Within a complex of linked underground laboratory buildings, the white capsule-car sped along a tramway. Rattling over aging tracks, the car stuttered for an unsettling moment before continuing.

Through the clearplaz floor of the car, Master Researcher Hidar Fen Ajidica could see overpasses, conveyors, and technical systems functioning together for a vital mission. All of it under my supervision. Though the Emperor deluded himself that he directed all progress made here on Xuttuh, once called Ix, no man was as vital as Ajidica. Eventually, all the politicians and nobles, even the shortsighted representatives of his own Tleilaxu race, would begin to understand. By then it would be too late to prevent the Master Researcher’s inevitable victory.

His capsule-car clattered toward the heavily guarded research pavilion. Before his people had conquered this planet, the advanced Ixian manufacturing facilities had produced vast wealth for House Vernius. Now, the laboratories and manufactories were put to even better use for the glory of God and the mastery of the chosen Tleilaxu race.

Today, though, he had different trials to face. Ajidica was not looking forward to another meeting with Count Fenring, the Imperial Spice Minister, but at last he had good news to report— enough to keep the Emperor’s Sardaukar troops at bay.

In recent months, he had supervised a plethora of full-scale testing operations on the artificial spice— parallel analyses to compare the effects of melange and amal in the most minute detail. One difficult veil of secrecy, the ritualistic uses of melange by the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, had been broken by a fortuitous occurrence, when one of the witches’ spies had fallen unexpectedly into his lap. Now that captive woman, who had passed herself off under the name of Miral Alechem, served a higher purpose.

The whirring capsule-car came to a lurching stop at the pavilion, and Ajidica stepped out onto a spotless white platform. Fenring would already be there, and the man did not like to be kept waiting.

Ajidica hurried into a lift tube, which dropped him to the main level of the pavilion— but the round door did not dilate open. Annoyed, he pressed an emergency alarm and shouted into the comspeaker, “Get me out of here, and hurry up about it. I am a busy man!”

This lift tube was based upon an Ixian design, but now a simple door wouldn’t open. What could be more basic? Too many things were beginning to fall apart in these supposedly wondrous research facilities. Could it be sabotage by those persistent faceless rebels? Or simply poor maintenance?

He heard men chattering outside and tools hammering against the jammed door. Ajidica disliked enclosed spaces, hated to live underground. Now the redolent air seemed to thicken around him. He whispered the catechism of the Great Belief and humbly asked God for a safe passage. Grabbing a vial from his pocket, he removed two foul-tasting lozenges and swallowed them.

Why is it taking them so long?

Struggling to calm himself, Ajidica reviewed a plan he had set in motion. Since the beginning of this project decades ago, he had been in contact with a small cadre of Tleilaxu who would serve him after he escaped with the sacred axlotl tanks. In the farthest reaches of the Imperium, protected by deadly Face Dancers, he would set up his own Tleilaxu regime for the true interpretation of the Great Belief.

Arrangements had already been made to conceal him, his Face Dancer entourage, and the secret of amal in a long-range frigate. After his escape, he would detonate a bomb that would destroy this entire laboratory complex; the massive explosion would take half of the surrounding underground city with it. Before the dust settled, he would be far, far away.

From his safe planet, Ajidica would take steps to solidify his power base and assemble a military force to protect himself from Imperial reprisals. He alone would control the vital and inexpensive supply of synthetic melange. He who controls the spice controls the universe. Ultimately, Ajidica might sit upon the Golden Lion Throne itself. If only he could get out of this malfunctioning lift.

Finally, with a great clatter and loud shouts, the lift-tube door squealed open, and two assistants peered in at him. “Are you well, Master?”

Behind them, wearing a bemused expression, stood Count Fenring. While not a tall man, he still towered over the Tleilaxu. “A bit of trouble, hmmm-ah?”

Straightening himself, Ajidica pushed out of the cramped tube, shouldering his sputtering subordinates out of the way. “Come with me, Count Fenring.”

The Master Researcher led the Spice Minister to a familiar demonstration room, an enormous chamber with white smoothplaz walls, floors, and ceiling. The room contained scientific instruments and receptacles, and a red table topped by a translucent dome.

“Hmmm, you’re going to show me one of the desert worms again? Another small one, I hope, and not as sickly as the last?”

