We haven’t played shield-ball in years, Hasimir,” Shaddam said as he leaned over the device, pleased that his score was one point higher than Fenring’s. They were in the Emperor’s private quarters, on the top level of the Imperial Palace.

Distracted, the Count moved away from the gaming table and went to the balcony. In years past, he and Shaddam had developed numerous schemes together, many of them plotted during shield-ball competitions… such as the original idea for creating a spice substitute. Now, knowing the treachery of the Tleilaxu Master Researcher and his murderous Face Dancer, Fenring regretted the entire plot. The Heighliner tests, too, seemed a total disaster.

But the Emperor wanted to hear none of it. “You’re imagining things,” he said. “I have received a report from the Guild itself, and they have discovered tainted spice originating from an illegal stockpile on Beakkal. They are convinced this insidious poisoning is the cause of the recent accidents. Not your amal.”

“But we cannot be sure, Sire, hmmm? The Guild will not release the designations of the lost Heighliners. I find it suspicious that two large vessels experienced traumatic mishaps after I—”

“What connection could there possibly be between Beakkal and Ajidica’s amal research?” He sounded exasperated. “None!” The Master Researcher’s glowing reports, along with the repeated reassurances of Commander Cando Garon, had him completely convinced about the impending availability of synthetic spice. “Have you, personally, in all your inspections of the Tleilaxu work, ever seen specific evidence that the amal does not work as Ajidica claims?”

“Not… as such, Sire.”

“Then stop looking for excuses, Hasimir, and let me play.” The game mechanism buzzed, and the Emperor withdrew a guiding rod. The hard ball bounced and crackled through the elaborate labyrinth of components. Shaddam scored again and laughed. “There, I challenge you to beat that.”

Fenring’s eyes flashed. “You’ve been practicing, Shaddam, hmmm? Not enough Imperial matters to occupy you?”

“Now, Hasimir, don’t be a sore loser.”

“I haven’t lost yet, Sire.”

Overhead, the night skies of Kaitain shimmered with pastel auroras. The Padishah Emperor had recently ordered the launch of satellites containing rare gases that were ionized by particles from the solar wind, enhancing the colors that rippled across the constellations. He liked to light up the sky.

Fenring returned to the shield-ball device. “I am pleased that you chose not to crush Beakkal like Zanovar. A siege is much more appropriate, since the evidence was not exactly, hmmm-ah, compelling enough for a more emphatic response. In all likelihood, Beakkal has already spent their hoard on other things.”

“The evidence is sufficient, especially when you consider the contamination that likely caused the Heighliner accidents.” Shaddam gestured toward the game device, but Fenring still did not take his turn. “Just because they’ve spent their entire illegal stockpile doesn’t mean they didn’t flaut Imperial restrictions in the first place.”

“Hmmm, but if you retrieve no large reward of melange, you can’t bribe CHOAM and the Guild to support your policies. Not a good investment of violence, hmmm?”

Now Shaddam smiled. “Now you see why I’ve had to be much more subtle in this case.”

Fenring’s eyes widened in concern, but he refrained from commenting on Shaddam’s skill at subtlety. “How long is this blockade going to go on? You’ve made your point, scared them down to their bones. What more do you need?”

“Ah, Hasimir, watch and learn.” Shaddam paced around the table like an excited little boy. “Soon it will become obvious that the blockade is imperative. I am not doing this simply to prevent House Beakkal from obtaining outside supplies. No, there’s much more to it. I won’t destroy their world— I’ll let them do it themselves.”

Fenring grew more alarmed. “Perhaps, ahhh, you should have consulted me before setting your plans in motion, Sire?”

“I can make magnificent plans of my own, without your help.”

Though Fenring disagreed with that assessment, he decided not to argue. Pensively, he turned to the game, dropped another ball into play, manipulated the rods with deft fingers, and intentionally achieved a low score. Now was not the time to demonstrate his superior abilities to the Emperor.

With mounting excitement, Shaddam continued, “You see, when my Sardaukar informed Beakkal of the imminent siege, the Prime Magistrate sent ships scrambling to Sansin in order to stockpile foodstuffs. Like a pirate, he commandeered two fully loaded supply ships that were just waiting there. As I knew he would.”

