Like a man in a daze, Xavier followed Tercero Cregh out onto a narrow balcony high above the streets of the Tlulaxan suburb. The night was misty-wet and cold. The two of them made a treacherous, laborious ascent on railings and by knotted rope, crossing dim walkways and over-passes, Xavier offering assistance when he could.

Xavier was sure there must be guards outside the door to his room and Quinto Paolo’s. He hoped no one would check on him before he could see what this desperate soldier had to show him. Worse, he hoped his suite had not been bugged with microscopic surveillance imagers. But it was too late for such concerns now.

At night the Tlulaxa city— at its core a forbidden zone— was dark and sinister, brooding behind its blockades. “Are we going inside there?” Xavier asked the barely alive veteran. He kept his voice low. “It’s a blocked security area—”

“There are ways to enter. The Tlulaxa have so few offworld visitors, they don’t know the weak spots in their own security.” Cregh heaved a gurgling breath, visibly forcing back his pain. “But I suspect it will be more difficult getting in than it was slipping out. Most of the prisoners, like me, aren’t very… ambulatory. Shhh! Look.” He pointed.

Crouching, they watched three Tlulaxa men pass them, each one carrying an electronic device. When the way was clear, Hondu Cregh hurried through shadows, followed by Xavier.

In a cramped alley outside a hangar-sized metal building, Cregh propped open an access hatch and ducked low. Both men entered through a supply chute. The effort was obviously difficult and painful to Cregh, but he did not slow.

Inside the large building, the stench of chemicals and death was powerful even to Xavier’s dulled sense of smell. But what he saw made him wish he had lost his eyesight long ago.

The confinement beds were like coffins equipped with diagnostics and artificial systems that kept the pathetic, mewling forms alive by pumping fluids into them. The cavernous facility extended as far as he could see, under dim lights.

Thousands of human bodies lay trapped there. Living specimens. Some were nothing but butchered torsos or severed limbs, kept fresh through injections of nutrients and bubbling liquids, mere scraps of dissected humanity. Other bodies were fresh acquisitions, strapped down and held captive while their pieces were removed one by one to fill orders.

The real “organ farms” of the Tlulaxa.

Xavier drew in a hitching, sobbing breath, felt a wave of nausea. As he tasted the air, he wondered if he had been kept alive through the unwilling sacrifice of some unknown victim who had provided a fresh set of lungs.

Most of the captives had the distinctive dark hair and tan skin that marked them as Buddislamic captives, like the ones on IV Anbus or those who had risen up on Poritrin. The Zensunni and Zenshiite prisoners who did not have their eyes removed looked at him with desperation, hope, or hatred.

“I escaped from my bed,” Cregh said in a rattling voice. “With most of my vital organs taken from me, the flesh merchants knew I could not stay alive away from this place— only an hour or two at most. But when one of the other donor bodies died, I was able to steal his nutrient and stimulant packs. That provided me with the strength I needed to go out and locate you. I knew you were here. I overheard two of the Tlulaxa butchers talking.” He inhaled deeply, like bellows inflating, then he coughed. “I had to give my life… so that you would know, Primero Harkonnen.”

Xavier wanted to collapse in despair. He wanted to flee, but instead he steeled himself and looked at the horrific survivor. “But how did the Tlulaxa capture you? We thought that you and the other colonists were killed on Balut.”

“The Grand Patriarch’s Jipol and dozens of Tlulaxa slaver ships came at night and bombarded the central village,” said Cregh. “They sprayed paralytic gas in the air, rendering us senseless and unable to resist. Like on Rhisso. They killed a handful of us for good measure, just so they could strew the slaughtered bodies around. Then they took us captive and slagged the buildings, leaving no traces except for a handful of destroyed combat robots they had picked up on some old battlefield. The League assumed it was a thinking machine attack.”

Xavier reeled with the information. Then weakness overcame the dying man, and finally Cregh sagged to his knees. “That was how the Tlulaxa acquired fresh materials for their organ farms, and Iblis Ginjo was able to cry out against the thinking machines. His people rallied to the cause, suspecting nothing.”

“An abominable scheme,” Xavier said.

“That is not all. He did the same on Chusuk years ago, and the mining planetoid of Rhisso. He intends to hit… Caladan… next. You must stop him.”

Xavier listened with growing horror as the tercero explained in short bursts of words, like the last remnants of a battery charge. Finally the man slumped to the floor, with no energy left. Xavier wondered how the officer had managed to survive for so long without vital organs— just a core, head, and limbs— detached from the sophisticated maintenance systems the Tlulaxa used to keep their organ reservoirs fresh.

Xavier knelt, draped the officer’s arm over a bony shoulder, and stood. He tried to drag the man along, even though he knew there was nothing he could do to help him. He staggered between the rows of coffin like beds and dissection tables, hauling the valiant soldier along. But finally it became too much. Hondu Cregh was dead.

Gently, Xavier laid the tercero’s body on the stained floor. Xavier caught glimpses of other half-dismantled bodies kept alive for the harvesting of organs and tissues. Some had been flayed of their skin— which had no doubt been used to treat Jihad burn victims— revealing raw, red muscle tissue that glistened wetly in the light.

He staggered away, considering whether he should try to free these people but he knew that most would die swiftly without the medical systems that kept them alive here. They had already lost vital organs. A few might survive… but to where could they flee? What could he possibly do for them?

Though he was a high-ranking officer in the Army of the Jihad, he was all alone here, surrounded by enemies— the Tlulaxa, as well as Iblis

Ginjo and his Jipol guards. Xavier could not sound an alarm. He grasped the edge of one of the dissection beds. Feebly, the body inside twitched a hand and reached toward him.

