During his trip back to Ix, leaving the Emperor to reap the political problems he had sown, Count Hasimir Fenring thought of subtle, malicious, and exceedingly painful deaths he would like to inflict upon Hidar Fen Ajidica for the treachery he had attempted with his Face Dancer.

But none satisfied him.

As he gave the appropriate hand signals to guards and descended to the grotto levels beneath the Ixian surface, he chided himself for not having seen the signs sooner and taking appropriate action against the turncoat Tleilaxu. The scheming Master Researcher had made too many excuses for a long time, and Emperor Shaddam had been completely duped. Amazingly, several Tleilaxu Masters had recently appeared at court on Kaitain, as if they belonged there— and Shaddam tolerated it.

But the Count knew the bitter truth. Despite more than twenty years of planning, research, and excessive funding, Project Amal was an utter failure. No matter what the Guild believed, Fenring was convinced the two Navigators had failed because of the artificial spice, not some imagined Beakkali plan.

Foolishly, Shaddam had assumed that the synthetic spice was already in his grasp, and had acted accordingly. True, most of the evidence available to the Emperor pointed to long-awaited success, but Fenring remained uneasy. Despite the tissue-thin legal justifications, Shaddam’s Great Spice War had greatly damaged his political relations with the noble Houses. Now it would take decades to recover from all of the blunders… if they could recover at all.

Perhaps it might be better if he and his lovely Margot took steps to protect themselves from the approaching storm, while leaving the Emperor to the wolves. Shaddam Corrino would suffer for his own mistakes; Count Fenring did not need to sink into the depths with him….

Now, in the doorway of his private administrative office, Hidar Fen Ajidica stood waiting for Fenring with pride and arrogance, as if his small body could not contain his high opinion of himself. Rust-brown smears marred the front of his white lab coat.

At a sharp gesture from the Master Researcher, the Sardaukar guards slipped away, leaving him alone with Fenring in the office. Clenching and unclenching his fists, the Count forced control upon himself. He did not want to murder the little man too quickly. As he entered, Fenring made a point of closing the door behind them.

Ajidica stepped forward, his rodent-black eyes flashing with haughty self-importance. “Bow to me, Zoal!” He chattered additional commands in an incomprehensible guttural language, then switched to Imperial Galach. “You have sent no word, and will be punished for your lapse.”

Fenring could barely stop himself from laughing at the man’s assumption, but made a smirking little bow that seemed to mollify Ajidica. Then he lashed out and grasped the front of the Master Researcher’s robes. “I am not your Face Dancer! I have already marked you for death. The question is how and when, hmmm?”

Ajidica’s grayish skin turned even paler as he realized his awful mistake. “Of course, my dear Count Fenring!” His voice became raspy as the Spice Minister tightened his stranglehold. “You have… you have passed my test. I am so pleased.”

In disgust, Fenring flung him down. Arms and legs akimbo, Ajidica crashed hard onto the floor. Fenring wiped a hand on his own jerkin, feeling soiled after touching the treacherous creature. “It is time to salvage what we can from this disaster, Ajidica. Perhaps I should drop you from the balcony of the Grand Palais, so that all the people can watch, hmmm?”

In a strangled voice, the Master Researcher called for guards. Fenring heard footsteps come running, but he was not concerned. He was the Imperial Spice Minister and a close friend of Shaddam’s. The Sardaukar would obey his orders. He smiled as an idea took shape in his mind.

“Yes, hmmm, I shall declare Ix free at last and become its great liberator. Along with the Sardaukar, I will decry the years of Tleilaxu oppression, hmmm-ah, destroy all evidence of your illegal amal research, and then I— and Shaddam, of course— will emerge as heroes.”

The Master Researcher scrambled to his feet, looking like a cornered rat with very sharp teeth. “You cannot do this, Count Fenring. We are so close, now. So close. The amal is ready.”

“The amal is a failure! Both Heighliner tests were disasters, and you may be thankful that the Guild still hasn’t figured out what we’ve done. Navigators can never use the synthetic spice. Who knows what other aftereffects your substance will have?”

“Nonsense, my amal is perfect.” Ajidica reached into the folds of his robe, as if for a hidden weapon. Fenring crouched to attack, but the scientist only brought out a rust-colored tablet, which he popped into his mouth. “I have consumed extraordinary doses myself, and I feel magnificent. I am stronger than ever. I see the universe more clearly.” He tapped his forehead so hard that it left a mark on the skin.

