The Ishaq Hall of magnificent documents was lost among the extravagant monuments on Kaitain. During his youth Shaddam had spent much time in elaborate diversions in the city, but he’d had little interest in old papers and manifestos. Still, an official Imperial visit to the hoary old museum seemed an appropriate diversion now.

Why is the Guild so upset?

In preparation for Shaddam’s arrival, the Ishaq Hall had been swept clean of surveillance devices. For this one day, all teachers, historians, and students had been forbidden to enter the building, thus permitting the Emperor full access. Even so, he was accompanied by his retinue of guards and so many court functionaries that the echoing corridors felt crowded.

Though the Guild had requested this secret meeting, Shaddam had arranged for the appropriate time and place.

Long ago, when Emperor Ishaq XV designed and built the museum, it was one of the most spectacular constructions in the burgeoning Imperial city. But in the intervening millennia, the Hall of Magnificent Documents had been swallowed by ever more impressive architecture; now it was difficult to find it among the congestion of governmental structures.

The Senior Curator greeted the Emperor and his retinue with embarrassing enthusiasm and gushing formality. Shaddam mumbled appropriate responses as the obsequious man proudly displayed a number of ancient handwritten journals, the personal diaries of past Corrino Emperors.

Considering all the time-consuming duties that required his attention, Shaddam couldn’t imagine any skilled ruler having the luxury to write such ponderous musings for the sake of posterity.

Like Ishaq XV, who had tried to inscribe his name in the chronicles of the Imperium by constructing this once-impressive museum, every Padishah ruler sought a special place in history. With amal, Shaddam vowed to attain his fame through something greater than a handwritten diary or a dusty old building.

What can the Guild possibly want of me? Have they learned more about the tainted spice from Beakkal?

Though he still hadn’t decided what to do with Arrakis, as soon as he succeeded in monopolizing spice commerce with his inexpensive substitute, Shaddam intended to lay the foundation for future generations of House Corrino.

During the tour, the Hall Curator showed him constitutional documents, oaths of conditional independence and declarations of planetary loyalty dating back to when the growing Imperium was consolidating itself. A carefully preserved parchment of the first Guild Charter, supposedly one of only eleven extant copies in the universe, sat bathed under filter lights and a protective shield. One display case held a copy of the Azhar Book, the Bene Gesserit volume of secrets written in a long-forgotten language.

Finally, standing before a pair of tall locked doors, the Curator stepped aside. “In here, Your Majesty, we hold our greatest treasure, the cornerstone of Imperial civilization.” His voice grew whispery with awe. “We have the original document of the Great Convention.”

Shaddam tried to look impressed. He knew the legalities of the Great Convention, of course, and had studied the precedents, but he had never taken the time to read the actual wording. “You have made arrangements for me to view it alone, at my leisure?”

“Of course, Sire. In a completely private and secure chamber.” The Curator’s eyes flickered with concern and overprotectiveness. Shaddam wondered what the man thought he might do. If an Emperor ripped the document to shreds, would that not be a historical event in itself? A smile stole across his lips.

Shaddam knew, though few others did, that this “hallowed relic” was not actually the original, but was instead a clever forgery, since the original had been lost in the atomic blaze on Salusa. But it was a symbol, and people could be fanatical about such things. Shaddam pondered this as the doors swung wide and he stepped into an isolated room, moving with proud Imperial grace, but not speed. He felt mounting dread.

The Spacing Guild has rarely demanded anything of me, and now they insist on this secret meeting. What do they want? The Guild had received exorbitant bribes after each attack on a spice-hoarding world, and they had seemed satisfied with them.

He stepped into the windowless chamber and looked at the shrine-podium that displayed the fraudulent document, complete with singed brown edges to maintain the fiction that it had been rescued from the Salusan holocaust. He wished Hasimir Fenring were there with him, instead of away on Ix again. With problems compounding in his Great Spice War, Shaddam needed good suggestions. He heaved a deep sigh. I am on my own.

In due course, especially now that Fenring had disavowed all his misgivings, Shaddam planned to announce his amal to the unsuspecting CHOAM and the Guild. No doubt the economic fallout would be chaotic, but the Emperor was strong, and with the secret of synthetic spice he could endure any sanctions. But he would have to block the regular channels of melange.

Arrakis, what to do with Arrakis…?

He would either destroy the desert planet or station Sardaukar there on a permanent basis to prevent the Guild from obtaining their own spice. This was essential during the transition, in order to force the Imperium into purchasing his amal….

As soon as the doors sealed behind him, a secret entrance slid aside in the far left wall. A tall man with pink eyes and a dandelion puff of white hair took a step into the room, but hesitated and glanced around suspiciously. He wore a Guild protective suit made of polymer leatheryl, rigged with tubes and pulleys that connected to a pressurized tank on his back. Spice gas seeped through evaporators around his collar, so that the Guild Legate’s face was wreathed in a halo of pungent, orange melange gas.

