Mélange is the financial crux of CHOAM activities. Without this spice, Bene Gesserit Reverend Mothers could not perform feats of observation and human control, Guild Navigators could not see safe pathways across space, and billion of Imperial citizens would die of addictive withdrawal. Any simpleton knows that such dependence on a single commodity leads to abuse. We are all at risk.

--CHOAM Economic Analysis of Material Flow Patterns.

Three years. I have been condemned to this hellhole of a planet for three years. And I have yet to avenge my Duke!

The thought came as it always did: every evening as the sun set on the desert terrain, darkening the wastelands so that life could roam unobserved. Keenly aware of Theresa's eyes on his back, Adan ignored her and returned to his grim musings. And now, I learn that Gurney is missing. What could have happened? Even thirty Sardaukar could not prevent him from escaping to avenge the Duke! Did the Fremen's prophet, the one they call Muad'dib, catch him? And is Muad'dib Duncan? The tactics he uses…they certainly are his style…as well as Gurney's and Hawat's! Arrakis has become a world too tangled to excavate by Mentat processes.

"Bashar? I have interesting news. An unmarked 'thopter is approaching, following all standard procedures. Should we let it approach?"

Adan turned to face his trusted lieutenant, Kean Wayku. He had been a precious find, indeed: his father had often told him stories of the ex-Sardaukar who had fought alongside the Old Duke during the Ecazi Revolt. A disgraced Great House that had lost all their planets during the Third Coalsack War, the Wayku were now gypsies who operated the Guild's mass-transit craft. Ancient surrender terms forbade all members of their race from stepping foot on any planet in the Imperium, but the child Kean had snuck down to Salusa Secundus. Sardaukar, led by then-Bator Garon, had captured him. The feral Kean had impressed Garon, and been allowed to train alongside other Sardaukar children. Surviving in the vicious environment, Kean had left Imperial service and gone to the Atreides, where he had served alongside a young Duke Paulus and Adan's own grandfather Pablo Cepeda. After the Revolt, he had been sent as a spy to Harkonnen operations on Arrakis. He had disappeared; Adan had learned from Kean that he had married a Fremen and been raising a family in all the time he had been here. For the last two years, Kean had faithfully served Adan to avenge the lost of the Atreides Dukes.

"Does it look like Gurney's 'thopter, Kean?"

"It does, Bashar. Nothing seems amiss."

Nodding, Adan walked past his lieutenant and headed towards the landing pad. "Get about twenty troopers ready just in case. I don't like surprises."

"Right, Bashar."

Adan arrived just ahead of his soldiers and the ornithopter, which was obviously being piloted by Gurney. As soon as the motors idled, the hatch opened, and Gurney stepped out. Adan did not repress his grin; Gurney Halleck was an ugly lump of a man, with a head full of quotes and songs. It was rumored that he could kill a man as he sang, and not miss a note. As a child, he had asked him if that rumor was true. Scratching his inkvine scar, Gurney had finally replied, "I've not tried it out. When I have, I'll let you now, young Master." Ever since, Adan had greeted Gurney by asking him if he could sing and duel and not miss a note.

"Gurney-man! It's good to see you. Tell me, can you sing a song while fighting, and not miss a note?"

"I've not had chance to test it, you young imp. But I do believe that I will soon have opportunity to finally answer that question."

Warily, Adan asked, "Oh? And how are you going to do that?"

With a gesture, Gurney indicated his passenger, a man dressed in the standard Fremen jubba cloak and stillsuit, filter and hood worn. Adan focused his eyes on the other man's: the blue-within-blue of the Fremen nomads. His own eyes carried a touch of the color, but he had been careful to avoid losing his own brown eyes to spice addiction.

"I'd not of thought that you had survived the debacle of two years ago, Bashar Cepeda." The voice sounded oddly familiar, even through the filter.

"You've got me at something of a disadvantage, friend. You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"How do you know I am your friend and not your foe?"

Calmly, repressing his curiosity, Adan gestured at Gurney. "Gurney would not bring someone he viewed as a threat to us here. And I've a water bond with the Fremen. You are a friend."

