At the heighliner construction site in the deep caverns of Ix, glowglobes shed garish shadows and searing reflections along girders. Beams glimmered through a haze of caustic smoke from burned solder and fused alloys. Work bosses shouted commands; heavy structural plates slammed together with a din that echoed off the rock walls.

The downtrodden laborers worked as little as possible, hindering progress and diminishing Tleilaxu profits. Even months after the beginning of construction, the old-design Heighliner had not progressed beyond a skeletal framework.

In disguise, C’tair had joined the construction crew, welding girders and support trusses to reinforce the cavernous cargo bay. Today, he needed to be out in the open grotto, where he could see the artificial sky overhead.

Where he could watch the latest step in his desperate plan. . . .

After the major set of explosions he and Miral had set off two years ago, the Masters had become even more repressive, but the Ixians were immune to further hardships. Instead, the example of these two resistance fighters gave their people the strength to endure. Enough “rebels,” acting alone or in small groups with sufficient determination, constituted a formidable army— and it was a fighting force that no amount of repression could stop.

Cut off and unaware of the situation inside Ix, Prince Rhombur continued to send explosives and other supplies for the resistance, but only one small additional shipment had found its way to C’tair and Miral. The Masters opened and inspected every container. The workers at the port-of-entry canyon had changed, and the ship pilots had been replaced. All of C’tair’s surreptitious contacts were now lost, and he was isolated again.

Still, he and Miral had been heartened to see random windows broken, internal cargoes disrupted, and work productivity diminished even further from its already-disgraceful pace. Just a week before, a man who had no connections to politics, who had never called attention to himself, was caught painting garish letters all along a highly traveled corridor: DEATH TO TLEILAXU SLIGS!

Now C’tair did a graceful catwalk along a cross-girder to reach a floating pad, where he picked up a sonic welder. He ascended via lift platform to the top framework of the Heighliner and looked down the kilometers-long grotto. Below him, surveillance pods avoided the framework of the Heighliner and studied labor troops under the cavern lights. The others on C’tair’s construction squad continued their tasks, unaware of what was about to happen. A welder in coveralls moved closer to C’tair, and with a quick peripheral glance he noted that it was Miral, in her own disguise. They would see this together.

Any moment now.

The embedded holoprojectors in the artificial sky flickered; clouds from the Tleilaxu homeworld were dotted with skyscraper islands that protruded downward, glittering with light. Once, those buildings had appeared to be crystal stalactites; now the fairyland structures looked like old, chipped teeth set into the rock of the Ixian crust.

With Miral standing nearby, C’tair squatted on the girder, listening to hammering construction sounds that echoed with tinny reverberations. He looked up like an ancient wolf staring at the moon. Waiting.

Then the illusory picture of the sky shifted, distorted, and changed color, as if the alien clouds were gathering in a false storm. The holoprojectors flickered and shifted to project a completely different image, one taken from faraway Caladan. The close-up of a face filled the sky like a titanic god-head.

Rhombur had changed greatly during eighteen years of exile. He looked much more mature, more regal, with a hard edge to his stare and determination in his deep voice.

“I am Prince Rhombur Vernius,” the projection boomed, and everyone stared upward, gaping in awe. His mouth was as large as a Guild frigate, his lips opening and closing to dispense words like commandments from on high. “I am the rightful ruler of Ix, and I will return to lead you from your suffering.”

Gasps and cheers erupted from all the Ixians. From their perch, C’tair and Miral saw Sardaukar moving about in confusion, and Commander Garon shouting to his troops to impose order. On balconies high above, Tleilaxu Masters emerged, gesturing. Guards raced back into the administrative buildings.

C’tair and Miral enjoyed the moment, allowing themselves an exchange of bright smiles.

“We did it,” she said, words that were heard only by him in the confusion around them.

It had taken the pair weeks to study the systems well enough to hijack the projector controls. No one had thought to prepare for such a clever sabotage, such a manipulative invasion of their daily environment.

In the solitary shipment that got through, Rhombur Vernius had smuggled the recorded message, hoping they could secretly disseminate it to loyal Ixians. The Prince had suggested talking posters or coded message bursts inside the regular communication systems of the underground city.

But the enterprising guerrilla couple had chosen to do something far more memorable. To Miral’s credit, this had been her idea, and C’tair had perfected many of the details.

Rhombur’s face was wide and squarish, his eyes glittering with a passion any other exiled leader would envy. His blond hair had just the right ragged edge to give him a noble, yet disheveled, appearance. The Prince had learned a great deal about statecraft during his years with House Atreides.

“You must rise up and overthrow these foul slave masters. They have no legal right to give you orders or manipulate your daily lives. You must help me return Ix to its former glory. Remove this disease called the Bene Tleilax. Band together and use whatever means necessary to—”

Rhombur’s words cut off, stuttering, as someone worked the override controls in the main administrative complex, but the Prince’s voice crackled through again, insistent. “— shall return. I merely await the proper time. You are not alone. My mother was murdered. My father has vanished from the Imperium. But my sister and I remain, and I watch Ix. I intend to—”

Rhombur’s image twisted and finally faded into static. A darkness blacker than imaginable night settled on the underground grotto. The Tleilaxu had chosen to shut down the whole sky rather than let Prince Rhombur complete his speech.

But C’tair and Miral continued smiling in the inky shadows. Rhombur had said enough, and his listeners would imagine a grander rallying cry than anything the exiled Prince could have actually said.

Within seconds, white-hot glowglobes burst into luminescence, emergency lights that dazzled like harsh suns inside the cavern. Alarms sounded, but already the downtrodden Ixians chattered among themselves, inspired. Now they attributed the explosions to the power of Prince Rhombur. They had seen the continued disruptive activities, and this projected speech was the grandest gesture of all. It was true, they thought. Perhaps Prince Rhombur even walked among them in disguise! House Vernius would return and drive away the evil Tleilaxu. Rhombur would bring happiness and prosperity back to Ix.

Even the suboids were cheering below. With bitter wryness C’tair remembered that these dull bioengineered workers had been among those responsible for driving out Earl Vernius. Their foolish unrest and unwise gullibility in believing Tleilaxu promises had led to the overthrow in the first place.

C’tair didn’t mind, though. He would accept any ally who was willing to fight.

Sardaukar troops swarmed out, weapons evident, shouting for everyone to return to their dwellings. Booming loudspeakers declared an immediate crackdown and full martial law. Rations would be cut in half, work shifts would be increased. The Tleilaxu had done it all many times before.

Following Miral and others, C’tair climbed down from the Heighliner girders to the safety of the cavern floor. The more the invaders squeezed, the more outraged the Ixians would become, until at last they would reach the eruption point.

Commander Cando Garon, the leader of Imperial troops on Ix, shouted through a voice-projector in battle-language. Sardaukar fired blasts into the air to frighten the laborers. C’tair moved among his companions on the construction squad, meekly allowing himself to be herded into a holding area. At random, some would be detained and questioned— but no one could prove his involvement, or Miral’s. Even if both of them were executed for this, their grand gestures had been worth everything.

C’tair and Miral, widely separated in the throng, did as they were told, following the angry orders of Sardaukar guards. When C’tair heard workers whispering to each other, repeating the words of Rhombur Vernius, his joy and confidence reached its peak.

Someday . . . someday soon, Ix would be restored to its people.