He had never been averse to taking risks, but now C’tair actually relished them. It was time to be overt.

During his work shifts, he whispered into the ears of strangers as they labored alongside him, selecting those who appeared the most oppressed. One by one, the bravest among them took up the rallying cry.

Even suboid workers, whose minds were too dim to comprehend political implications, came to understand how they had been betrayed by the Tleilaxu. Years ago, the invaders had seduced them with promises of a new life and freedom— but their lot had only grown progressively worse.

Finally, the oppressed population had more than a vague hope. Rhombur had truly returned! Their long nightmare would be at an end. Soon.

Waiting in a tiny alcove where he was supposed to meet his companions, Prince Rhombur heard a scuffle down the corridor and powered up his synthetic limbs, ready to fight. Leto’s troops were due to arrive within hours, and C’tair had already slipped up to the surface, crawling through cramped ducts and emergency shafts so that he could plant the last few smuggled explosive wafers at key places in the Sardaukar surface defenses. A few well-timed blasts would leave the port-of-entry canyon unprotected against the arriving Atreides army.

But all their work would be for naught if Rhombur was discovered here too soon. The noise grew closer.

Then scarred Gurney Halleck lurched into the alcove carrying a broken body. The corpse looked barely human, with smooth, waxy features, lifeless eyes, and a doll-like head that lolled on a snapped neck.

“Face Dancer, posing as a suboid. I thought he showed too much curiosity in me. I took a chance, deciding he had to be more than one of your feebleminded workers.”

He dropped the dead shape-shifter in a heap on the stone floor. “So I broke his neck. Good thing, too. ‘The hidden enemy is the greatest threat.’ ” He looked intently at Rhombur and added, “I think we have a serious problem. They know about us now.”

To Count Fenring’s surprise the Master Researcher made no overt move against him, but he still felt like a prisoner.

Never taking his safety for granted, the Count remained alert, playing along until he could find an opportunity to escape. He had seen many disturbing behaviors and side effects among the people who had consumed too much synthetic melange, including the Sardaukar. Very bad…

The diminutive Tleilaxu scientist, increasingly erratic and unpredictable in his behavior, spent an entire morning in his office showing numbers to the Imperial Spice Minister, demonstrating production enhancements and the quantities of amal that his axlotl tanks could produce, to keep his program going for just a little while longer. “The Emperor will have to dole it out carefully at first, as rewards for those who are most loyal to him. Only a few should receive this blessing. Only a few are worthy.”

“Yes, hmmm.” Fenring still had many questions about the synthetic melange, but saw too much danger in asking them. He sat across the desk from Ajidica, examining hard-copy documents and mini-holos the Master Researcher passed across to him.

Ajidica was filled with uncontrollable nervous energy. He had a glazed, defiant look on his pinched face, combined with a supreme haughtiness, as if he considered himself a demigod.

All of Fenring’s instincts screamed warnings, and he just wanted to kill the man and be done with it. Even guarded carefully, a deadly fighter like Count Hasimir Fenring could find a thousand ways to commit murder— but he would never escape unscathed. He saw the fanatical loyalty, the hypnotic control the Master Researcher had over his personal guards and ferociously devoted staff… even, most disturbingly, on the Sardaukar troops.

Other changes were happening as well. In recent days, the Ixian populace had grown unruly and dissatisfied; incidents of sabotage had increased tenfold. Graffiti had blossomed on the walls like Arrakeen flowers in the morning dew. No one knew what had triggered it after so much time.

Ajidica’s response had been to squeeze even harder, further restricting the minimal freedoms and rewards the people retained. Fenring had never approved of the draconian tactics the Tleilaxu employed against the Ixians; he considered it shortsighted politics. Day by day, the unrest increased and pressure built, as if a lid had been clamped on a boiling pot.

