Unknown

“Xuttuh” is a word that means many things. Every Bene Tleilax knows it was the name of the first Master. But just as that man was more than a mere mortal, so there are depths and complexities in the appellation. Depending upon tone and vocal inflection, “Xuttuh” can mean “hello” or “blessings be upon you.” Or it can constitute a prayer encompassed in a single word, as a devotee prepares to die for the Great Belief. For such reasons, we have chosen this as our new name for the conquered planet formerly known as Ix.

Deep in the labyrinthine research pavilion, Hidar Fen Ajidica understood that maxim only too well. One day, the Emperor’s man would attempt to kill him; therefore, careful defensive preparations were necessary.

“This way, please, Count Fenring,” Ajidica said in his most pleasant voice while thinking, Unclean powindah. He glanced peripherally at the man. I should slay you now!

But the Master Researcher could not accomplish this safely, and might never have the proper opportunity. Even if he did succeed, the Emperor would send in his investigators and even more Sardaukar troops to interfere with the delicate work.

“It is good to hear that you are finally making progress on Project Amal. Elrood IX did commission it over a dozen years ago, hmmmm?” Fenring strolled along a featureless corridor in the underground city. He wore a scarlet Imperial jacket and tight-fitting gold trousers. His dark hair was razor-cut, sticking out in patches to emphasize his overlarge head. “We have been extremely patient.”

Ajidica wore a white lab coat with ample pockets. Chemical odors clung to the fabric, his hair, his corpselike gray skin. “I warned all of you in the beginning that it could take many years to develop a completed product. A dozen years is a mere eyeblink to develop a substance the Imperium has wanted for centuries upon centuries.” His nostrils narrowed as he forced a thin smile.

“Nevertheless, I am pleased to report that our modified axlotl tanks have now been grown, that preliminary experiments have been conducted, and the data analyzed. Based on this, we have discarded unworkable solutions, thus narrowing down the remaining possibilities.”

“The Emperor is not interested in ‘narrowed possibilities,’ Master Researcher, but in results.” Fenring’s voice was frozen acid. “Your expenses have been immense, even after we financed your takeover of Ixian facilities.”

“Our records would stand up to any audit, Count Fenring,” Ajidica said. He knew full well that Fenring could never allow a Guild Banker to look at the expenditures; the Spacing Guild, more than any other entity, must not suspect the aim of this project. “All funds have been properly applied. All spice stockpiles are accounted for, exactly according to our original agreement.”

“Your agreement was with Elrood, little man, not with Shaddam, hmmmm? The Emperor can stop your experiments at any moment.”

Like all Tleilaxu, Ajidica was accustomed to being insulted and provoked by fools; he refused to take offense. “An interesting threat, Count Fenring, considering that you personally initiated the contact between my people and Elrood. We have recordings, back on the Tleilaxu homeworlds.”

Fenring bristled, and pushed ahead, deeper into the research pavilion. “Just by observing you, Master Researcher, I have learned something,” he said in an oily voice. “You have developed a phobia of being underground, hmmm? The fear came upon you recently, a sudden onslaught.”

“Ah, but I detect something mendacious in your voice and expression. You take medication for the condition . . . a bottle of pills in the right pocket of your jacket. I see the bulge.”

“Hm-m-m-ah, I would say that your continued health depends upon how well things are going here. The sooner you complete Project Amal, the sooner you will be able to breathe fresh air again back on beautiful Tleilax. When was the last time you were there?”

“A long time ago,” Ajidica admitted. “You cannot know what it looks like. No powin”— he caught himself—“no outsider has ever been permitted beyond the spaceport.”

Fenring simply answered with a maddening, too-knowing smile. “Just show me what you have done here, so that I can report to Shaddam.”

At a doorway Ajidica raised his arm to block Fenring’s passage. The Tleilaxu closed his eyes and reverently kissed the door. The brief ritual deactivated the deadly security systems, and the door melted into narrow cracks in the wall.

“You may enter safely now.” Ajidica stepped aside to let Fenring cross into a white smoothplaz room, where the Master Researcher had set up a number of demonstrations to show the progress of the experiments. In the center of the enormous oval room sat a high-resolution microscope, a metal rack containing laboratory bottles and vials, and a red table holding a dome-shaped object. Ajidica saw intense interest in Fenring’s overlarge eyes as he approached the demonstration area. “Don’t touch anything, please.”

Subtle treacheries hung thick in the air, and this Imperial powindah would never see or comprehend them until it was too late. Ajidica intended to solve the riddle of the artificial spice, then escape with the sacred axlotl tanks to a safe planet in the farthest reaches of the Imperium. He had made a number of clever arrangements without revealing his identity, using promises and bribes, transferring funds . . . all without the knowledge of his superiors on the Bene Tleilax homeworlds. He was alone in this.

