Unknown

The fundamental rule of the universe is that there is no neutrality, no pure objectivity, no absolute truth that is divorced from the pragmatic lessons gained in application. Before Ix became a great power in the invention and manufacture of technology, scientists routinely concealed their personal prejudices behind a facade of objectivity and purity of research.

Six months earlier, Tleilaxu researchers— desperate to obtain Atreides and Vernius genetic samples from an ancient war memorial— had paid a bribe with an outrageously large amount of spice that showed up on no official records. It had seemed a good idea at the time, a boon to Beakkal’s economy.

After Duke Leto’s vengeful attack, the Prime Magistrate began using that spice to pay Beakkali debts. After passing through several hands, some of it found its way to the Spacing Guild… and poisoned a Heighliner Coordinator, which triggered an investigation that was reported to the Emperor himself.

When he sent in his Sardaukar fleet, Shaddam did not comprehend the irony that Beakkal no longer had in its possession the melange they were accused of stockpiling. More ironic still, the Prime Magistrate never realized that the Tleilaxu had not paid him in genuine melange, but had instead given him a cargo of their unproven synthetic spice….

A Heighliner dropped off the Imperial fleet at the transfer-station of Sansin, a nearby asteroid center and the hub of commerce in the Liabic star system, which included Beakkal and its blue primary sun.

Commanded by Supreme Bashar Zum Garon, the heavy warships remained at the transfer station: battle cruisers, monitors, crushers, and troop-carriers, all set to proceed toward Beakkal in a blistering display of power. Shaddam had ordered the Sardaukar to make their intentions obvious first… and to take their time.

When the jungle world’s defensive satellite network detected their approach, planetary alarms went off. The Beakkali people panicked; many took to underground shelters, while others fled into the forest depths.

In a futile effort, the Prime Magistrate ordered his private military force to launch warships, and form a defensive network in orbit. The ships lifted off, hastily crewed with available personnel. Additional troops scrambled to their planetary garrisons, preparing a second wave of defense. Long-stored weapons were retrieved, uniforms thrown on.

“We were caught unawares when Duke Leto Atreides attacked us,” the Prime Magistrate said in a public announcement. “We have seen how Emperor Shaddam laid waste to Zanovar and destroyed the Richesian moon.” He sensed the fear of his people. “But we will not stand by meekly and allow ourselves to be slaughtered! Perhaps our world cannot withstand a full Sardaukar assault— but we will make them pay dearly for it.”

Still stationed at Sansin, the Imperial fleet moved with ominous deliberation. In a typically brief statement, the Supreme Bashar broadcast, “By order of Emperor Shaddam IV, this planet is hereby placed under siege for the crime of stockpiling melange. This blockade will remain in force until such time as your fief holder confesses to his crimes, or proves his innocence.” He transmitted no further warning, no ultimatum.

The lumbering Sardaukar fleet gave the targeted population more than a day to grow increasingly frightened. During that time, the Prime Magistrate delivered five speeches, some of them indignant, others pleading for mercy from the wrath of Shaddam.

Behind barricaded doors, the Beakkali leader and his council of ministers met to discuss the problem. A stocky man with a red mustache and a lush, blond beard, the Prime Magistrate sat in the elevated center cutout of a round conference table, with the ministers arrayed around him. Attired in the dark green toga of his office, he rotated his chair so that he could look at whoever was talking, but most of the time he just stared off into space. An impending sense of doom hung over him.

The ministers wore tight trousers and white tunics with rune symbols on the collars, reflecting their rank and public identity. “But we don’t have a melange stockpile! It’s all gone,” said one minister, a woman with a raspy voice. “We have been… accused, but the Emperor can’t prove we were ever hoarding. What is his evidence?”

“What difference does it make?” another said. “He knows what we did. Besides, we should have paid taxes to the Emperor. A bribe is still income, you know.”

The ministers argued around the table, voices high-pitched with emotion. “If House Corrino is really after taxes, can’t we just figure the value of the melange and offer to pay a large fine? In installments, of course.”

“But the edicts against spice stockpiling encompass more than tax avoidance. They go to the core of cooperation between the Great and Minor Houses, preventing any House from becoming too independent from the others, too dangerous to the stability of CHOAM.”

“As soon as the Sardaukar establish a cordon, they will trap us here and starve us out. Our world is not self-sufficient.”

Smelling the sweat of his fear, the bleary-eyed Prime Magistrate looked at a tracking screen that showed the position of the approaching Imperial fleet.

“Sir, two big supply ships just arrived at the Sansin transfer station, fully loaded with foodstuffs,” reported a minister behind him. “Perhaps we should commandeer them. They belong to a rather obscure House Minor, nothing to worry about. It could be our last chance for a long time.”

“Do it,” the Prime Magistrate said, rising to signify the end of the meeting. “That’s something, anyway. Now let’s see what we can do to find more good fortune.”

Just before the arrival of the menacing fleet, Beakkali troops boarded and confiscated the two loaded supply ships at the asteroid transfer station, taking them like a pair of fat plums just waiting to be picked.

When the Sardaukar forces subsequently went into orbit around Beakkal, they did not engage the local defense forces. Instead, the Supreme Bashar instructed his ships to maintain their distance as ominous guardians that would refuse to grant any vessel access to Beakkal or to the nearby asteroids.

A man of emotional ups and downs, the Prime Magistrate was energized by the success of the operation. “We can wait them out,” he declared in yet another speech, this one on an outdoor acoustics stage. In his usual green toga, he had shaved his beard as a symbol of austerity. “We have supplies, we have workers, and we have our own resources. We have been falsely accused!”

“The Emperor will be long in his tomb before we surrender.” The Beakkali leader raised a fist in the air, and his people clapped in support.

Overhead, the Sardaukar forces settled in to wait, a noose tightening around the planetary equator.