Calmly, the stranger tossed the hood back and removed the filter. And all time froze. Adan's troopers, all former Atreides, stared as if they had seen a ghost. Adan himself felt as if the dead Duke Leto had returned to life, but gradually, he felt his mind fasten on the sole person this could be. "Milord Paul! We…we thought…"

"I was dead. It was safer for you all to think so."

Adan detected the hard edge of adulthood in the boy he had last seen over two years ago. The lack of apology for making all of the Atreides troops believe him dead marked just how much the lad had changed. But almost none of this mattered at present except one thing. "Long live the Duke Paul Atreides! Long live the Red Duke!"

All of Adan's men took up the cry, and it began to echo throughout the base. Adan soon bowed before the Duke and said, "Milord Duke, please allow me to return to your service."

The young man allowed a hard smile to appear on his face, reminiscent of the Old Duke Paulus. He glanced briefly at the other troops, and said, "Rise, Lord Cepeda. Your loyalty to me will not be forgotten."

It had been a hectic evening. Almost every person on base, from Adan's two-year-old son to the septuagenarian Kean Wayku, had wanted to bow before the Duke, and only now was everything coming back to the status quo. Adan stood across from Gurney and Paul as he patiently awaited an explanation.

Finally, the black-haired Duke spoke. "How much military material and soldiers are present here, Bashar?"

"We have most of a frigate's full complement of lighter, 'thopters, and combat pods. We also have almost two thousand combatants. I assume that we are going to strike at the Harkonnens?"

The hard smile appeared once more. "Much bigger game than that, Bashar. What would you say if I told you that the Emperor himself is present with five legions of Sardaukar? And that the every House has brought the whole of their military might to bear on Arrakis?"

Surprise rippled through Adan. "The sheer cost…!"

"The Guild has reduced prices to the point where they are cheaply affordable."

"But why in the seven hells would they do that?"

"Because of me."

Adan stared at his Duke, aware that Gurney was not at a similar loss. Why would they reduce their profits to non-existent over a single Duke…?

"You are surprised."

"Your pardon, Milord, but 'shocked' is the word I would have used. 'Stupefied', 'dazed', and 'bewildered' are also apt to the situation. Why would they hunt you down like this?"

A chuckle escaped Gurney. "Better take a seat, lad. The Duke explained this to me while I was standing, and I hit my head on the way down. It took most of an hour to revive me."

Adan followed Gurney's advice and soon appreciated it. "You know me as Duke Paul Atreides, Bashar. But I am also some other men. I am Muad'dib, the Fremen war leader. I am the Lisan al-Gaib, their promised Messiah. The Bene Gesserit knows me as the Kwisatz Haderach. And it is the Kwisatz Haderach that the Guild hunts for."

"Kwisatz Haderach?" Confusion was apparent in every nuance of Adan's body.

"Kwisatz Haderach, the Shortening of the Way. I am the Bene Gesserit solution to the state of the universe today. A man with their powers, and able to be many places at once. I am prescient beyond the power of even the greatest Guild Steersman. I am the master of Fate. I am the tool of Fate."

Adan wore his surprise like a badge. Finally, he recovered enough to ask, "But how? How did they manage to make you?"

"For over ten thousand years, they have been breeding humanity to produce the exact combination of genes that would result in me. I have present in me the blood of every Great and Minor House of the Imperium."

"Why would they do this? Why create you?"

"I would be the ultimate weapon. Who can fight a man who knows all the future and all the past?"

"I…see." Veering his mind away from the reasons for the battle to come, Adan focused on how to fight it. "Milord, forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but there are details for this battle to settle."

Gurney laughed, though Adan's trained ears detected strain. "Not to worry lad. We've a wonder of a battle in mind."

Excitement gripped Adan and all the rest of his men. They were in position to execute the beautifully elegant plan Duke Paul had developed. He and Kean were waiting patiently outside of a cave, keeping watch on the Harkonnen and Imperial activity. "Look at that monstrosity the Emperor brought! It's a fanmetal palace at least 20 stories high! Probably packed with all the typical court parasites." Adan shifted his oil lenses. "The scum are securing their 'thopters now. Doubt that those crazy Fremen will attack with a sandstorm like this one coming."

"I would too. Right now, the only thing on my mind is finding a nice safe hole where I can let this pass me by. But no-o-o-o, I'm going to be right behind that damned storm and fighting it out with Imperial Sardaukar and Harkonnen mercenaries. And here I wanted to spend my old age in decent comfort."

