Since his appointment as Imperial Spice Minister, Count Hasimir Fenring had spent more time aboard Heighliners than ever before. He’d left Margot in Arrakeen that very morning, where she had been packing for a vacation on Kaitain. He indulged his lovely wife in her little holidays and pleasure trips.

But Fenring had important work to do, taking care of the Emperor’s business. On Ix, Hidar Fen Ajidica should have everything completed by now, ready for the most vital test of all.

During these tedious trips with all their stops and delays, Fenring kept his deadly skills honed. Only a few moments ago, in the frigate’s private ablutions room, Fenring had pulled on black gentleman’s gloves, locked the door, and strangled one of the irritating Wayku vendors.

“There is great skill in concealing one’s hostility,” an ancient sage had said. How true that was!

Fenring had left the singlesuit-clad body in a sealed toilet enclosure surrounded by the Wayku’s own overpriced, poorly made souvenir products. No doubt when another attendant discovered the corpse, he would take the trinkets and try to sell them to some unsuspecting passenger….

His frustrations sated for now, the Count rode a shuttle through misty clouds down to Ix, accompanying a few traders and approved suppliers of industrial resources. The small ship landed amidst the heavily guarded bustle of the new Xuttuh Spaceport, a large open overhang on the edge of a canyon.

Standing on bilious yellow tiles, Fenring sniffed the distinctive odor of many Tleilaxu. He shook his head in dismay. The construction skills of the gnome-men were woefully lacking, and evidence of inept workmanship was abundant. A public address system announced the arriving and departing shuttles. A few much taller outsiders delivered supplies and dickered with research managers over price structures. No Sardaukar were visible.

Pushing toward the security barricades, Fenring shouldered two Tleilaxu Masters out of his way, ignoring their protestations, then skirted a puddle of water beneath a dripping rock ceiling.

After he entered his high-level access codes and proved his identity, rushed messages were dispatched to the research complexes below. Fenring didn’t hurry; Hidar Fen Ajidica would not have time to hide everything.

Inside the deep access tunnels, he smiled broadly as a Sardaukar officer hurried toward him, his black-and-gray commander’s uniform in disarray. “We did not expect you, Count Fenring.”

The young leader of the Imperial legions, Commander Cando Garon, raised an arm as if to salute the Spice Minister. Instead, Fenring grabbed the officer’s beefy hand and shook it briskly with one of the gloved hands he’d used to strangle the vendor. “You should never expect me, Commander Garon, but you should always be prepared for me, hmmm?”

The soldier accepted the slight rebuke with grace and turned to escort the Emperor’s man toward the deep facilities.

“By the way, Commander, your father is well. The Supreme Bashar is doing the most important work of his career.”

The younger Garon raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? We are isolated here, and I rarely receive word from him.”

“Yes, hmmm, the Emperor is keeping him busy destroying planets. Zanovar is his latest handiwork. It’s completely lifeless.”

Fenring watched for any reaction, but the young Commander simply nodded. “My father is always thorough. As Shaddam commands. Please give him my regards upon your return to Kaitain.”

A private railcar took them across the grime-streaked cavern metropolis. “I am here for a new series of tests. Surely the Master Researcher is ready to begin? He was to have made certain, ahhh, arrangements.”

Garon sat stiffly in his seat. “We shall have to ask him. So far, sir, the synthetic spice production is proceeding remarkably well. The Master Researcher seems quite satisfied and enthusiastic.” Garon stared straight ahead, rarely looking at his companion. “Quite generously, he has provided me and my men with samples of the synthetic melange. It appears to be a complete success.”

This surprised Fenring. What was Ajidica doing, testing amal on the Sardaukar legions without authorization? “Commander, the substance has not yet been fully approved.”

“There have been no ill effects, sir.” Clearly, the Sardaukar leader had no intention of turning down future supplies of the drug for himself or his men. “I have already sent a message to the Emperor, and I believe he is pleased with what we have done. Amal greatly improves our stamina and efficiency. My soldiers are quite satisfied with it.”

“Satisfaction is not part of your mission, Commander. Is it, hmmm-ah?”

When the railcar docked in the research complex, a silent Garon escorted him into the facility, though Fenring had been here many times. It seemed as if the Sardaukar officer had been ordered to keep an eye on him.

