After the lesson of Zanovar, and then Korona, Shaddam IV felt that matters were finally on a proper course. Now, if only he could find a way to cut off the regular flow of spice from Arrakis, he would have the Imperium in the palm of his hand….

Master Researcher Ajidica had sent another glowing report confirming that his amal had passed all of the rigorous testing protocols. Accompanying the communication was a separate message from Sardaukar Commander Cando Garon, the diligent son of the Supreme Bashar, reaffirming everything Ajidica had said. The Emperor couldn’t have asked for better news.

Shaddam wanted the synthetic melange in full production. Now. He saw no further reason to wait.

Attired in gray-and-black Sardaukar jodhpurs and a military shirt with epaulets, he sat back at his extravagant desk and stared at a live holo of the Landsraad Council, which continued to hold tedious hearings to explore the legalities of the atomic attack he’d made against Richese. Clearly, though, his opposition did not have enough support for censure or a vote of no confidence. Why couldn’t they just give it up?

Count Fenring had been upset ever since returning from Ix and Junction, but the man had worried too much about the Landsraad members. Shaddam wasn’t concerned. Everything seemed to be going very well.

In his message, Master Researcher Ajidica had made an odd aside to inquire about the Spice Minister’s health. Perhaps Hasimir was feeling too much stress. Maybe he needed to go back to Arrakis….

Looking up, Shaddam saw Chamberlain Ridondo enter the private study in an uncharacteristic state of agitation and nervousness. Ridondo rarely became flustered with any but the most delicate conundrums of Court politics. “Sire, a Spacing Guild emissary insists upon seeing you.”

Though annoyed, Shaddam knew he could not turn the emissary away. In matters involving the Guild, even an Emperor had to tread lightly. “Why could he not have arranged an appointment ahead of time? Does the Guild not have access to Imperial Couriers?” He snorted to cover his discomfort at the situation.

“I… do not know, Sire. Nevertheless, the envoy is right behind me.”

A tall albino man with muttonchop sideburns swept into the office. He did not introduce himself or give his rank. The Guildsman selected a comfortable suspensor chair— when he sat upon it, he appeared even taller, because of the length of his torso— and gazed down at the Emperor.

Shaddam withdrew an elacca wood toothpick from a dispenser and casually began to trace the edges of his teeth. The wood had a naturally sweet flavor. “What is your title, sir? Are you the leader of the Spacing Guild, or someone who scrubs exhaust cowlings? Are you the Premier, the President, the Chief? What do you choose to call yourself? What is your rank?”

“What is the relevance of the question?”

“I am the Emperor of a Million Worlds,” Shaddam said, picking rudely at his teeth. “I wish to know whether I am wasting my time with an underling.”

“You are not wasting your time, Sire.” The Guildsman’s face, narrow at the forehead and wider at the chin, looked as if it had been pounded into this peculiar shape and drained of all color. “It is not yet general knowledge, Sire, but the Guild has recently suffered two major Heighliner disasters. One crashed onto Wallach IX with the loss of all passengers and crew.”

Shaddam sat up in surprise. “And… was the Bene Gesserit school damaged?”

“No, Sire. The Heighliner crashed into a very remote area.”

Shaddam did not hide his disappointment. “You said there were two accidents?”

“Another Heighliner was lost in deep space, but the Navigator managed to bring it back to Junction. Our preliminary analysis suggests that both disasters were caused by tainted spice in the Navigator tanks. Then, a third data point— one of our Guildsmen consumed a large amount of melange traced to Beakkal, which poisoned him. We have confiscated all other remnants of the melange we purchased from Beakkal and it is all similarly tainted. The chemical structure is somewhat peculiar, enough to cause these mishaps.”

Shaddam threw his toothpick aside. How would a backwater jungle planet get “spoiled” spice? Unless they were contaminating it themselves? Then he pounced. “Beakkal isn’t supposed to have spice to sell. You’ve found another illegal stockpile? How much?”

“That, Sire, is currently under investigation.” The Guildsman passed an entirely white tongue over colorless lips. “While searching for fiscal anomalies, we discovered that the Prime Magistrate of Beakkal has recently spent far more melange than his treasury could possibly own. He must have a spice hoard.”

Shaddam surged with anger, and then anticipation, as he considered another punitive strike. When would the Great Houses ever learn? “Continue your research, sir, and I shall deal with the Beakkal matter in my own way.”

In fact, he was looking forward to it.

This time, however, he planned a different response. He considered discussing the idea with Hasimir Fenring first, but decided instead to let it be a surprise. To everyone.

Anirul barely made it to her bed after a pleasant dinner alone with her daughters and Jessica. She had been thinking to herself how much Irulan was blossoming into a beautiful young woman, intelligent and cultured, the perfect Princess… and then the universe had gone sour around her.

The voices in Anirul’s head had returned, and even the sympathetic presence of Lobia-within could not hold them at bay. Anirul collapsed to her knees, dry heaving, and crawled into her bedchamber. Jessica had walked her to the room, and then in alarm had summoned Medical Sister Yohsa; Margot Fenring and Mohiam also rushed in to help.

After examining Lady Anirul, Yohsa quickly gave her a powerful sedative. Only half-awake, the Kwisatz Mother lay wheezing and perspiring, as if she had run a very long distance. Yohsa looked on, shaking her head. Jessica stood over her, wide-eyed, until Mohiam shooed her out of the room.

“I know her sandworm nightmare has been recurring,” Margot Fenring said from the foot of the bed. “Perhaps she thinks she is out in the desert at this very moment.”

Mohiam peered with hard eyes at the disturbingly ill woman, who seemed to be fighting sleep, struggling to avoid it. Anirul’s eyes alternately opened wide, then grew heavy-lidded.

The Medical Sister said, “I was not able to reduce the Other Memory flow soon enough. The gates of Anirul’s past lives have been thrown open inside her mind. She may be driven to suicide or to some other form of violence. She could even be a threat to any of us. We must watch her closely.”