“I see some explanations are in order,” said a rich, powerful voice. “Do not judge what you don’t understand.”

Xavier whirled to see the Grand Patriarch standing at the end of the long aisle, accompanied by Tlulaxa medical researchers, Jipol guards, and flesh merchants. Xavier froze, knowing that his life would now be forfeit, in spite of who he was. Maybe they would hook him up and harvest his organs…

“I already understand far more than I ever wanted to know,” Xavier said, trying to hide his disgust and outrage. “I presume you have your justifications?”

“It only requires a broader perspective, Primero. Surely you can understand that?” Iblis looked robust and powerful, while Xavier simply felt incredibly old.

He asked, “Is this… is this where my own lungs came from?”

“That was before I rose to power, so I have no way of knowing. Even so, any objective person would consider it a worthy trade— a nameless wretch for a great Primero.” Iblis drew himself up, seizing a way to make his argument convincing. “Most of these people are slaves, human outcasts scraped up from unwanted planets.” He sneered at the victims confined to their life-support beds. “But you are a tactical genius, a loyal soldier for the Jihad. Consider everything you have done in past decades, Primero— all the victories you won against Omnius. By any measure, your life is far more valuable than that of a mere slave— especially a Buddislamic coward who refused to fight for the Jihad.”

“The ends justify the means,” said Xavier, not daring to let his true revulsion show. “That can be a valid argument.”

Iblis smiled, misinterpreting Xavier’s calmness as acceptance. “Think of it this way, Primero: By keeping you alive and able to serve to your fullest capacity, that slave who sacrificed his lungs for you did his own part to defeat the thinking machines. If his people had been willing to contribute to the war effort in any another way— as a human should have— he would never have been brought here, would he?”

“But these victims aren’t all Buddislamics,” Xavier said, looking down at the grayish ruin of Cregh’s body. The words were like sour bile in his throat. “This man was also a soldier in the Army of the Jihad.”

“What did he tell you?” Iblis asked, his words sharp, his jaw set.

Xavier shook his head. “He was too weak and died quickly, but I recognized him. How did he get here?”

“That man… does not exist any longer,” Iblis said. “Some are so wounded in battles that they cannot survive. Nonetheless, their bodies can still offer hope and assistance to others. That officer’s family believes he died bravely in battle— and he did, for all intents and purposes. Afterward, his body provided the organs necessary to keep other jihadis and mercenaries alive. He would have died anyway. Could any fighter ask for more?”

Xavier felt weak and nauseated. Nothing Iblis said could justify what he and the Tlulaxa monsters had done. “Did… did Serena know about this?” he asked finally, sounding defeated.

“No, but Tlulaxa technology enabled us to complete the illusion of her martyrdom. We used the sample cells the Tlulaxa took from her when she visited Thalim ten years ago to grow a genetically identical clone body, which we then mutilated horribly. We captured every moment in highly detailed images, staged every motion, and made Omnius out to be the monster that we all know he is.”

Now Xavier had difficulty grasping the enormity of this revelation as well. “Then Serena wasn’t tortured? She wasn’t murdered by the thinking machines—”

“I gave orders that her own chief Seraph Niriem kill her, if the Corrin-Omnius did not. Serena intended to goad Omnius to murder. But if she failed… well, we couldn’t allow that to happen. It was to be a quick and painless blow that would thoroughly astonish the thinking machines.” Iblis shrugged.

Xavier reeled in disbelief. “Why would she do such a terrible thing? What did she have to gain—” Then he cut himself off. “Of course. She threw fuel onto the flames of the Jihad. She knew our people would accept the Cogitors’ peace terms out of sheer exhaustion, unless she gave her life to make sure that would never happen.”

Smiling, the Grand Patriarch spread his hands as if the answer was obvious. “Can you imagine any better way to stir up every human in the League? Serena couldn’t, and neither could I. I simply made certain that Serena would succeed. Even the protesters fell silent when they saw what Omnius had done to their beloved Priestess.”

A moan from one of the half-butchered Zensunnis turned Xavier’s attention back to the bubbling and humming medical beds. He swallowed hard. “Did she know about the organs, where so many of them came from— all these people, cut up like garments in a tailor shop?”

The Grand Patriarch flashed a knowing smile, while his Jipol guards and the Tlulaxa stood uneasily around him. “Serena had other burdens to bear, and she was told only what she needed to know. She asked that I find a way to care for the wounded Jihad fighters, to get them the organs they desperately needed. While I admit these facilities are not pleasant, they fill a necessary function. Surely, you can see that?” He smiled broadly.

“Think of Serena and her memory, Primero. You know how much she praised these farms and all the good they did. You know how badly Serena wanted Tlulax to join the League of Nobles. Regardless of the method, this is truly what she wanted all along.” He took an ominous step closer, pretending to be paternal and understanding. “Xavier Harkonnen, I know you loved her, and I beg of you— do not act prematurely. Do not ruin Serena’s legacy for all of us.”

Xavier struggled to keep his fury in check. “No, I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. He hoped he had convinced Iblis.

The Tlulaxa and the Jipol guards looked at him suspiciously, but Xavier kept his gaze fixed on the smug Grand Patriarch. “I’ve had enough of these horrors, Iblis— enough of the war. When we return to Salusa Secundus, I ask that you… accept my resignation as Primero in the Army of the Jihad.”

For an instant, Iblis looked surprised, then pleased. Quickly, he masked his expression and nodded. “As you wish— with full honors, of course. You have served well, Primero, but the war must go on until Omnius is defeated. For Serena’s sake we will continue to do whatever needs to be done.”

“Of course,” Xavier said. “Just call on me, and I will serve for Serena’s sake. For now… I just want to go home.”

But he had other plans, if only he could implement them quickly enough.