Before the next meeting of the resistance group, C’tair disguised himself as an introverted suboid worker. Under the guise, he spent days of reconnaissance in the underground warrens where the rebels planned to gather.

Interspersed with islands of stalactite buildings, the holoprojected sky looked wrong, mimicking light from a sun that did not belong to Ix. C’tair’s arms ached from placing heavy crates on self-motivated pallets that delivered supplies, equipment, and raw materials into the sealed-off research pavilion.

The invaders had commandeered a cluster of industrial facilities and modified the construction, building over rooftops and connecting side passages. Under House Vernius, the facilities had been masterfully designed to be both beautiful and functional. Now they resembled rodent nests, all sloping barricades and armored gables that shimmered beneath defensive fields. Their covered windows looked like blind eyes.

What are the Tleilaxu doing in there?

C’tair wore drab clothes, let his face hang slack and his eyes grow dull. He focused on the tedious monotony of his tasks. When dust or dirt smudged his cheeks, when grease smeared his fingers, he did nothing to clean himself, just plodded like clockwork.

Although the Tleilaxu did not consider suboids worthy of attention, the invaders had rallied these workers during their takeover of Ix. Despite promises of better conditions and better treatment, the Tleilaxu had ground the suboids under their heels, far more than their experiences under Dominic Vernius.

When he was off shift, C’tair lived in a rock-walled chamber within the suboid warrens. The workers had little social life, did not speak much to each other. Few noticed the newcomer or asked his name; none of them made overtures of friendship. He felt more invisible there than when he had hidden in a shielded chamber for months during the initial revolt.

C’tair preferred invisibility. He could accomplish more that way.

Slipping off by himself, he evaluated the secret meeting place beforehand. He took bootleg equipment into the empty supply chamber to scan for surveillance instruments. He did not dare underestimate the Tleilaxu— especially since two more legions of Imperial Sardaukar had been stationed here to keep even tighter control.

He stood in the center of the chamber and turned in a slow circle, concerned about the five tunnels leading into the chamber. Too many entrances, too many spots for an ambush. He pondered for a moment, then smiled as an idea occurred to him.

The following afternoon he stole a small holoprojector, with which he imaged comparable featureless rock. Moving silently, he set up the projector inside one of the openings and switched it on. A false barrier of rock now blocked one of the tunnels, a perfect illusion.

C’tair had lived with suspicion and fear for so long that he never expected his plans to go well. But that didn’t mean he stopped hoping. . . .

The freedom fighters arrived one by one as the appointed time approached. No one risked traveling with any other rebel; each wore a disguise, each came prepared with an excuse for his business down in the suboid tunnels.

C’tair arrived late— safely late. The furtive resistance fighters exchanged vital equipment and discussed plans in harsh whispers. No one had an overall strategy. Some of their schemes were so impossible C’tair had to force himself not to laugh, while others seemed like suggestions he might want to imitate.

He needed more crystalline rods for his rogo transmitter. After each attempt to communicate with his distant Navigator brother, the crystals splintered and cracked, leaving him with pounding headaches.

The last time he’d tried the rogo, C’tair had been unable to contact D’murr, sensing his twin’s presence and a few staticky thoughts but without linking up. Afterward, lying awake for hours in his darkened chamber, C’tair felt lost and depressed, entirely alone. He realized just how much he had counted on his brother’s well-being, and on hearing that others from Ix had escaped and survived.

At times, C’tair wondered exactly what he had accomplished in all his years of struggle. He wanted to do more, wanted to strike forcefully against the Tleilaxu— but what could he do? He stared at the gathered rebels, people who talked a great deal but accomplished little. He watched their faces, noting greed in the black marketeers and ferretlike nervousness in others. C’tair wondered if these were truly the allies he needed. Somehow he doubted it.

Miral Alechem was also there, bartering furiously for more components to add to her mysterious plan. She seemed different from the others, willing to take necessary action.

Unobtrusively, he worked his way over to Miral and caught the gaze of her large, wary eyes. “I’ve studied the components you buy”— he nodded toward the few items she held in her hands—“and I can’t fathom your plan. I might . . . I might be able to help. I’ve done a good deal of tinkering myself.”

She took a half step back, like a suspicious rabbit, trying to read the meaning behind his words. Finally, she spoke through pale lips, but her mouth remained drawn. “I have an . . . idea. I need to search—”

Before she could continue, C’tair heard a movement in the tunnels, footsteps that were at first faint and then louder. The lookout guards shouted. One ducked inside the room as projectile gunfire rang out.

“We’re betrayed!” shouted one of the rebels.

In the confusion, C’tair saw Sardaukar soldiers and Tleilaxu warriors converging from the four exits, blocking the tunnels. They fired into the gathered resistance fighters as if it were a shooting gallery.

Screams, smoke, and blood filled the air. Sardaukar hurried in with hand weapons drawn; some used only their fists and fingers to kill. C’tair waited for the smoke to thicken, for the rebels to fly into a greater frenzy— and then lunged forward.

Seeing no escape, Miral crouched low. C’tair grabbed her by the shoulders. She began to fight him, thrashing as if he were her enemy, but C’tair pushed her backward toward the solid rock wall.

She fell directly through. He plunged after her into the holo-covered opening. He felt a twinge of guilt for not shouting to the others, but if all the rebels disappeared through the same escape hatch, the Sardaukar would be upon them in moments.

Miral looked around in confusion. C’tair grabbed her arm and dragged her along. “I planned for an escape ahead of time. A hologram.” They began sprinting through the tunnel.

Miral stumbled beside him. “Our group is dead.”

“It was never my group,” C’tair said, panting. “They’re amateurs.”

She looked at him as they ran, her dark eyes boring into his. “We must separate.”

He nodded, then both took divergent tunnels.

Far behind him, he heard the Sardaukar cry out as they discovered the disguised opening. C’tair ran faster, taking a left tunnel, then an uphill branch, doubling back to a different grotto. Finally, he reached a lift tube that would take him out into the immense cavern.

Like a suboid going to work on the late shift, he fumbled for one of his identity cards and swiped it through a reader. The lift tube whisked him toward the stalactite buildings that had once been inhabited by bureaucrats and nobles who served House Vernius.

Within the ceiling levels, he raced across connecting walkways, slipped between buildings, and looked down at the glittering lights of corrupted manufactories. Finally, inside the crustal levels of what had once been the Grand Palais, he made his way to the shielded bolt-hole he had abandoned long ago.

He slipped to the chamber and locked it. He hadn’t found it necessary to hide there for a long time— but tonight he’d come closer to capture than ever before. In the silent darkness, C’tair rolled onto the musty-smelling cot that had been his bed for so many tense evenings. Panting, he stared at the low ceiling, black above him. His heart pounded. He could not relax.

He imagined seeing stars above his room, a blizzard of tiny lights that showered across the open night sky on Ix’s pristine surface. As his thoughts traveled out into the sprawling expanse of the galaxy, he envisioned D’murr flying his Guild ship . . . safely away from here.

C’tair had to contact him soon.