Shortly after arriving on Kaitain, as ordered by the Baron, Piter de Vries padded through the corridors of the Imperial Office Complex. His Mentat mind easily kept track of every turn in the maze of connected government buildings.

It was midmorning, and he still tasted the sweetness of imported fruit in his mouth from breakfast on board the diplomatic frigate. More delicious, though, was the incriminating knowledge that he had been instructed to deliver anonymously. Shaddam would probably soil his Imperial trousers when he learned of it.

He brought out a message cube from beneath his clothing and concealed it in a wall alcove behind an idealized bust of the Emperor, one of many scattered throughout the Palace.

A side door in the Office Complex opened, and a ruddy-faced, intense man stepped into the corridor. De Vries recognized the Harkonnen Ambassador, Kalo Whylls. In his mid-thirties, Whylls looked barely old enough to shave; he had obtained his position through family connections. None of the information Whylls sent back to Giedi Prime ever proved to be of any value; he was ineffective, unschooled in how to use his position to become a competent spy.

“Why, Piter de Vries!” Whylls hailed in a syrupy voice. “I didn’t know you were in the Palace. The Baron sent me no notification. Are you coming to make a courtesy call?”

The Mentat feigned surprise. “Perhaps soon, Mister Ambassador, but at the moment I have an important appointment. Business for the Baron.”

“Yes, time is short, isn’t it?” Whylls agreed with a broad smile. “Well, I must hurry off, too. We both have so many vital things to do. Let me know later if I can help in any way.” The Ambassador bustled down the corridor in the opposite direction, obviously trying to look important.

On a scrap of instroy paper, the Mentat sketched a map and wrote directions, to be given to an Imperial Courier who would pick up this hidden message cube and take it directly to Shaddam. A bombshell.

This would be a suitable revenge for the Richesian blackmail.

it must work.

Haloa Rund supervised while laboratory metalworkers completed the casing of a prototype invisibility generator, based upon sketches and equations the renegade inventor Chobyn had left behind.

In one of his sealed shigawire spools, Chobyn had called this a “no-field”— making an object both “here” and “not here” at the same time. During every waking moment, Rund thought about the amazing concept.

He still had not deciphered the intermittently failing invisibility mechanism in the rogue inventor’s old laboratory chamber. Judging from fragments of schematics, he had determined that the minimum diameter for projecting the no-field was one hundred fifty meters. With this in mind, Rund didn’t see how the device could disguise a small laboratory room— until he discovered that most of the field extended asymmetrically outside the Korona station into space.

Upon hearing of the project, and after complete funding had been supplied by the Richesian government, Count Ilban Richese had sent a message to his nephew, congratulating him for his ingenuity and foresight. The old man promised someday to come up to Korona where he might see the work firsthand, though he doubted he would understand it. Premier Calimar sent his own supportive communication, encouraging the inventors.

For decades this artificial moon had concealed the proprietary technology for manufacturing mysterious and valuable Richesian mirrors. No other House had been able to duplicate the science of the mirrors, despite numerous attempts at industrial espionage. If a no-field breakthrough occurred, though, Korona’s facilities might begin to produce an even more valuable technology.

The all-out research and development effort was extremely expensive and required the brainpower of the best scientists, diverting them from other duties. Recently Premier Calimar had delivered full funding in the form of a large melange stockpile that would be stored on the satellite station, where it could be liquidated for cash as necessary. Melange storage vaults now accounted for six percent of Korona’s usable volume.

The political clout of Director Flinto Kinnis had increased because of the ambitious project, but Haloa Rund didn’t care. Chobyn’s generator was an exceedingly complex problem, enough to demand his complete attention.

The inventor worried about nothing else.

When Shaddam opened the message cube, he canceled all further appointments and locked himself in his private study, fuming. An hour later, he summoned Supreme Bashar Zum Garon. “It seems that my Sardaukar have more work to do.” He could barely suppress his rage.

The old veteran Garon, resplendent in his uniform, stood at attention, listening for further orders. “We are at your command, Sire.”

After all the express warnings and after the severe example Shaddam had set on Zanovar, House Richese had the temerity to do this? Premier Calimar believed he could just ignore an Imperial decree and keep his own illegal melange stockpile? The surreptitious message provided incontrovertible proof that an illegal quantity of spice was stored inside the artificial moon of Korona.

At first he had been suspicious of similar claims. Ecaz and Grumman had done their best to cast suspicion on each other, pointing fingers, exaggerating accusations. But their proof had been flimsy, their motives transparent.

“It is time to set another example, to show the citizens of the Imperium that they cannot ignore Corrino laws.” Shaddam paced the floor.

As his anger simmered, the Emperor’s better sense came into play. The core motivation behind his first attack on Zanovar had been to erase Tyros Reffa. However, his larger scheme was to leave the Imperial economy completely vulnerable to his impending monopoly on synthetic spice. He had to take the next step, increase the stakes. Richese would be the second scapegoat.

He would notify Guild investigators and CHOAM auditors of his upcoming measure. After the alleged stockpile was removed from Korona (and used as a payoff to buy Guild and CHOAM support), other political factions would gather behind the throne as well.

Since Hasimir Fenring had not yet returned from Ix, Shaddam would have to make another important decision by himself. No matter. The Emperor knew what to do, and a response could not wait. He gave the Sardaukar commander his orders.

The Great Spice War was about to heat up.