Ajidica brought forth a plaz vial containing an orangish ooze, which he held under Fenring’s nostrils. “The latest batch of amal. Smells like melange, don’t you agree?” Fenring’s nose twitched as he inhaled. Without waiting for an answer, Ajidica pressed a button at the base of the dome. The foggy plaz cleared, revealing churned sand that half covered a meter-long sandworm.

“How long from Arrakis?” Fenring asked.

“We smuggled this one in eleven days ago. Worms always die away from their home, but it should live another month, maybe two.”

Ajidica poured the orange liquid into a receptacle at the top of the dome. The receptacle dropped, embedded itself in the sand, and tilted toward the worm.

The snake-sized creature slithered toward the amal, its round mouth open to reveal tiny crystal teeth deep inside its throat. In a sudden violent motion, the creature lunged at the orange substance and devoured it, receptacle and all.

Meeting Fenring’s inquisitive gaze, Ajidica said, “Just like real melange.”

“The worms still die, though?” The Spice Minister clung to his skepticism.

“They die whether we give them amal or melange. It makes no difference. They simply cannot live away from their native desert.”

“I see. I’d like to take a sample to the Emperor now. Have it prepared.”

In a condescending tone, Ajidica answered, “Amal is a biological substance and is dangerous if not handled properly. The final product will be safe only after the addition of a stabilizing agent.”

“Well add it, then, hmmm? I’ll wait here while you do it.”

The Master Researcher shook his head. “We are in the process of testing a number of such agents now. Melange is an extremely complex substance, but success is imminent. Come back when I summon you.”

“You do not summon me. I report only to the Emperor.”

Looking through heavily lidded eyes, Ajidica responded in an arrogant tone, “Then report to him what I have told you. No person can tell the difference between amal and genuine melange.”

Observing Fenring’s frustrated reaction, he smiled to himself. The “stabilizing agent” was a sham. Neither the Emperor nor Ajidica’s incompetent Tleilaxu superiors would ever receive true amal. Instead, the Master Researcher would escape and take everything with him, leaving no clues about the actual, extremely potent spice substitute, which he called “ajidamal.” If the formulation could fool a sandworm of Arrakis, what more convincing test could there possibly be?

Fenring said, “Always remember that I convinced Elrood to begin this project in the first place, hmmm? Therefore, I feel a tremendous sense of responsibility.” He paced the small room. “You have performed Spacing Guild tests, I presume? We must know if a Navigator can use your synthetic melange to envision safe paths through foldspace.”

Ajidica struggled for a reply. He hadn’t expected such a question.

“Apparently not? Mm-m-m-m. Did I strike a nerve?”

“Rest assured, a Navigator will notice no difference either.” Ajidica touched the button to fog over the dome containing the worm.

Fenring pressed his advantage. “Nevertheless, the supreme test would be to place amal inside a Navigator’s tank, hmmm? Only then can we be sure.”

“But we cannot accomplish that, sir.” Ajidica squirmed. “We cannot openly request Guild cooperation, since Project Amal must remain completely secret.”

The Count’s eyes glittered as schemes blossomed in his mind. “But one of your Face Dancers might breach even the Guild’s tight security. Yes, hmmm-ah. I will accompany your Face Dancer, to see that it’s done properly.”

Ajidica considered the suggestion. This Imperial functionary did have a point. Moreover, using a Face Dancer presented him with other possibilities… a way of getting rid of this meddlesome man.

Unknown to anyone except Ajidica himself, he had already disseminated hundreds of the tank-bred Face Dancers to strategic locations around the galaxy, transporting them in long-range exploration vessels to uncharted reaches. The shape-shifters had been developed centuries ago, but their possibilities had not been adequately explored. That was about to change.

“Yes, Count Fenring. I can arrange for a Face Dancer to accompany you.”

With so many distractions, Ajidica felt he would never finish his work.

An overeager group of politicians arrived from the sacred city of Bandalong on the Bene Tleilax homeworlds. Their leader, Master Zaaf, was a haughty man with rodent eyes and a perpetual upward curl of his tiny mouth. Ajidica couldn’t decide whom he loathed more, Fenring or the inept Tleilaxu representatives.