But when Fenring entered the main office, he stopped in complete surprise. Commander Cando Garon himself stood next to a smirking Ajidica. Fenring looked at the man who had escorted him: The two were identical, down to the last detail.

“Garon, meet Garon,” the Master Researcher said. The officer next to Ajidica stepped forward to shake his duplicate’s hand, but the Sardaukar who had accompanied Fenring— presumably the real Garon— wanted no part of this charade. He stepped back, avoiding contact with the impostor.

“Just a little Face Dancer trick.” Ajidica displayed a mouthful of sharp teeth in his smile. “You may leave now, Commander. Thank you for accompanying Count Fenring.” With a scowl, the soldier departed.

Ajidica folded his small hands together, but did not gesture for the Count to sit in a chairdog by the desk. Fenring took a seat anyway, looking suspiciously at the surrogate Sardaukar.

“We have been laboring around the clock, Count Fenring, to produce commercial quantities of amal. All difficulties have been resolved, and the new substance works marvelously.”

“So, you consume it yourself, hmmmm? And you gave it to the Emperor’s Sardaukar as well? You have overstepped your authority, Master Researcher.”

With a dark twinkle in his eyes, Ajidica answered, “It falls precisely within my authority as chief of amal research. The Emperor himself gave me the mission to develop a perfect melange substitute. That cannot be accomplished without testing.”

“Not on the Emperor’s men.”

“They are more alert than ever before. Stronger, more energetic. You must be familiar with the old platitude, ‘happy troops are loyal troops.’ Aren’t they, Commander Garon?”

With the faintest rustle of sound, the Garon duplicate shifted his appearance to match Ajidica’s, but wearing a baggy Sardaukar uniform. Then he metamorphosed into Emperor Shaddam Corrino, again filling the clothing. The flow of muscles and skin was disorienting, and the resulting resemblance astounding. The reddish hair and dark green eyes were perfect, as was the facial expression of barely contained distaste. Even the Emperor’s voice, as he announced in an authoritative tone, “Bring in my Sardaukar. Kill everyone in the laboratory!”

Next the Emperor’s nose grew in length until it resembled a Poritrin carrot. As Ajidica beamed at his creation, the Face Dancer shifted once more, this time into the form of a mutated Guildsman, with portions of his deformed body stretching and ripping the clothing.

“Count Fenring, meet Zoal, the partner you demanded for a Heighliner navigation test. With him, you can infiltrate the Spacing Guild’s security on Junction.”

Fascinated and eager, Fenring set aside his concerns. “And this Face Dancer understands that I am in charge of the mission? That my orders are not to be questioned?’

“Zoal is highly intelligent and has many capabilities,” Ajidica said. “He is not trained to kill, but will follow any other instructions you might have, without hesitation.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Fenring asked.

“How many are required, sir?” Zoal said, in a voice bearing an accent that Fenring could not quite identify. The faint nasal tone of Buzzell, perhaps? “I will absorb whatever we may need. But I am forbidden to carry weapons.”

“It is programmed into Face Dancers,” the Master Researcher added.

Fenring frowned, not sure he believed this. “Then I will handle the violence myself, hmmm-ah.” He ran his gaze up and down the laboratory-bred creature, then turned to the research chief. “He appears to be exactly what I need. The evidence appears quite positive so far, and the Emperor is quite impatient to proceed. Once we verify that Navigators can use amal, our spice substitute will be ready for distribution throughout the Imperium.”

Ajidica tapped his fingers on a tabletop. “Such a test is merely a formality, Count. Amal has already been proven to my full satisfaction.”

Secrets within secrets. Privately, Ajidica had continued to experience messianic, prescient visions of leading immense military forces against the infidel Great Houses.

Zoal had many siblings, Face Dancers grown here in the axlotl tanks, mutable creatures loyal only to him and to his grand, concealed plan. On expendable ships, he had already dispatched more than fifty Face Dancers to scout uncharted planets and establish beachheads for his future empire. Some of these ships journeyed far beyond the mapped star systems of the Imperium, searching for ways that Ajidica could spread his influence. It would take time….

Inside the shielded office, Count Fenring began to describe his complicated plan to infiltrate Junction, discussing how they would penetrate Guild security. Zoal listened, absorbing the details. Ajidica was not concerned.

The Face Dancer already had overriding orders. When the time came, the shape-shifter would know exactly what to do.