After the messy death of Hidar Fen Ajidica, Count Fenring saw the Atreides troops actually winning their battle against the Imperial Sardaukar.

A most disturbing development.

It astonished him that after so many years Duke Leto Atreides would authorize such a blatant military move. Perhaps the family tragedies that would have crushed any other man had actually galvanized him into action.

Still, it was a brilliant surprise strategy, and these Ixian facilities would be an impressive economic prize for a Great House like Atreides, even after decades of Tleilaxu mismanagement and detrimental maintenance. Fenring couldn’t believe Duke Leto would just blithely hand them over to Prince Rhombur.

On the comscreen of the research pavilion, Fenring watched Atreides soldiers approaching the complex. That left him with little time to accomplish what was necessary. He had to erase all evidence of Project Amal and his own culpability.

The Emperor would seek a scapegoat for the research debacle, and Fenring was determined that he would not fill that role. Master Researcher Ajidica had failed spectacularly and now lay smashed among the bovine bodies of brain-dead women. Several bloated axlotl females, still connected to tubes in their coffinlike boxes, had fallen around the little man in a parody of bizarre sexuality.

Ajidica’s stigmata-studded body might serve one final purpose….

The remaining Tleilaxu scientists were frightened. The Sardaukar had rushed to the main battle and abandoned them here in the research pavilion. Knowing the Count was the Emperor’s official representative, the Tleilaxu looked to him for advice. Some of them might even believe he “Fenring” was the Face Dancer replica Zoal, as Ajidica had originally planned. Maybe they would follow his orders, at least for a short time.

Fenring stood on the catwalk and raised his hands in much the way Ajidica had done before his histrionic demise. Foul odors bubbled up from the smashed axlotl tanks, including the thick stench of human waste products.

“We are left defenseless,” he shouted, “but I have an idea that may save you all, hmmm?” The surviving researchers stared up at him with uncertainty bordering on hope.

Fenring knew the layout of the research pavilion, and his eyes flicked back and forth. “You are all too valuable for the Emperor to risk losing you.” He directed the scientists to a secure laboratory chamber that had only one exit. “You must take shelter there and remain hidden. I will bring reinforcements.”

He counted twenty-eight researchers, though a few others must be trapped in outlying administrative buildings. Ah well, the mobs would take care of them.

Fenring scuttled down from the catwalk to the main floor. When the doomed scientists had crowded into the single chamber, he stood in the doorway smiling. “No one can get to you here. Shhhh.” He nodded and then sealed the door. “Leave it to me.”

The foolish little men didn’t even imagine something was amiss until he had walked halfway across the broad floor of the pavilion. He ignored their muffled shouts and fist-hammerings. Those researchers probably knew every detail about the amal program. To keep them from talking, he might have been inconvenienced by having to kill each one of them. This way, he could take care of the problem much more efficiently, with minimal effort. As Imperial Spice Minister he was, after all, a busy man.

The lab floor and the support systems for the axlotl tanks were filled with canisters of biological hazards, flammable substances, acids, and explosive vapors. He donned a breathing filter apparatus from an emergency station on one wall. A man of many talents, he moved through the chamber like a dervish, dumping fluids, mixing liquids, releasing deadly gases. He paid little heed to the twitching female bodies in disarray on the floor, grossly reengineered by the Tleilaxu to produce synthetic spice.

So close. Ajidica’s plan had almost worked.

Fenring stopped by the sightless husk of the fertile young woman who had been Cristane, the Bene Gesserit commando. He studied her naked flesh; her abdomen bulged outward, the uterus stretched into a factory designed to serve Tleilaxu purposes. Nothing more than a machine now, a chemical facility.

As he gazed upon Cristane’s waxy face, Fenring thought of his remarkably beautiful wife Margot, still on Kaitain, no doubt gossiping at Court and sipping tea. He looked forward to getting back to her and relaxing in her arms.

This Sister Cristane would never send her damning report back to Wallach IX, and Fenring would not let any details slip, not even to his wife. He and Margot loved each other deeply, but that didn’t mean they would share all of their secrets.

Fenring heard military activity outside the buildings as Atreides forces encountered the remaining floor-level Sardaukar. The Imperial troops would hold them off for a while, long enough.

He strolled to the high-arched outer chambers and turned back to look at the chaos in the laboratory: smashed canisters, puddled noxious fluids, bubbling gases, bodies, tanks. From here, he could no longer hear the desperate pounding of the Tleilaxu scientists locked inside their death trap.

Count Fenring tossed an ignitor over his shoulder, deep into the facility. The gases and chemicals burst quickly into flames, but he had time to depart with his usual lounging gait. Concussions boomed behind him.

The laboratories burned in his wake— destroying the axlotl tanks, the amal research, and all evidence— but Fenring didn’t bother to hurry.