Given the scientific abilities of the Bene Tleilax, he couldn’t understand how Master Zaaf and other government leaders had bungled political affairs so badly. Forgetting the majesty of their place in the universe, they were content to be ground underfoot by powindah noble families.

“What did you say to the Imperial Spice Minister?” Zaaf demanded as he strutted into Ajidica’s large office. “I must have a full report.”

Ajidica drummed his fingers on the frostplaz desktop. He grew tired of explaining himself to outsiders. They always asked such inane questions. One day I will no longer have to deal with idiots.

After Ajidica had summarized the meeting, Zaaf announced in a pompous tone, “Now we wish to observe your amal tests ourselves. We have the right.”

Though Zaaf was his superior, Ajidica feared nothing from the man, since no one could replace him on this project. “There are thousands of ongoing experiments. You wish to see all of them? How long is your life span, Master Zaaf?”

“Show us the most significant. Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” Zaaf glanced at his companions. They nodded and grunted.

“Watch this test, then.” With a confident smile, Ajidica took the vial of liquid ajidamal from his pocket and poured the rest of the contents into his own mouth. He tasted the substance on his tongue, inhaled the cinnamon essence into his sinuses, and swallowed.

This was the first time he’d actually consumed so much at once. Within seconds, a pleasantly warm feeling permeated his stomach and brain, matching any experience he’d ever enjoyed with genuine melange. He chuckled at the shocked expressions on his visitors’ faces. “I’ve been doing this for weeks,” he lied, “and there have been no ill effects.” He was convinced God would not permit anything bad to happen to him. “There can be no doubt whatsoever.”

The Tleilaxu politicians chattered excitedly, congratulating each other as if they’d had a hand in this success. Zaaf flashed small teeth and bent forward with a conspiratorial expression. “Excellent, Master Researcher. We shall see that you are properly rewarded. But first, we have an important matter to discuss.”

Suffused in the warmth of ajidamal, Ajidica listened to Zaaf. The Bene Tleilax were still stinging from Duke Leto’s rebuff of their calculated offer to make a ghola of his dead son Victor. Burning to avenge what they still believed to be an Atreides attack decades before, and angry at the continuing Ixian resistance here on Xuttuh that used Prince Rhombur Vernius as a figurehead, Zaaf wanted to seize Vernius and Atreides genetic lines for Bene Tleilax schemes.

With that vital DNA, they might tailor special diseases that could potentially wipe out House Atreides and House Vernius. If the Tleilaxu felt particularly vengeful, they could even clone simulacrums of Leto and Rhombur and publicly torture them to death— over and over again, if they wished! How much could the Atreides stand? Even fragmented genetic material from those bloodlines would be sufficient to perform many experiments.

But the Duke’s refusal had crushed those plans.

To Ajidica’s hyperfocused mind, Zaaf’s words were distant and irrelevant. But he listened without comment, allowing Zaaf to plod through his plans to thwart House Atreides and House Vernius. He described a war memorial in the jungles of Beakkal, where almost a millennium ago Atreides and Vernius troops had fought side by side in a legendary last stand known as the Senasar Defense. Several of their heroic ancestors had been entombed there in a jungle shrine.

Ajidica fought off boredom as Zaaf continued, “We have arranged with the Beakkali government to exhume and take cellular ‘samples’ from any bodies we find there. Not an ideal situation, but it should provide enough genetic fragments for our purposes.”

“And Leto Atreides can do nothing to prevent it,” chimed in one of his companions. “Thus, we will get what we want— the perfect revenge.”

The Tleilaxu never considered all the possibilities, though. Ajidica tried to keep the disgust from his expression. “The Duke will be furious when he discovers your intent. Do you not fear Atreides reprisals?”

“Leto is crippled with grief and has completely neglected his Landsraad duties.” Master Zaaf looked far too smug. “We need fear nothing from him. Our retrieval operations are already under way, but we have encountered a small snag. The Prime Magistrate of Beakkal has demanded a huge payment from us. I… was hoping we could pay him with amal and allow him to think it is melange. Is your substitute good enough to fool them?”

Ajidica laughed, already envisioning new possibilities. “Absolutely.” But he would use an early formula, similar enough to dupe them without wasting the precious ajidamal. The Beakkali used melange only in food and drink anyway, so they wouldn’t notice the difference. It would be a simple matter.…

“I can produce as much as you require.”