The Master Researcher’s office door slammed open, and Commander Cando Garon marched in. The young Sardaukar leader had tangled hair and a rumpled uniform with dirty gloves, as if he no longer bothered with a military dress code. In his strong grip he dragged a small, weak creature, one of the suboid workers.

Garon’s eyes were dark and dilated, flicking about with rapid movements. His jaw was clenched, his lips curled in feral displeasure mixed with triumph. He looked more like a ruthless bully than the commander of disciplined Imperial troops. Fenring felt a flutter of uneasiness in his chest.

“What is this?” Ajidica snapped.

“I believe it’s a suboid,” Fenring said dryly.

The Tleilaxu researcher scowled with distaste. “Take that filthy… creature out of here.”

“First, listen to him.” Garon tossed the pale worker to the floor.

The suboid scrambled to his knees and looked from side to side, not comprehending where he was or what kind of trouble he was in.

“I told you what to do.” Garon kicked the weak man in the hip. “Say it.”

The suboid fell over, gasping in pain. The Sardaukar commander lunged at him, grabbing one of his ears with a gloved hand. He twisted until blood dripped from it. “Say it!”

“The Prince has returned,” the suboid said, then repeated it over and over, like a mantra. “The Prince has returned. The Prince has returned.”

Fenring felt hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

“What is he talking about?” Ajidica asked.

“Prince Rhombur Vernius.” Garon nudged the suboid, ordering him to say more. Instead, the simpleminded man whimpered and repeated the phrase.

“He’s talking about the last survivor of the renegade Vernius family, hmmmm?” Fenring pointed out. “He is still alive, after all.”

“I know who Rhombur Vernius is! But it has been so many years. Why should anyone care about him now?”

Garon slammed the suboid’s head against the hard floor, making him scream in pain.

“Stop!” Fenring said. “We need to interrogate him further.”

“He knows nothing more.” Garon balled his gloved fist and pounded the helpless man’s back. Fenring could hear ribs and vertebrae crack. The wild commander punched again, an out-of-control pile driver.

The suboid drooled blood onto the floor, twitched, and died.

Sweating and agitated, the Sardaukar commander straightened. His eyes were bright and feral, as if looking for something else to kill. Blood had spattered all over his uniform, and he didn’t seem to mind.

“Just a suboid,” Ajidica said, with a sniff. “You’re correct, Commander— we would have gotten no further information anyway.” The Master Researcher thrust a small hand into his robes and withdrew a tablet of compressed synthetic spice. “Here you are.” He tossed it to Garon, who snatched the tablet out of the air with lightning-fast reflexes and gobbled it, like a trained dog receiving a treat.

Garon’s wild-eyed gaze focused on Fenring. Then the officer strode toward the door, leaving the bloody mess on the floor. “I’ll go find others to interrogate.”

Before he could depart, loud alarms rang out. Fenring leaped to his feet, while the Master Researcher looked around, more in annoyance than in fear. He had not heard such sirens in the twenty-two years that he had resided on Ix.

From the rhythm of the alarm, Commander Garon knew what was happening. “We are under attack, from the outside!”

The Atreides military fleet dropped through the atmosphere and slammed into the Sardaukar defensive grid. Attacking warships descended into the port-of-entry canyon, where hundreds of grottoes were covered by heavy doors used for deliveries and exports.

C’tair’s sabotage bombs went off, startling the Sardaukar and knocking out their main sensor nets and installations. The surface-to-air guns went dead as control decks shorted out. The bored Tleilaxu perimeter guards could not respond to the astonishing attack that had appeared out of nowhere.

The Atreides ships launched explosives, melting armor plates and blasting rock. Sardaukar scrambled to mount a defense, but after so many years of complacency their weapon stations were designed to quell internal disturbances and intimidate would-be infiltrators.

Led by Duncan Idaho, the fleet arrived exactly on schedule. Transports landed and soldiers boiled out, their swords drawn for close-in shield fighting where lasguns could not be used. They howled a war cry for their Duke and for Prince Rhombur.

The battle for Ix had begun.