The door burst open and a squad of Sardaukar filed in, led by young Commander Cando Garon. The men moved with feral grace, less regimented than usual.

“I have tripled spice rations for all the Sardaukar stationed here,” Ajidica said. “They have been consuming amal for six months now. Their bodies are saturated with it. See how strong they look!”

Fenring studied the faces of the Imperial soldiers. He did see a wolfish intensity there, a hardness in their eyes and a coiled danger that sang through their muscles. Garon bowed slightly to him, showing minimal deference.

“Maybe the amal was too potent for those test Navigators, and the mixture should have been adjusted,” Ajidica continued. “Or perhaps they should be trained differently. No need to dispose of all our progress because of some minor piloting error. We have invested too much. The amal works. It works!”

Ajidica became feverish and fidgety, as if close to a seizure. With jittery, palsied movements he scrambled past Fenring and elbowed the Sardaukar out of his way. “Here, Count, you must see this. Let me convince you. The Emperor needs to consume some of my product himself. Yes, we must send samples back to Kaitain.” He raised his hands as he strutted into the corridor, a little man with delusions of grandeur. “You can’t understand everything. Your mind is… infinitely small.”

Fenring struggled to keep up as Ajidica scurried ahead. The soldiers followed silently.

The main floor of the research pavilion always disgusted him, though the Count understood the necessity for the Tleilaxu axlotl tanks. Brain-dead females lay like cadavers hooked up to bubbling life-support systems, no longer human, their bodies bloated and force-fed. Captive wombs, they were little more than biological factories that produced whatever organic substances or abominations the genetic wizards programmed into their reproductive systems.

Curiously, the receptacles attached to their bodies— usually containing the amal they had produced— were empty. Though still alive, the tanks seemed to be off-line. All except for one.

Ajidica led him to a naked young woman only recently hooked up to an axlotl system. She was androgynous and flat-chested, with short, dark hair. Her closed eyes had sunken into her face. “Note this one, Count. Very healthy, very fit. She will produce well for us, though we are still reconfiguring her uterus to produce the chemical compounds necessary for the amal precursor. Then we can link the other tanks to her and produce more.”

Fenring found nothing erotic about the helpless lump of flesh, as different from his own beautiful wife as a woman could possibly be. “Why is she so special?”

“She was a spy, Count. We captured her poking around, disguised as a male.”

“I’m surprised all the females around here don’t disguise themselves and hide.”

“This one was a Bene Gesserit.”

Fenring could not cover his astonishment. “The Sisterhood knows about our operations here?” Damn that Anirul! I should have killed her.

“The witches have some inkling of what we’re up to. Therefore, we do not have much time.” Ajidica kneaded his hands together. “You see, you cannot execute me now. You dare not bring all this work to a halt. The Emperor must have his amal. We can work out our minor differences later.”

Fenring raised his eyebrows. “You call the destruction of an entire Heighliner with the loss of all passengers a ‘minor difference’? You say I should just forget your Face Dancer’s assassination attempt on me? Hmmm?”

“Yes! Yes, I do. In the scheme of the entire universe, such events are insignificant.” Insanity flashed in the little man’s eyes. “I cannot let you cause problems now, Count Fenring. The importance of my work goes beyond you, or House Corrino, or the Imperium itself. I just need a little more time.”

Fenring turned, intending to snap orders at the Sardaukar— but saw a strange quality in their eyes as they looked at Ajidica, a zealous devotion that astonished him. Of all things, he had never suspected the loyalty of Sardaukar would be questionable. These men were obviously addicted to the synthetic spice, their bodies crackling with the power of artificial melange. Had the Master Researcher brainwashed them, too?

“I will not let you stop me.” Ajidica’s threat was clear. “Not now.”

Inside the research pavilion, Tleilaxu workers took notice and came closer. Some of them might be Face Dancers as well. Fenring’s stomach sank, and for the first time in his entire life he felt the cold grip of true fear. He was alone here.

Over the years, he had often belittled Ajidica’s abilities, but now he saw that the Master Researcher had managed to put an astonishing plan in place. Surrounded, Fenring realized that he might never get off this planet alive.