Skirmishes continued underground among the Ixian manufactories and technological centers. The suboids, their anger and frustration unleashed, tore uniforms from slain Sardaukar soldiers, grabbed weapons, and fired indiscriminately, destroying the few remaining production lines.

Behind Rhombur, a Tleilaxu statue erected to honor the invaders had been decapitated in the fighting, and fragments of its alloy head lay scattered about on the pavement. “This will never end.”

Allied with Ixian rebels, Atreides troops had succeeded in retaking the stalactite buildings, the tunnels, and the Grand Palais itself. Pockets of frenzied Sardaukar fought on the open cavern floor, where House Vernius had once built Heighliners. The bloodshed did not seem to ebb.

“We need another ally,” C’tair suggested. “If we can prove that flawed artificial spice resulted in the deaths of two Navigators— including my brother— the Spacing Guild will stand with us.”

“They have already said as much,” Rhombur said. “But we had thought to complete this action without their interference.”

Gurney looked concerned. “The Guild isn’t here, and we can’t bring them fast enough.”

C’tair’s dark eyes gleamed— bloodshot, but full of determination. “I might be able to.”

He led them to a small warehouse that appeared abandoned. Rhombur watched while C’tair lovingly removed the hodgepodge construction of his rogo transmitter from a locked storage container. The strange device appeared stained and singed, with evidence of frequent repairs. It was studded with crystalline power rods.

His hands trembled as he held it. “Even I don’t know exactly how this thing works. It’s configured to the electrochemistry of my own mind, and I was able to communicate with my twin brother. We shared a bond once. Although his brain changed and passed far beyond any definition of humanity, I could still understand him.”

Memories of D’murr welled up in him like tears, but he drove them back. His hands trembled on the controls.

“Now my brother is dead, and our rogo is damaged. This is the last crystal rod, one that was somehow… repaired in my last communication with D’murr. Perhaps… if I use sufficient power, I can send at least a whisper to other Navigators. They might not understand all of my words, but they may hear the urgency.”

Rhombur was overwhelmed by everything happening around him. He had not envisioned anything like this, and said, “If you can bring the Guild here, we will do our best to show them what Shaddam has been doing behind a cloak of secrecy.”

C’tair squeezed Rhombur’s artificial arm so hard that the cyborg sensors detected the pressure. “I have always been willing to do whatever is necessary, my Prince. If I can help, it would be my greatest honor.”

Rhombur saw a strange determination in the man’s eyes, an obsession that went beyond rational thought. “Do it.”

C’tair grabbed electrode leads and attached sensors to his scalp, the back of his head, and his throat. “I don’t know the capacity of this device, but I intend to use all the energy I can pump through it, and through me.” He grinned. “This will be a shout of triumph and a cry for help, my loudest message to the outside.”

When the rogo was fully powered, C’tair took a deep breath for courage. In the past, he always spoke aloud during transmissions to D’murr, but he knew his brother did not actually hear the words. Instead, the Navigator picked up the thoughts that accompanied the speech. This time, C’tair would say nothing out loud, and would instead concentrate all of his energy on projecting his thoughts across the vast distances.

Pressing a transmit button, he sent a fusillade of thought, a volley of desperate signals directed to any Guild Navigator who could hear, a cosmic mayday. He didn’t know whether the rogo or his brain would fail first, but he felt them connecting… and reaching out.

C’tair’s jaw clenched, his lips drew back, and his eyes squeezed shut until tears flowed from them. Sweat poured from his forehead and temples. His skin turned ruby red. Blood vessels bulged at his temples.

This transmission was exponentially more powerful than anything he had ever attempted with D’murr. But this time he did not have the inexplicable mental connection of his twin.

Rhombur saw C’tair dying from the effort, literally killing himself in a great final attempt to use the transmitter. The haggard rebel screamed soundlessly inside his skull.

Before they could disconnect him, the rogo transmitter sparked and burned. The machine overloaded, and its circuits fused. The crystal rods shattered into black snowflakes. C’tair’s face bore a strangled expression; his features tightened as if in unspeakable pain. Synapses melted inside his brain, preventing him from uttering a sound.

With his one remaining hand, Rhombur yanked the sensor leads from the rebel’s head and neck, but C’tair collapsed to the floor of the storage chamber. His teeth chattered, his body twitched, and his smoking eyes never opened again.

“He’s gone,” Gurney said.

In a deep well of sadness, Rhombur cradled the fallen rebel, this most loyal of all people who had ever served House Vernius. “After such a long fight, sleep in peace, my friend. Rest well on free soil.” He stroked the cooling skin.

The cyborg Prince stood, his scarred face more grim than ever, and made his way out of the storage chamber, followed by Gurney Halleck. Rhombur did not know if C’tair’s transmission had succeeded, or how the Guild might respond to the call across space, if they heard it at all.

But unless they received reinforcements soon, the day’s battle might be for naught.

The Ixian nobleman spoke in a deep, implacable voice to the Atreides fighters around him. “Let us finish this.”