Because water was so precious on Arrakis, Rondo Tuek’s moisture-extraction factories at the antarctic cap had made him a wealthy water merchant. He had the means to purchase everything a man could desire.

Yet he lived in abject terror, doubting he would ever feel safe again, no matter where he fled.

Tuek holed up inside his mansion in Carthag, an elegant home filled with beautiful objets d’art he had collected. He had spent a great deal of money to install a state-of-the-art security system, and to acquire a wide range of personal defensive weapons. For guards, he had hired off-world mercenaries with no family ties to any of the victims of his treachery.

He should have felt safe.

After he had revealed the location of the long-hidden smuggler base, Tuek’s life had taken a sharp downturn. For many years he had kept the presence of Dominic Vernius secret, accepting bribes from him and helping his smugglers acquire items they needed. He had felt no guilt about playing both sides, so long as his profits kept coming in. Later, seeing an opportunity to make a purseful of solaris, Tuek had fingered the fugitive to Count Hasimir Fenring. Well-armed Sardaukar troops had descended upon the smuggler base.

He’d never suspected that the renegades had hoarded atomic weapons. Cornered, Dominic Vernius had triggered a stone-burner, vaporizing his base, his men, and an entire regiment of the Emperor’s soldiers….

Considering the possibility of a beautiful female assassin, Tuek had dismissed his concubines and slept alone. Ever alert to the possibility of poisons, he prepared his food himself and tested every morsel with the finest Kronin poison snoopers. He no longer walked unprotected into the city, fearing a sniper attack.

Now the unpredictable Fremen, without explanation, had tersely ended their business relationship with him, and would no longer use him as an intermediary with the Spacing Guild. For years, he had worked as a go-between, delivering spice bribes from the Fremen to the Guild.

Did the Fremen suspect what he had done? On the other hand, why should they care about a band of smugglers? Still, if they insisted on eliminating his participation, Tuek could have no compunction against reporting their illegal activities to Kaitain. Perhaps Shaddam IV would reward him handsomely, just as Count Fenring had done.

But deep-seated fear kept the water merchant trapped within his heavily guarded house. I have made too many enemies.

He tried to find comfort in the soft cushions and silks that surrounded him. The hypnotic hum of outrageously expensive fountains should have lulled him to sleep, but it did not. He told himself for the thousandth time that he was being unduly concerned.

Liet-Kynes and Stilgar, along with three other Fremen commandos, easily bypassed the security systems. They could cross open expanses of sand and leave no recognizable tracks. This was no challenge to them.

After cutting the throats of two mercenary guards, the Fremen slipped into the water merchant’s mansion and glided down the well-lit corridors. “Tuek should have hired better men,” Stilgar whispered.

Liet had drawn his crysknife, but the milky dagger remained unblooded this night. He intended to save his violence for the man who most deserved it.

Years ago, young Liet had joined Dominic Vernius and his smugglers down at the south pole. Dominic had been a great friend and teacher, well liked by his men. But after Liet had left them and returned to the sietch, Rondo Tuek had betrayed the renegades. The water merchant was without honor.

Tonight, Tuek would receive a different kind of payment: the Fremen gift of justice….

They hurried silently down stone corridors, melting into shadows, approaching the merchant’s sleeping quarters. It had been a simple matter to obtain detailed plans of the mansion from former servants, town-Fremen whose loyalty remained with their sietches.

Even though he had never met Dominic Vernius, Stilgar followed Liet, who was now the Abu Naib of all Fremen. Any razzia commando would have been happy to join this mission. Fremen understood the concept of vendetta.

In deep darkness, they broke into Tuek’s bedchamber and sealed the door behind them. Their blades were drawn, their footsteps as quiet as oil trickling across rock. Liet could have brought out his maula pistol and shot the traitor in his bed, but it was not his intention to murder the man. Not at all.

Tuek awoke with a start, and sucked in a loud breath to scream, but Stilgar leaped upon him like a wolf. The two thrashed on the slick sheets; Stilgar clamped down on the man’s throat and lips to prevent him from calling out.

The water merchant’s wide-set eyes rolled from side to side, filled with terror. He squirmed, but the commandos held his short legs, pinned his hands to the bed to prevent him from triggering alarms or reaching for hidden weapons.

Stilgar said in a sharp whisper, “We don’t have much time, Liet.”

Liet-Kynes glared at the captive. Years ago, as a young Fremen emissary, Liet had journeyed to the ice-mining facilities to deliver the monthly spice bribe, but it was clear that Tuek did not recognize him now.

As a practical matter, Stilgar symbolically cut out Tuek’s tongue so his screams were reduced to gurgling sounds because of the blood pooling in his mouth.

As the man retched and spat gouts of scarlet, Liet pronounced the Fremen sentence upon him. “Rondo Tuek, we take your tongue for the treachery you have spoken.”

With the tip of his crysknife, Liet gouged out the man’s eyes, one at a time, and placed the staring white orbs on a bedstand. “We take your eyes for witnessing things you should not have seen.”

Tuek writhed and struggled in horror and agony, trying to scream, but he only succeeded in spitting more blood. Two of the Fremen commandos frowned at the wasted moisture.

With the edge of the blade, Liet first carved off the treacherous man’s left ear, then his right, placing the flaps of skin beside the tongue and eyeballs on the bedside table. “We take your ears for listening to secrets not meant for you.”

All the commandos participated in the final step: chopping off Tuek’s hands with a hollow sound of cracking bones. “We take your hands, with which you collected bribes, selling out a man who trusted you.”

At last they released the merchant to flop and bleed on his bed— alive, but perhaps better off dead….

Before the Fremen left, they drank deeply of the trickling water in the ornamental fountain in Tuek’s bedchamber. Then they slipped silently back into the dark streets of Carthag.

From this point on, Liet-Kynes would deal with the Spacing Guild directly and establish his own terms.