“Yes, yes.” Fenring tapped his fingers on the table, surprised that Shaddam didn’t jump back to the game and take his own turn. “And your ships stood by and let him gather sufficient cargo to last Beakkal for perhaps six months. A rather inept way to administer a siege, hmmm?”

“He fell into my trap,” Shaddam said. “The Prime Magistrate will begin to realize the real plan soon enough. Ah, yes. Quite soon.”

Fenring sat back, waiting.

“Unfortunately, the two supply ships he stole were loaded with contaminated grains and dehydrates. Tit for tat, considering what they did to the spice they sold to the Guild.”

Fenring blinked. “Contaminated? With what?”

“Why, with a terrible biological agent that I just happened to be sending for study under controlled conditions to a distant planet. For security reasons the plague-infested supplies were unmarked and placed in nondescript vessels so that they could be transported without causing alarm.”

Fenring’s skin crawled, but Shaddam fairly gushed with pride at his cleverness. “Now that the Prime Magistrate has stolen this cargo and taken it to Beakkal, he has brought with him a biological agent that will defoliate the jungle belt. Crops will wither and die, forests will fall into skeletons. Within days we will begin to see the effects. Tsk, tsk. Such a tragedy.”

Fenring had thought the use of atomics on Korona and the unexpected blinding of so many Richesians already went far beyond the pale. Even by his standards, it was all too much. An entire planetary ecosystem! “I don’t suppose this decision can be reversed?”

“No. And luckily my Sardaukar cordon just happens to be there, and can enforce a strict quarantine. We can’t afford to spread this unfortunate plague to innocent planets, now can we?” Shaddam let out a long, vicious laugh. “See, I’ve outsmarted even you, Hasimir.”

Fenring suppressed a groan. The Emperor seemed to be gaining momentum, but in the wrong direction.

Richesian Premier Ein Calimar watched Duke Leto’s relief ships land at the Triad Center Spaceport, bringing much-needed aid for the victims of the Korona explosion. He had thought he was beyond weeping.

The Atreides crews provided shipments of expensive medicinals, as well as fish products and pundi rice. Richese was not a poor world, but the destruction of the laboratory moon— not to mention the obliteration of the secret Holtzmann invisibility project and most of their stock of mirrors— was a monumental setback to their economy.

Old Count Richese, surrounded by his tribe of children and grandchildren, went to the visitor’s gallery of the spaceport for the ceremonial function of greeting the supply ship crews. Four of his daughters and one grandson had been blinded in the falling rain of activated Richesian mirrors, and his nephew Haloa Rund had been killed on Korona itself. As members of the noble family of Richese, they would be among the first to receive help.

The Count was resplendent in thick robes of state, his chest weighted by dozens of medals (many of them handmade trinkets from his family). The old man raised both hands. “It is with deepest gratitude that we accept this assistance from my grandson Duke Leto Atreides. He is a fine nobleman, with a good heart. His mother always said so.” Ilban’s face creased with a maudlin smile of gratitude, and tears sparkled in his grief-reddened eyes.

Within hours, prefabricated distribution centers were set up, interlocked tentments built in court areas around Triad Center. Atreides soldiers worked to keep the crowds in line and performed triage to find the patients who needed help the most. From a rooftop garden spot where he would not be interrupted, Premier Calimar observed it all, avoiding contact with the relief forces.

Duke Leto was doing his best, and would be commended for it. But as far as Calimar was concerned, the Atreides had come too late to be treated as true saviors. The Tleilaxu had arrived first.

Very soon after the crowds had been burned and blinded by the debris, Tleilaxu organ merchants had descended on Richese, bringing shipments of artificial eyes. Though clearly opportunistic, the genetic wizards had been welcomed nonetheless, for they offered more than hope, more than consolation. They brought tangible cures.

Out of habit, Calimar pushed his gold spectacles up on his nose. He no longer needed the glasses, but their presence comforted him. He stared across the spaceport landing field to where Atreides troops unloaded supplies. He didn’t blink, merely drank in the details with his new metal Tleilaxu eyes….