The third member of their group, one of the Fedaykin—death commandoes—replied, "But Bator Wayku, you do not look older than thirty."

"My friend, the spice can only slow aging by half…an effect which my lovely wife often negates."

Adan ignored the banter, focusing on a flicker of movement from the Old Gap. "There's the ground car. I wonder how the Duke's pet Sardaukar are feeling?"

The ground car headed toward the massive hutment. Soon thereafter, a shimmer appeared all around the area. "The shield is up, and it's all the way to the spice storage yards." Kean observed. "I think they know who is coming for them."

A wolfish grin came across the younger man's face. "Good for them." he shifted his lenses to the hutment. "Now, here's the moment of truth. If they raise the Duke's black-and-green banner, all we have to do is kill the Harkonnens. But if not, then…" He returned his gaze to the mobile palace the Emperor had brought, and noticed the flag they raised: yellow, with a black and red circle centered. "My, the Emperor doesn't seem to acknowledge defeat. I guess the Duke's Fedaykin will have to show him."

"What do you mean?"

Handing Kean the lens, Adan began to explain. "He raised the CHOAM flag. He's telling the other armies in orbit that he doesn't care if an Atreides is here or not. He's telling them where the profit is. Now we have to tell him that it's here, and it's not for him."

Turning toward his Fedaykin lieutenant, he grinned. "Well, Taman. It looks like we fight alongside each other once again."

The death commando smiled. "Yes, Bashar. But I warn you that this time, you won't get as many Harkonnens as you did on Giedi Prime."

"I'll take that as a challenge! Any word on how soon the storm will hit?"

"Soon. A great-great-grandmother of a storm, obeying the call of Muad'Dib."

Adan nodded, not wanting to offend the fanatical death commando sworn to Muad'Dib. The Fremen all believed that Duke Paul was their Mahdi, their Messiah meant to make the desert wastes into an abundant paradise. While he disapproved of the religious prattle they associated with the Duke, Adan was only a warrior for House Atreides. As such, it did not concern him. Adan shuddered when he thought of the potential jihad that the Duke's mad Fremen hordes might unleash on an unsuspecting Imperium.

"Bashar? We've just received the signal to take cover from Warmaster Halleck. He's getting ready to activate the atomics!"

"Inside you two! We don't want to be blinded before we kill the Harkonnens!"

No sooner had the trio rejoined the other Atreides and Fedaykin troops than the Old Gap was blasted apart by an Atreides stoneburner. The full might of the storm crashed in on the suddenly vulnerable Harkonnen positions. Ornithopters came in the storms' aftermath and destroyed enemy air cover. And then the worms came, mounted by Fremen screaming "Long live the fighters of Muad'Dib!"

Count Glossu Rabban had not seen his little brother in almost a year. He was impressed with how the youth had matured into a formidable young man. Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was over forty years younger than Rabban, and obviously the smarter of the two. Rabban himself understood that he was little more than an enforcer, while Feyd truly had the intelligence, cunning, and viciousness needed to succeed their old Uncle Vladimir. The patrol their uncle had ordered them on gave them time for Rabban to query his brother.

Rabban had questioned his brother on rumors that the Baron had added him to his list of special 'candidates', a family euphemism for the young boys the Baron enjoyed his perversions on. Feyd had sullenly refused to answer, which confirmed the rumors in Rabban's mind. He also questioned the lad on his combat proficiency, skills he proven time and again against over one thousand slave gladiators. Now, however, they were focusing on patrolling the perimeter in case the mad Fremen attacked at such a time.

"I keep telling you, brother. The Fremen are not mad enough to attack. Not with this Great Mother of a storm coming."

Bullish Rabban glared at the wiry youth. "Feyd, when you've spent most of your life battling the Fremen scum and wringing the sands for spice, then will your opinion here on Arrakis be useful. Until then, shut up and keep your eyes open!"

A small moue of scorn contorted Feyd's face, but before he could belittle his brother, the sky lit up with an unnatural light. Turning to where the light came from, Rabban's entire brigade froze.

Where the Old Gap had been, there was now a massive breach in the Shield Wall. And the storm they had been so sure would not harm them was now approaching at high speed.

