Beneath the tassled awning of an observation stand, Shaddam IV sat in pleasantly perfumed shade, watching the clockwork maneuvers of his troops. Of all the marvels on Kaitain, these Sardaukar were the most magnificent, as far as he was concerned. Could there be a more heartwarming sight than spotlessly uniformed men following his every order with cool precision?

How he wished all of his subjects responded to Imperial instructions as willingly.

A thin, elegant man with an aquiline nose, Shaddam wore a gray Sardaukar uniform, trimmed with silver and gold— he was their commander in chief, in addition to his other duties. Over his reddish hair he had settled a padded Burseg’s helmet that bore the Imperial crest in gold.

At least he could watch the crisp parade in peace, since his wife Anirul had long ago grown tired of military exhibitions. Thankfully, she had chosen to tend to Bene Gesserit matters for the afternoon, doting on her daughters and raising them to be witches themselves. Or maybe dealing with funeral arrangements for the dead old crone Lobia. He hoped the Bene Gesserit would provide him with a new Truthsayer soon. What else were the damnable Sisters good for?

On the open plaza below, the Sardaukar Corps paraded in flawless unison, boots echoing like gunfire across the swept flagstones. Supreme Bashar Zum Garon, a loyal old veteran from Salusa Secundus, guided his soldiers like a skilled puppeteer, performing spectacular maneuvers that demonstrated efficient battle formations. Perfect.

Unlike the Emperor’s own family.

Normally, the Emperor loved to watch his troops practice, but at the moment his stomach was agitated. He hadn’t eaten all day after swallowing some exceedingly bad news that was burning in his belly. Not even the best Suk doctor could treat this ailment.

Through his ever-diligent spy network, Shaddam had just learned that his father, Elrood IX, had sired a bastard son through one of his favorite concubines, a woman whose name had not yet been determined. Over forty years ago, old Elrood had taken steps to hide and protect the illegitimate son— who would now be a grown man, more than a decade younger than Shaddam. Did the bastard know his heritage? Did he watch with devious anticipation as Shaddam and Anirul failed to produce a male heir, child after child? Only daughters, daughters, and more daughters. Five of them, with baby Rugi the last. Did the bastard plan his moves even now, making preparations to usurp the Golden Lion Throne?

On the flagstone plaza, the soldiers split into two groups and rushed together in a mock battle, firing a webwork of simulated lasgun tracers so they could take possession of a sculpted, roaring lion fountain. High-powered military skimmers swept past in tight formation, ascending into the clear blue sky, where the fleeting clouds looked as if they had been painted by an artist.

With only moderate enthusiasm, a distracted Shaddam applauded the Sardaukar maneuvers, while quietly cursing his father’s memory. How many other secret children did the old vulture spawn? It was a worrisome thought.

At least he knew the name of this one. Tyros Reffa. With connections to his adoptive House Taligari, Reffa had spent much of his life on Zanovar, a Taligari vacation world. Living a pampered life, the man must have little to do other than dream of seizing Imperial power.

Yes, Elrood’s bastard could cause a great deal of trouble. But how to get to him and kill him? Shaddam sighed. These were the challenges of leadership. Perhaps I should discuss this with Hasimir.

But he exercised his mental muscles instead, stretching his mind, intent on proving that Hasimir Fenring was wrong about him… that he could rule without constant intervention and advice. I make my own decisions!

Shaddam had assigned Fenring to Arrakis as Imperial Spice Minister, as well as giving him the secret responsibility of overseeing the development of amal. Why was it taking Fenring so long to come back from Ix with his report?

The air was comfortably warm, with just enough breeze to make the parade banners flutter. Imperial Weather Control had laid out every aspect of the day in accordance with the Emperor’s specifications.

Moving to a field of polygrass laid down across the plaza, the troops engaged in an elaborate demonstration of close shield fighting and flashing silver blades. Two teams attacked while mock enemy fire lit the square with flashes of purple and orange. In stadium boxes around the perimeter, an audience of minor nobles and court functionaries cheered politely.

The grizzled veteran Zum Garon stood impeccably attired, his expression critical, his standards high for every performance in front of his Emperor. Shaddam encouraged such public displays of military strength, especially now that several Houses of the Landsraad were starting to get unruly. He might need to use a little muscle, very soon.…

A fat brown spider dangled before him, suspended by a gossamer strand from the scarlet-and-gold awning. Irritated, he whispered, “Don’t you realize who I am, little creature? I rule even the smallest living things in my realm.”

More banners, more marching, more simulated fire in the background of his ruminations. A kaleidoscope of Sardaukar moved across the pageantry field. Pomp and glory. Overhead, ‘thopters zoomed by in formation, performing daredevil aerial maneuvers. The audience applauded after each stunt, but Shaddam barely noticed, mulling over the problem of his bastard half brother.

He blew air across his lips and watched the intrusive spider swing in the sudden gust. The spider began to ascend its strand toward the awning.

You aren’t safe from me up there, he thought. Nothing escapes my wrath.

But he knew he deluded himself. The Spacing Guild, the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, the Landsraad, CHOAM— all of them had their own agendas and manipulations, tying his hands and blindfolding him, preventing him from ruling the Known Universe as an Emperor should.

Damn their control over me! How had his Corrino predecessors allowed such a sorry state of affairs to develop? It had been this way for centuries.

The Emperor reached up and squashed the spider before it could return and bite him.