It came out of the sky like a screaming black bird and swooped low, a jet-powered ‘thopter with a ferocious sandworm painted on its nose, a round maw open wide to reveal sharp crystal teeth.

In an isolated dry lake bed surrounded by rock buttresses that kept the area free of Shai-Hulud, four robed Fremen dropped to their knees and cried out in terror. The covered litter they had been carrying tilted and fell over.

Refusing to cower, Liet-Kynes stood tall instead, arms folded across his chest. His sandy hair and desert-stained cloak whipped in the breeze thrown by the aircraft. “Get up!” he yelled at his men. “Do you want them to think we are frightened old women?” The Guild representative had arrived precisely on time.

Chagrined, the Fremen righted the cargo-litter on the sand. They smoothed their robes and tightened the fittings of their stillsuits. Even at this hour of the morning, the desert was like a furnace.

Perhaps the Guild had painted the sandworm with specific intent, knowing that the Fremen revered the sandworms. But Liet knew something about the Guild himself, which enabled him to overcome his fear. Information is power, especially knowledge of an enemy.

He watched the jet-powered ‘thopter as it circled, its wings tucked tightly against its hull. Gunholes had been cut into the fuselage beneath the ports. The engines made an ear-piercing whine as the craft set down on a dune ridge a hundred meters away, kicking up sand. From silhouettes against the plaz windows, he counted four men inside. But one of them was not quite a man.

The craft’s front folded open, and an open-topped vehicle rolled down a ramp, bearing a bald man who foolishly wore no stillsuit in the desert air. Sweat glistened on his pale, water-fat face. A square black box had been fitted to the front of his throat.

From the waist down, his body was an unclothed mass of amorphous, waxy flesh, as if it had been melted and hideously regrown. Fleshy webs joined his fingers. His yellow, protruberant eyes seemed alien, as if transplanted from an exotic, dangerous creature.

Some of the superstitious Fremen muttered and made warding signs, but Liet silenced them with a sharp glance. He wondered why this off-worlder made a point of revealing his repulsive body. To put us off guard, perhaps. He judged the representative to be a game player, seeking to elicit reactions, hoping to frighten and intimidate in order to improve his bargaining position.

The representative stared at Liet and ignored the other Fremen. His metallic voice came from the synthesizer at his throat. “You show no fear of us, not even of the sandworm on our aircraft.”

“Even children know that Shai-Hulud does not fly,” Liet said. “And anyone can make a painting.”

The deformed man gave a narrow smile. “And my body? You do not find it repulsive?”

“My eyes have been trained to look for other things. A beautiful person may still be repugnant inside, and a malformed body may contain a perfect heart.” He leaned closer to the open vehicle. “Which sort of creature are you?”

The Guildsman laughed, a tinny reverberation from his throat. “I am Ailric. You are the troublesome Liet-Kynes, son of the Imperial Planetologist?”

“I am Imperial Planetologist now.”

“So you are.” Ailric’s alien yellow eyes scanned the litter. Liet noticed that his pupils were almost rectangular. “Explain to me, half-Fremen, why does an Imperial servant seek to prevent satellite surveillance of the deep desert? Why is it so important to you?”

Sidestepping the intended insult, Liet replied, “Our arrangement with the Guild has been in force for centuries, and I see no reason to discontinue it.” He waved an arm, and his men uncovered the litter, revealing brown pouches of concentrated melange essence, piled high. “However, the Fremen would prefer to deal without intermediaries. We have found such men to be… unreliable.”

Ailric lifted his chin, narrowing his nostrils. “In that case, Rondo Tuek is now in a potentially threatening position to you, able to reveal your bribe to the authorities. No doubt he has already made plans to betray you. Are you not concerned?”

Liet could not keep the pride from his voice. “That problem has already been dealt with. Tuek is of no concern.”

Ailric considered him for a long moment, trying to read nuances in Liet’s tanned face. “Very well. I defer to your judgment.”

As the Guild representative studied the spice payment laid out in front of him, Liet could see him mentally counting bags, calculating value. This was an enormous sum, but the Fremen had no choice but to keep the Guild satisfied. It was especially important to maintain their secret now, since they were replanting so many regions of Dune, to follow the ecological dream of Pardot Kynes. The Harkonnens must never know.

“I will accept this as a down payment for our continued cooperation,” Ailric said. He watched Liet closely. “But our price has doubled.”

“Unacceptable.” Liet raised his bearded chin. “You have no middleman to pay now.”

The Guildsman narrowed his yellow eyes, as if to conceal a lie. “It costs more for me to meet with you directly. And Harkonnen pressure has increased. They complain about their existing satellites, and demand better surveillance from the Guild. We must fabricate more and more elaborate excuses. It costs money to keep the Harkonnen griffins at bay.”

Liet looked at him dispassionately. “Twice is too much.”

“One and a half times, then. You have ten days to pay the additional sum, or services will be cut off.”

Liet’s companions grumbled, but he just stared at the strange man, considering the predicament. He kept his emotions in check, not permitting his anger or alarm to show. He should have known the Guild was no more trustworthy, no more honorable than any other outsider.

“We will find the spice.”