Guided by Dominic Vernius, the lighter slipped under the Ixian detection grid, masked by clouds. He cruised low across the pristine surface of his lost homeworld, drinking in the sight of the mountains and waterfalls, the dark pine forests clinging to granite slopes.

As the former lord of Ix, Dominic knew a thousand ways to get inside. He hoped at least one of them still worked.

Fighting back tears of dread, he flew onward, intent on his destination. The Imperium knew Ix for its industry and technology, for the marvelous products it exported through CHOAM distributors. Long ago, House Vernius had chosen to leave the surface unspoiled, burying unsightly production facilities deep underground, which greatly enhanced security and protected valuable Ixian secrets.

Dominic remembered the defensive systems he himself had designed and established, as well as those put in place generations before. The threat of technological espionage from rivals such as Richese had always been sufficient for the Ixians to keep up their guard. Surely the Tleilaxu usurpers had instituted their own safeguards, but they would not have found all of Dominic’s personal tricks. He had hidden them too well.

An organized assault team might be doomed to failure, but Earl Vernius was confident that by himself he could still get back inside his own world. He had to see it with his own eyes.

Although each of the hidden openings into the subterranean realms made for weak spots in overall security, Dominic had understood the need for emergency exits and secret routes known only to himself and his family. Deep within the crustal city of Vernii— his beloved capital city— there had been numerous shielded chambers, hidden tunnels, and escape hatches. Dominic’s children, along with young Leto Atreides, had used those bolt-holes during the bloody overthrow. Now Dominic would use one of the many long-hidden back doors to slip in.

He flew the lighter over a series of poorly concealed ventilation shafts, from which steam emerged like thermal geysers. Elsewhere out on the flat plains, large shafts and cargo platforms opened to allow shipments of materials, mostly outbound. In this deep, forested canyon, narrow guarded ledges and hollows allowed occasional ships to land. Dominic scanned the terrain as he cruised along until he spotted the subtle markings, the fallen trees, the stains on rugged rock walls.

The first disguised entry door was sealed up, the tunnel filled with what must have been meters of solid plascrete. The second door was booby-trapped, but Dominic spotted the explosive connections before he entered his pass-code. He didn’t try to disarm the device. He flew off again.

Dominic dreaded what he might find below in his once-beautiful city. In addition to the horrifying message passed along from the Ixian patriot C’tair Pilru, his own bribed investigators had brought rumors about conditions on Ix. Yet he had to know what the Tleilaxu and the damned Corrinos had done to his cherished planet.

Then they would all pay.

Next, Dominic landed the lighter in a small hollow surrounded by dark firs. Hoping he remained within the surveillance grid, he stepped out and stood still, smelling the cold clear air, the spicy pungency of copper-pine needles, the wet sharpness of rushing water. In the grottoes beneath him, under a kilometer of rock, the air would be warm and thick, redolent of chemicals and a crowded populace. He could almost hear and feel familiar sounds, a faint buzz of activity, a barely discernible vibration under his feet.

He located the brush-covered hatch opening of the escape shaft and operated the controls after careful inspection for further traps and explosives. If the Tleilaxu had found this one, then they had been thorough indeed. But he found no sign. Then he waited, hoping the systems still functioned.

At last, after the brisk wind had raised goose bumps on his flesh, a self-guided lift chamber rose up, ready to take him deep into the network of caves to a secret personal storeroom at the rear of what had once been the Grand Palais. It was one of several rooms that he had set up in his younger days for “contingencies.” That had been before the Ecazi Revolt, before he had married . . . long before the Tleilaxu takeover. It was safe.

Whispering Shando’s name, Dominic closed his eyes. The chamber descended at frightening speed, and now he hoped that C’tair’s sabotage efforts hadn’t damaged these hidden systems. He took deep breaths, summoning images from his past on the projection screen of his eyelids. He longed to return to the magical underground city— but feared the harsh reality that awaited him.

When the lift chamber came to a stop, Dominic emerged holding a compact lasgun. He also had a flèchette pistol in a shoulder holster. The dark storeroom smelled of dust and the mildew of inactivity. No one had been there for a long time.

He moved about carefully, went to the hidden locker where he’d stored a pair of nondescript coveralls worn by midlevel workers. Hoping the Tleilaxu had not made drastic changes in work uniforms, he dressed and slipped the lasgun into a custom-fitted holster strapped to his skin, beneath the clothing.

Disguised and hoping for the best, knowing he could not turn back, Dominic crept through the dim corridors and located a plaz-walled observation deck. After two decades, he took his first look at the reshaped city beneath the ground.