The research pavilion exploded as Duncan Idaho and his men penetrated the Imperial barricades, allowing the Atreides soldiers to charge forward.

A tremendous boom echoed through the facility, and everyone took cover. Debris spouted through the roof of the pavilion like a volcanic eruption; the inner walls collapsed. Within moments, the lab complex became an inferno of melted glass, plasteel, and flesh.

Duncan held his men back from the growing fire. His heart sank to know that all proof of the Tleilaxu crimes was being incinerated. Roiling brown-and-orange vapors spewed upward, toxic smoke that could kill them as surely as the flames themselves.

The Swordmaster saw a lean, broad-shouldered man stride out, totally unconcerned. His silhouette was muscular against the orange wall of heat. The man removed a breathing apparatus from his face and tossed it aside. He held a short fighting sword, such as the Sardaukar carried. Duncan raised the Old Duke’s blade in a defensive posture, stepping forward to block this man’s passage.

Count Hasimir Fenring came forward without hesitation. “Aren’t you going to cheer the fact that I’ve escaped, hmmm? Cause for celebration, I’d say. My friend Shaddam will be overjoyed.”

“I know you,” Duncan said, remembering his months of political instruction on a sun-drenched island on the Ginaz archipelago. “You’re the fox who hides behind the Emperor’s cape and commits dirty work for him.”

Fenring smiled. “A fox? I’ve been called a weasel and a ferret before, but never a fox. Hmmm. I have been held here against my will. Those evil Tleilaxu researchers meant to perform terrible experiments on me.” His large eyes widened. “I even foiled a plot that was intended to replace me with a Face Dancer duplicate.”

Duncan stepped closer, his sword half-raised. “It will be interesting to hear your testimony in front of an investigation board.”

“I think not.” Fenring seemed to be losing his sense of amusement. He slashed out with his short sword, as if swatting a fly, but Duncan parried quickly. The blades clanged, and the short sword was deflected upward, but Fenring maintained his grip on its hilt.

“You dare to raise a blade against the Emperor’s Spice Minister, against Shaddam’s closest friend?” Fenring was frustrated, though still slightly amused. “You’d best step aside and let me pass.”

But Duncan pressed forward, taking a more aggressive stance. “I am a Swordmaster of Ginaz, and I have fought many Sardaukar today. If you are not our enemy, then throw down your weapon. You would be wise not to face me as an opponent.”

“I killed men before you were even born, pup.”

The laboratory fire continued to build. The hot air stank of roiling chemicals. Duncan’s eyes stung and watered. Atreides soldiers closed in to protect their Swordmaster, but he waved them off, honor-bound to fight this one by himself.

The Count pressed his attack. He usually killed through devious means, rarely in open combat against a worthy opponent. Still, he possessed many fighting skills that Duncan had not previously encountered.

Lunging toward his rival, the Swordmaster growled through clenched teeth. “I have seen too many casualties in this fight already, but I am not averse to adding you to their number, Count Fenring.” He swung with the Old Duke’s sword, and his blade crashed against his opponent’s upthrust weapon.

Duncan fought with the finesse of a well-trained Swordmaster, but with an edge of brutality. He did not stand on ceremony or chivalrous principles, unlike many of the swordplay instructors Fenring had heard about or actually met in combat.

The Count held up the blade to defend himself, and Duncan swung down, concentrating great strength into a single blow. The Old Duke’s sword rang, and a notch appeared on the blade. But Fenring’s weapon thrummed in his hand— and shattered from the blow. The momentum knocked him into a wall.

Fenring scrambled to recover his balance, and Duncan lunged forward, ready to deal the coup de grace, but alert for anything. This fox had many tricks.

Options flashed through Fenring’s mind. If he wanted to elude the sharp point of his adversary’s blade, he could turn and run back into the raging fire of the laboratory building. Or he could surrender. His choices were indeed limited.

“The Emperor will ransom my life.” He threw down the hilt of his broken sword. “You wouldn’t dare murder me in cold blood while all these men are watching, hmmm?” Still, Duncan took a menacing step forward. “What about the famous Atreides code of honor? What does Duke Leto stand for, if his men are free to kill a person who has already surrendered, hmmm?” Fenring held up both empty hands. “You wish to slay me now?”

Duncan knew the Duke would never approve of such a dishonorable action. He watched the laboratory burn and heard the continuing shouts of violent combat outside in the grotto. No doubt Leto could find ways to use this political prisoner to stabilize the Imperial turmoil after the battle for Ix.

“I serve my Duke before I serve my own heart.” At a signal from the Swordmaster, Atreides men came forward and secured restraints to the prisoner’s wrists.

Duncan leaned close to him, his breath hot. “In the aftermath of this war, Count Hasimir Fenring, you may wish I had let you die here.”

The Spice Minister looked at him as if he knew a dark secret. “You haven’t won yet, Atreides.”