, the Primero kept his voice low. “Who are you? Does anyone know you’re here?”

The stranger shook his head, and the effort seemed to cost him a great deal. His chin sagged onto his own sunken chest. He looked like a giant mass of wounds, a shambling collection of scars. Not battle scars— surgical scars. Xavier helped him to one of the chairs in his room.

“Primero Harkonnen…” The man took deep breaths between words. “You may not remember me. I served with you at IV Anbus, thirteen years ago. I led one of the detachments against the thinking machines. I am Tercero Hondu Cregh.”

Narrowing his eyes, Xavier brought the recollection into focus. This officer had arranged the second ground ambush in a Zenshiite village, but the locals had sabotaged the artillery, leaving Cregh and his commandos vulnerable to robotic attack. Like Vergyl.

“Yes, I remember you well.” His brows knitted. “But I thought you’d been reassigned to your homeworld… Balut?” He drew in a quick breath. “Balut! And you survived the devastating attack there?”

“Balut was my home… once.”

Full of questions, Xavier leaned closer. “I saw the tactical report, the summary images. Awful! The thinking machines destroyed everyone, not a living soul left— but how did you escape?”

“We were not attacked by… thinking machines.” Hondu Cregh shook his head. “You were meant to believe that, but it wasn’t Omnius at all. It was Iblis Ginjo and the Tlulaxa.”

Xavier’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying?”

“There is something I must show you, if my body can withstand the effort.” Cregh lifted his head, blinking his oversized, bloodshot eye. “But I warn you, this knowledge places you in great danger, and you will not thank me for it.”

“I am not concerned about danger, not anymore.” Xavier set his jaw. “And if you have the courage to come here in your condition and tell me— how can I do less than listen to what you have to say?”

Tercero Cregh hung his head again, and his shoulders sagged. “I did it because I have nothing to lose, Primero. I am dead already.” He fondled the gelatinous packets strapped to his waist, touched the intravenous tubes running into his chest and neck. His single, intense eye fixed on Xavier. “They have stolen both of my kidneys, and my liver. The Tlulaxa hooked me up to temporary preservation systems and machines so that I would not deteriorate too quickly, while they waited to harvest the rest of my usable components.”

Xavier could not comprehend everything he was hearing. “What? They have the organ farms. They can grow anything they need. Why would—”

“I am an organ donor… Tlulaxa-style,” the emaciated man said, with a gruesome smile. He raised himself from the chair and stood on shaky legs. “Yes, the Tlulaxa have organ farms, but the operations are not very productive. Adequate to generate expensive replacement body parts during peacetime, perhaps— but never with the capacity to weather the demands of a Jihad.”

“But… that’s impossible!” Xavier felt a deep revulsion growing in his soul. “I myself have replacement lungs—”

Cregh’s head continued to sag, as if his neck was too weak to hold it up. “Perhaps it’s true that your lungs came from one of the tank trees… or they may have been ripped from a poor slave who happened to have compatible tissues. When all of the veterans and injured of the Jihad demanded fresh organs, the Tlulaxa were forced to find… alternative sources. Who would care about a few colonists and insignificant Buddislamic slaves?”

Xavier swallowed hard. “So the organ farms Serena and I visited— those were all a sham?”

“No, those were functional tanks, but they provide only a fraction of the Jihad’s biological needs. And the Tlulaxa certainly did not wish to lose all that business, all that profit. The flesh merchants want you to believe in their technological prowess, while they sell you their organs at exorbitant prices.”

Even worse, Xavier knew that if the League had known the truth all along, many organ recipients probably would still have made the same choice. He himself might have considered it a necessarily evil, for the good of the Jihad.

Cregh heaved a deep, angry sigh. “So, when orders come in, the Tlulaxa harvest the needed organs from those who no longer serve any other purpose for them. People like me.”

Struggling to comprehend the immensity of what he was hearing, Xavier wondered about Iblis Ginjo’s role. “And the Grand Patriarch… knows about this scheme?”

The man squinted his lone eye, and laughed coarsely. “Knows about it? He created it.”