He blinked in disbelief. The magnificent Grand Palais had been stripped, all the glittering marble taken away, one entire wing destroyed in an explosion. The immense building now looked like a warehouse with injured shadows of greatness, now an ugly warren of bureaucratic offices. Through panes of windowplaz he saw disgusting Tleilaxu going about their business like cockroaches.

Across the projected sky, he watched oblong devices studded with blinking lights cruising in random paths, studying all movement. Surveillance pods. Military equipment designed by Ixians to be sent into battle zones. Now the Tleilaxu used that same technology to spy on his people, to keep them cowering in fear.

Sickened, Dominic moved to other observation decks in the grotto ceiling, slipping in and out of groups of people. He stared at their haunted eyes and gaunt faces, trying to remind himself that these were his people, rather than images from a nightmare. He wanted to talk to them, to reassure them that he would do something, and soon. But he could not reveal his identity. He did not know enough about what had occurred there since he and his family had gone renegade.

These loyal Ixians had depended on Dominic Vernius, their rightful Earl, but he had failed them. He had fled, leaving all of them to their own fates. A feeling of unbearable guilt overwhelmed him; his stomach knotted.

With cold calculation, Dominic stared across the cavernous city, looking for the best observation points, pinpointing heavily guarded industrial facilities. Some were shut down and abandoned, others surrounded by buzzing security fields. On the grotto floor, suboids and Ixian inhabitants worked together like downtrodden slaves.

Lights flared on the balconies of the freakishly altered Grand Palais. Public address speakers boomed out, the words reverberating and synchronized so that echoes rippled like force waves up and down the grotto.

“People of Xuttuh,” said an accented voice in Galach, “we continue to find parasites in our midst. We will do what we must to obliterate this cancer of conspirators and traitors. We Bene Tleilax have generously provided for your needs and granted you a part in our holy mission. Therefore, we will punish those who would distract you from your sacred tasks. You must understand and accept your new place in the universe.”

Down on the grotto floor, Dominic could see squads of soldiers rounding up work gangs. The troops wore the distinctive gray-and-black uniforms of Sardaukar and carried deadly Imperial weapons. So, Shaddam no longer even tried to hide his involvement. Dominic seethed.

On a Grand Palais balcony, a pair of terrified prisoners flanked by Sardaukar were nudged forward by robed Tleilaxu Masters. The speaker boomed again. “These two were captured in the act of committing sabotage against essential industries. During interrogation they identified other conspirators.” An ominous pause followed. “You may anticipate further executions within the week.”

Only a few isolated voices in the throng dared to cry out in protest. High above, Sardaukar guards pushed the thrashing prisoners to the brink of the balcony. “Death to those who oppose us!” The guards— Imperial guards— shoved them over the edge, and the crowds scattered below. The victims fell across the gulf of empty air, with hideous shrieks that ended abruptly.

In horrified fury, Dominic stared. Many times he had stood on that balcony to deliver orations. He had addressed his subjects from there, praising them for their work, promising greater rewards for productivity. The balcony of the Grand Palais should have been a place for the people to see the kindness of their leaders— not an execution platform.

Below, shots rang out, and the sizzle of lasgun fire. The Sardaukar clamped down, enforcing order among the angry and restless populace.

The voice from the speakers crackled out a final punishment. “For the next three weeks, rations will be reduced by twenty percent. Productivity will remain the same, or further restrictions will be imposed. If volunteers come forward to identify additional conspirators, our rewards will be generous.”

With a swish of robes, the smug Tleilaxu Masters turned about and followed the Sardaukar guards back into the desecrated Palais structure.

Outraged, Dominic wanted to charge into the city and open fire on the Sardaukar and the Tleilaxu. But alone, a surreptitious spy, he didn’t have the firepower to accomplish more than a token attack— and he dared not expose his identity in such a futile gesture.

His jaw ached as he ground his teeth together. Gripping the railing, he realized that he had stood on this very observation platform, long ago, with his new bride, Lady Shando. Holding hands, they had gazed across the immense cavern at the fairyland structures of Vernii. She had been bright-eyed, wearing elegant clothes from the Imperial Court at Kaitain.

But the Emperor had never forgotten the insult of her departure from his concubine service. Elrood had waited many years for his chance at revenge, and all of Ix had paid for it. . . .

Dominic’s chest clenched. He’d had it all: wealth, power, a prosperous world, a perfect wife, a fine family. Now the cavern city was severely wounded, with barely a hint remaining of its former splendor.

“Oh, look what they’ve done, Shando,” he whispered in a morose voice, as if he were a ghost along with her. “Look what they’ve done.”

He remained in the city of Vernii for as long as he dared, letting the wheels of reprisal turn in his mind. By the time he made ready to depart, Dominic Vernius knew exactly what he would do to strike back.

History would never forget his vengeance.