"All of you! Find cover!" Rabban ordered. Dragging his brother into a nearby crevice, he was soon stopped by a sight he had never thought to see. In the blur left behind by the storm, Fremen seemed to be falling from the sky, but as he focused, he saw what was truly happening: the Fremen were sliding off the sandworms!

Adan grouped his troops around him and charged the Harkonnen perimeter. The Duke had assigned him to destroy whatever enemy soldiers the 'thopters missed. Fedaykin and Atreides men butchered shocked Harkonnen mercenaries. Turning away from a dead Harkonnen, Adan activated the explosives they had secreted into the shields. A great roar sounded, and the shield glimmer faded away. Atreides snipers in position then followed their orders to add insult to injury. With a preciseness Adan admired, purple lasbeams shot off the nose of the Emperor's ship, grounding it. He then resumed killing the blue-liveried Harkonnens…

Beast Rabban fought ferociously. The mad Fremen scum had caught him by surprise, but his own combative streak refused to let him go down without a fight. Turning away from a writhing Fremen he had stabbed with a slip-tip, he looked around for new prey. When he caught sight of the man he presumed to be their commander, he charged.

Adan's kindjal slipped past an enemy's shield at the precise speed—not too fast, nor too slow—and cut up the aorta. An inarticulate bellow attracted his attention, and he quickly pulled out his knife from the dying man to meet the new threat. Ahh, Beast Rabban himself!

Adan's eyes evaluated the big man as he charged. Low-built, gross of face and body, with some rigidity to the fat to indicate superb physical conditioning, the Beast would not be an easy victory. Sword out, kindjal held in a reverse grip so that the blade lay on his forearm, Adan waited for Rabban to come to him.

Rabban roared. "I know you! You're the Atreides scum who damaged my monitor!"

Adan bowed mockingly. "Don't forget the part about my blowing up Mt. Ebony and the Baron's spice stockpile. Much as I'd rather let Gurney Halleck kill you, I do believe the task falls to me."

"Gurney Halleck! That slave-rubbish isn't dead yet?"

"He's waited many a year for his revenge, Rabban. I shall complete it for him, since you're too dangerous to leave alive."

Rabban smiled as he thought back to the incident that earned him Gurney's eternal hatred. Gurney had been a slave at the quartz quarries, captured when he tried to rescue his sister from a Harkonnen pleasure house. Gurney had attacked Rabban when the Beast had visited his quarry. Expecting a weakling, Gurney was surprised by Rabban's speed, which allowed him to dodge. Rabban had used his inkvine to disfigure Gurney's face with a long rippling scar. In retaliation for the attack, Rabban had then murdered everyone in Gurney's home village of Dmitri, including Gurney's parents. As for the sister, Rabban had had her raped before Gurney's eyes. After several of his men had had their turns, Rabban himself assaulted the girl, then broken her neck. The memory of that double pleasure had never faded.

"Hai, Harkonnen! Are you prepared to die?" Adan said, the traditional challenge of single combat.

"Hai! Is the Atreides ready?" Rabban replied with the traditional response.

And with that, Rabban lunged with his sword, which Adan caught on the shearing-guard of his kindjal. Twisting it away from his body, Adan lashed out with his sword, and successfully forced the Beast to drop his slip-tip. Resuming his offensive, Adan noted the look of glee Rabban had on. Since the Beast was staring at a point behind him, Adan leapt out of the way, and was unsurprised when a youth with unruly black hair went past him, knife in hand, and collided with Rabban.

Feyd was shocked. Not only had the Atreides evaded his attack, but also his own brother had been stabbed instead. Getting up, he fled toward the hutment and the Sardaukar fighting with the Fremen, ignoring his brother's cry for help.

The weakened Rabban stared upward at the Atreides. He feebly tried to lunge at him, but Adan sidestepped too quickly. Kicking away Rabban's sword, Adan whispered, "My name is Lord Adan Cepeda. Remember my name on your journey to whatever hells there may be!"

Thrusting with his kindjal, Adan gouged out the Beast's eyes and hit the brain. With a single vicious slash from his sword, he finished the grisly task by beheading Rabban, and then turned his attention to the hutment. He noted the frenzied Sardaukar defense, and shouted in Atreides battle language for his troops to focus their attack there.