He came closer, albino eyes sharp, locking onto the Emperor’s features. Behind him followed five companions, smaller Guildsmen in identical suits, but without melange packs. They were hairless, pale-skinned dwarfs, their bone structures distorted as if someone had turned their skeletons to clay and then squeezed. They carried speaking grids and recording apparatus.

Shaddam stiffened. “This is supposed to be between us, alone, Legate. I have brought no guards.” In the confined space, the Emperor picked up the strong cinnamon odor of spice.

“Neither have I,” said the Guild Legate in a phlegmy voice, softened by the thick melange. “These men are extensions of me, parts of the Guild. All of the Guild is closely interconnected— whereas you are alone to represent House Corrino.”

“The Guild would be wise not to forget my position.” He caught himself, not wanting to begin any blustery displays that might bring repercussions, subtle or overt. “You requested this meeting. Please get to the point quickly, as I am a busy man.”

“We have reached conclusions regarding the flawed spice that led to serious Navigator errors and the death of a Guildsman. We now know the source.”

Shaddam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said the contaminated melange came from Beakkal. I have that place under quarantine already.”

“Beakkal merely sold it to us.” The Guild Legate was grim. “Spice comes from Arrakis. Spice comes from the Harkonnens.” The albino sucked in another breath of the curling vapors around his face. “From our operatives there, we have learned that the Baron has gathered large, illegal stockpiles of melange. We know this is true, yet he has not decreased his shipments.”

Shaddam simmered with anger. The Guildsman had to know this was a particularly sensitive subject for him.

“On audit, we have completed a study of Harkonnen records. The Baron has documented his spice production with particular thoroughness. The amounts seem to be correct.”

Shaddam had trouble following this. “If his records are correct, then how did the Baron compile his hoard? And what does this have to do with tainted spice?”

For some unknown reason, the small, identical Guildsmen shifted their position around the albino Legate. “Consider, Sire. If the Baron steals a percentage of each spice harvest, yet continues to ship the appropriate amount according to manifest documents, then obviously he must be ‘cutting’ the export shipments. He must be skimming away pure melange and diluting it with supposedly inert materials. Thus the Baron keeps the skimmed melange for himself, while providing weakened spice for Navigator use. Given the evidence, there can be no other conclusion.”

The Legate adjusted controls on his complicated polymer leatheryl suit and drew a long breath of orange vapor. “The Spacing Guild is prepared— in Landsraad Court— to accuse the Baron Harkonnen of malfeasance, of causing the Heighliner disasters. If convicted, he would be forced to pay enough reparations to drive House Harkonnen into bankruptcy.”

Shaddam could not stop a grin from spreading across his face. He had been waiting for a solution to the Arrakis problem, and now this appeared, like a miracle. The idea was clear in his mind— and it would take care of everything. He could not have concocted a better scenario had he tried. The Guild’s blatant charges were a golden opportunity— perhaps a bit premature, but no matter.

He finally had the excuse he needed to lock down his monopoly. With the recent glowing report by Hasimir Fenring, as well as similar communications from Master Researcher Ajidica and Sardaukar commander Cando Garon, he was utterly confident in the viability of his synthetic spice.

Based on the Legate’s accusation, Shaddam could turn his Imperial sword of justice against Arrakis, with full Guild cooperation. Before anyone knew what was happening, the Sardaukar would wipe out all spice production in the desert, leaving House Corrino with absolute and total control of the only remaining source of spice: amal. This economic revolution would occur faster than he had ever dreamed.

The mutated dwarfs moved around, watching their superior, awaiting his commands.

Shaddam turned to the Guild Legate. “We shall confiscate all spice from House Harkonnen, starting with Arrakis, and then search every other world the Baron holds.” He smiled paternally. “As before, I am primarily concerned with enforcing Imperial law. And, as before, the Guild and CHOAM shall share the spoils of every illegal stockpile we uncover. I will keep none for myself.”

The Guild Legate bowed his head into the curling melange mist. “That is most satisfactory, Emperor Corrino.”

More for me than for you, Shaddam thought. He had been waiting for this all along— how could he ignore such an opportunity? Once he obliterated the only known source of natural melange and began widespread distribution of amal, the few crumbs of recovered spice would become irrelevant.

“While maintaining my blockade around Beakkal, I shall send a large Sardaukar force to Arrakis.” He arched his eyebrows. If he could avoid the mandated costs of transport for such a huge military operation, he could reap even greater benefits. “Naturally, I expect the Guild to provide Heighliners for this operation?”

“Of course,” the Legate promised, playing right into Shaddam’s hands. “As many as you require.”