He had decided that there were heretics among his own people, followers who had adopted their identity as downtrodden scapegoats so well that they had forgotten the heart of the Great Belief. It was like a Face Dancer who had disguised himself so well, he had forgotten who he truly was. If Ajidica meekly allowed such people access to his great discovery of amal, they would surrender the one thing that would gain them the supremacy they deserved.

Ajidica planned to continue in his role, until he was ready. And then he could take the artificial spice, control it himself, and help his people and their mission . . . whether they wanted him to or not.

Count Fenring murmured as he leaned close to the dome-shape on the table. “Most intriguing. Something is inside, I presume, hmmm-ah?”

He smiled inwardly as he imagined a glut of artificial spice flowing into the interplanetary marketplace, wreaking economic havoc within CHOAM and the Landsraad. Like a tiny leak in a dam, a bit of inexpensive melange would ultimately become a raging torrent to turn the Imperium upside down. If played right, Ajidica would be the kingpin of the new economic and political order— not to serve himself, of course, but to serve God.

Ajidica smiled at Count Fenring, revealing sharp teeth. “Rest assured, Count Fenring, our goals in this matter are mutual.”

In time, wealthy beyond imagining, Ajidica would develop tests to determine loyalty to his new regime, and he would begin assimilating the Bene Tleilax. Though it was too dangerous to bring them into his scheme now, he had several candidates in mind. With proper military support— perhaps even converts among the Sardaukar stationed here?— he might even set up headquarters in the lovely capital city of Bandalong. . . .

Fenring continued to snoop at the demonstration equipment. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘Trust but verify’? It’s from Old Terra. You’d be surprised at the little tidbits I pick up. My Bene Gesserit wife collects objects, knickknacks and the like. I collect pieces of information.”

The Tleilaxu’s narrow face twisted into a frown. “I see.” He needed to finish this annoying inspection as quickly as possible. “If you will look over here, please.” Ajidica removed an opaque plaz vial from the rack and lifted the lid, letting out a strong odor reminiscent of raw ginger, bergamot, and clove. He passed the container to Fenring, who peered at a thick, orangish substance.

“Not quite melange,” Ajidica said, “though chemically it has many spice precursors.” He poured the syrup on a scanning plate, inserted it into the microscope reader, then beckoned Fenring to look through the eyepiece. The Count saw elongated molecules connected to one another like the strands of a cable.

“An unusual protein chain,” the Master Researcher said. “We are close to a breakthrough.”

“The Tleilaxu also have sayings, Count Fenring: ‘The closer one gets to a goal, the farther off it appears to be.’ In matters of scientific research, time has a way of stretching. Only God possesses intimate knowledge of the future. The breakthrough could occur in a matter of days, or years.”

“Double-talk,” Fenring muttered. He fell silent when Ajidica pressed a button at the base of the dome.

The foggy surface of the plaz cleared, revealing sand on the bottom of the container. The Tleilaxu researcher pressed another button, filling the interior with a fine dust. The sand moved, a tiny mound in motion that surfaced, like a fish emerging from murky water. A worm-shape the size of a small snake, it was a little over half a meter in length, with tiny crystal teeth.

“Sandworm, immature form,” Ajidica said, “nineteen days from Arrakis. We don’t expect it to survive much longer.”

From the top of the dome, a box dropped to the sand on a hidden suspensor, then opened to reveal more of the glistening orange gelatin. “Amal 1522.16,” Ajidica said. “One of our many variations— the best we’ve developed so far.”

Fenring watched as the mouth of the immature worm quested left and right, revealing glimmering thorns far back in its gullet. The creature slithered toward the orange substance, then stopped in confusion and didn’t touch it. Presently it turned and burrowed back into the sand.

“What is the relationship between the sandworms and the spice?” Fenring asked.

“If we knew that, we would have the puzzle solved. If I were to put real spice in that enclosure, the worm would consume it in a primal frenzy. Still, though the worm can identify the difference, at least it did approach the sample. We tempted the beast, but did not satisfy it.”

“Nor did your little demonstration satisfy me. I am told that there continues to be an Ixian underground movement, causing difficulties. Shaddam is concerned about interference with his most important plan.”

“A few rebels, Count Fenring— inadequately funded, with limited resources. Nothing to worry about.” Ajidica rubbed his hands together.

“But they have sabotaged your communications systems and destroyed a number of facilities, hmmm?”

“The death throes of House Vernius, no more. It has been well over a decade, and soon it will die down. They cannot get near this research pavilion.”

“Well, your security worries are over, Master Researcher. The Emperor has agreed to dispatch two additional legions of Sardaukar, as peacekeepers, led by Bashar Cando Garon, one of our best.”

A look of alarm and surprise came over the diminutive Tleilaxu. His pinched face reddened. “But that isn’t necessary, sir. The half legion already in place is more than sufficient.”

“The Emperor does not agree. These troops will emphasize the importance of your experiments to him. Shaddam will do anything to protect the amal program, but his patience has run out.” The Count’s eyes narrowed. “You should think of this as good news.”