Captain Aramsham was not having a good day. After being freed by the Fremen leader Muad'Dib, who was really the Duke Atreides, he had fled back to the Emperor. Barely an hour after he had given his report, the Old Gap had been blasted apart, and for the first time in their history, the Imperial Sardaukar had stood awed by an onslaught they had never encountered. Sandstorms raging, while sandworms ridden by men approached them! Now, he was fighting for his life, dueling with madmen. Even as he killed a Fremen, he felt a knife slip in through his shield, and the world dissolved into nothingness…

Adan threw the knife he had used on the Sardaukar. Instinct had told him not to kill the man, so he had instead used a captured Harkonnen knife that contained a sleeper toxin. He watched as the thrown knife lodged in an enemy throat, then resumed killing. It was almost nightfall, and the enemy lines were almost broken. With a horrible shout, Adan led the final charge that crushed the mighty Sardaukar.

Morning found Paul restored to the old Residency that had been his father's ducal palace. The Emperor's legions had been crushed; the old Baron and his nephew Rabban were dead. Taman had not known of the Baron's death until the Lisan al-Gaib had said it aloud to the gathered guards and leaders…before those gathered had whispered a word of it to him. Even now, he had sent a captured Sardaukar to the Emperor, using the bond of the Great Convention to guarantee his safety. Taman stood at attention, lance in hand, as the Imperial party arrived. He watched each man, his gaze falling briefly on one who looked like the Mahdi's father, excepting the color of his hair and eyes. That one must be the Emperor. It is said that the Duke Leto and the Emperor Shaddam were kinsmen.

Resuming his examination, he noted a stunning blonde woman, green-eyed, haughty and undefeated. She seemed similar to the Reverend Mother Jessica, the Mahdi's mother. There was an undeniable resemblance to the Emperor, making it obvious to Taman that she was his daughter.

So, the daughter of the snake… Adan thought as soon as he laid eyes on Princess Irulan Corrino. Chastising himself, he added the thought, Grief for a woman has no place here! Your son still lives, even if the mother died because of those damned Sardaukar!

This thought brought up another part of the Duke's plan: seize the Emperorship by marrying Shaddam's daughter and heir. Not for love, because Adan could bet a frigate full of spice that Paul had never met her face to face. But for power, as was often the way of the Great Houses of the Landsraad. Suddenly, the Duke said, "There's Thufir Hawat. Let him stand free, Gurney."

"M'Lord," Gurney said.

"Let him stand free."

Adan focused attention solely on the shambling old man who neared Paul. He was almost moved to tears at the sight. Rheumy eyes peered at the Duke, measuring the young man who had replaced the boy he had trained. The tension was palpable as Paul approached the ancient Mentat Master of Assassins.

Hawat's gaze moved beyond Paul, settling on his mother. "Lady Jessica, I but learned this day how I've wronged you in my thoughts. You needn't forgive."

Paul paused, and then spoke. "Thufir, old friend. As you can see, my back is toward no door."

"The universe is full of doors," the old Mentat rasped feebly.

"Am I my father's son?"

"More like your grandfather's. You've his manner and the look of him in your eyes."

"Yet I am my father's son. For I say to you, Thufir, that in payment for your years of service to my family you may now ask anything of me. Anything at all. Do you need my life, Thufir? It is yours."

Adan stared, uncomprehending. What in the seven hells was going on? His question was answered when he read the Duke's lips, whispering something to his old teacher. Paul had said, "I mean this, Thufir. If you're to strike me, do it now."

"I but wanted to stand before you once more, my Duke." And Adan became aware of a sudden trembling in Hawat's body. Paul placed his hands on Hawat's shoulders.

"Is there pain, old friend?"

"There is pain, my Duke. But the pleasure is greater." Turning, Hawat extended his left hand, exposing the needle pressed into his palm. "See, Majesty? See your traitor's needle? Did you think that I who've given my life to service of the Atreides would give them less now?"

Adan watched the old man sag into the Duke's arms, full realization in his mind. Hawat had given his life for the Duke! Given a choice between dishonorable life and honorable death, the man had made his without hesitation, using the offered life to be near one who had been like a son to him. Adan tuned out of the world as he remembered the old Mentat. Too soon, the Duke brought him back to reality.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot about them." Adan focused as Paul settled his gaze on two Guildsmen. Both were fat men dresses in gray, and when Paul saw them, he whispered something to Gurney, and then he spoke aloud.

"You two," he said, pointing. "Get out of there immediately and dispatch messages that will get that fleet on its way home. After this, you'll ask my permission before—"

"The Guild doesn't take your orders!" That was the taller of the two, and Adan watched as they pushed their way to the barrier lances, which were raised at Paul's gesture. The taller Guildsman leveled an arm at the Duke while saying, "You may very well be under embargo for your—"

"If I hear any more nonsense from either of you, I'll give the order that'll destroy all spice production on Arrakis…forever."

"Are you mad?" The Guildsmen recoiled. Adan smiled. He had known of this part of the plan, knowing that it was the best weapon they had against the whole of the Imperium, despite of the slaughter that would ensue if they did carry out the threat.

"You grant that I have the power to do this thing then?"

Adan focused on the look of the lost that the Guildsman wore after Paul had spoken to him. Mentat processes revealed the man's true identity to Adan. He's a Guild Navigator!

Navigators were creatures of the Guild. They were the only ones able to see a clear path across space, operating the Holtzmann generators that folded space, allowing them to cross parsecs within an instant. No one ever saw a Navigator, and Adan was shocked at the presence of one on Arrakis right now.

"Yes, you could, but you must not," the tall fat man finally said.

Duke Paul had arrived at the same conclusion that Adan had, and shared it, though there was no need of it. He's playing to the Devil's Gallery. He learned from Duncan well. Truly, he is a formidable Duke.

The shorter Guildsman suddenly said, "You would blind yourself, too, and condemn us all to slow death. Have you any idea what it means to be deprived of the spice liquor once you're addicted?"

"The eye that looks ahead to the safe course is closed forever." The Duke was mocking them viciously; he reminded them of the opportunities the Guild had missed. "The Guild is crippled. Humans become little isolated clusters on their isolated planets. You know, I might do this thing out of pure spite…or ennui."

"Let us talk this over privately. I'm sure we can come to some compromise that is—"

"Do it!" Duke Paul barked, his anger made more dramatic by his black-black hair accentuating the blue-within-blue eyes. "The power to destroy a thing is the absolute control over it. You've agreed I have that power. We are not here to discuss or to negotiate or to compromise. You will obey my orders or suffer the immediate consequences!"

"He means it," the shorter Guildsman said. Adan was sure that everyone in the hall could see their utter terror—and resignation—as they headed toward the Fremen communication equipment.

He divided his attention between the scene the Duke was playing and a sudden inspiration. Chalice Corrino, Irulan's sister, was his age. Marriage to one of the Emperor's daughters would raise his House's standing. The Duke had said that his loyalty would not be forgotten, and this was the perfect road to more strength for House Cepeda to serve House Atreides well. His fondness of Theresa was unimportant in the alliances that ran the Imperium. Once again, his attention was returned to current affairs by a single shout.

"Kanly!" Adan marked who said that ancient word, full of tradition. It meant vendetta, and only one House had a vendetta against the Atreides. He looked for the one speaking. It was the same black-haired youth who had fled from Rabban's scene of death. This was the new Baron Harkonnen?

"Your father named this vendetta, Atreides," Feyd continued. "You call me coward while you hide among your women and offer to send a lackey against me!"

Shaddam spoke, sensing opportunity. "Kanly, is it? There are strict rules for kanly." If the Harkonnen can rid me of this irritating Duke, he shall be rewarded before I destroy his House for failing me. Better yet if they die on each other's knives!

Adan watched as Gurney, the Lady Jessica, even the Duke's elfin consort Chani, attempted to dissuade the Duke from dueling the Harkonnen scum. Gurney was purpling from rage, the inkvine scar made by Rabban rippling on his face. At last, they stood aside, allowing Paul to approach. Adan focused on the brooding Emperor, who suddenly smiled. "If Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen…of my entourage…so wishes, I relieve him of all restraint and give him freedom to chose his own course in this." Shaddam waved a hand toward the Fedaykin guards. "One of your rabble has my belt and short blade. If Feyd-Rautha wishes it, he may meet you with my blade in hand."

"I wish it," the boy—Feyd—said. Adan frowned, disapproving. He's overconfident. That's an advantage the Duke can use.

"Get the Emperor's blade." Adan hurried to obey. When he returned, Paul said, "Put it on the floor there," he said, indicating with his foot. "Clear the Imperial rabble back against the wall and let the Harkonnen stand clear."

Adan obeyed, and stood at the traditional place for a vassal whose lord was in kanly: to the right of the master's hand. His eyes followed Paul's, focusing his attention on Feyd. The youth was slipping out of his torn uniform, stripping down to a fighting girdle with a mail core. Adan's trained eyes spotted the obvious signs of a trained fighter conditioned to using a shield. Before he could pick up on Feyd's style, Feyd spoke the traditional words of kanly; "Is the Atreides ready?"

Adan waited for the reply—which was always "My blade shall speak for me"—but Paul surprised him. "May thy knife chip and shatter." Then Paul gestured for Feyd to pick up the knife on the floor, which Feyd did.

"Meet your death, fool," Baron Harkonnen sneered.

"Shall we fight, cousin?" Duke Atreides replied.

Cousin? Adan was confused. While it was not unusual for Great Houses to be related by distaff lineage, House Atreides and House Harkonnen bloodlines had never mixed. The only other instance for the use of that term was courtesy to a fellow noble, another act that the Duke Atreides and Baron Harkonnen had never used with each other. Why does my Duke indulge in that useless courtesy? To remind the others that he is a noble? Why bother? The ducal signet ring announced that a while ago. So why—

He stopped watching the combatants, who were circling each other, gauging weaknesses and strengths. He looked for, and found, the Emperor's Bene Gesserit Truthsayer. She was trembling, which meant that—

It all came together sharply in Adan's head, a prime projection. They are cousins! Damn the Bene Gesserit! They must have gotten their hands on Harkonnen sperm and used it to birth the Lady Jessica! Since the old Baron was literally a faggot, that means that Beast Rabban's father was their donor! Duke Paul and Baron Harkonnen are kinsmen!

Before Adan could resolve this dilemma of loyalty, Feyd leapt, feinting with his right hand as he stabbed with his left. Paul dodged easily, resumed his study of Feyd. Annoyed, Feyd said, "Does an Atreides run or stand and fight?"

The Duke ignored the jibe, resumed his silent circling.  "Perhaps you think this dance prolongs your life a few moments. Well and good." Feyd straightened and stopped circling.

Adan focused on the Duke. He too had stopped pacing, and now stood still. Noting the slight hesitation, Adan wondered if he was feeling guilt at being forced to kill a kinsman. Please, my Duke. You may have some of his blood, but he little more than a beast. Spill his blood and end their evil!

Feyd had not missed the hesitation either. "Why prolong the inevitable? You but keep me from exercising my rights over this ball of dirt."

Once again, the Duke did not reply, seeming to be studying a point in Feyd's armor. Adan focused on the same thing his Duke was staring at. It seemed just another point of the fighting armor. Or maybe…it's more than it seems…a flipdart? The girdle shows no sign of tampering. A poisoned needle? If it is, it's very cunningly hidden. I see no sign of it.

"Why don't you speak?" Feyd demanded. Adan smiled at the unease in his tone. So, a talker, eh? Has no fondness for silence, does he? Another advantage for the Duke to exploit.

Duke also seemed amused by this weakness, Adan saw. He too wore a smile. "You smile, eh?" Feyd asked, then leaped in mid-sentence. The Duke almost failed to dodge the downward strike, and Adan saw the tip of the Emperor's blade scratch Paul's arm.

"Your own Thufir Hawat taught me some of my skills. He gave me first blood. Too bad the old fool didn't live to see it."

Big mistake, that. Thufir only taught the Atreides how to counter those combat skills of his. The whelp has no idea that his skills are flawed.

They resumed circling each other, crouched, cautious. Adan noted Feyd's elation. A minor scratch had no reason to please someone like that. If there had been poison, Adan would have understood, but he had personally put the blade through the poison snooper, which detected nothing.

"That women you were talking to. The little one. Is she something special to you? A pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?"

The Duke remained silent, though Adan knew he had a punishment in mind for the arrogant noble. Feyd leapt again, stabbing at the Duke. Adan watched the slowness of the dodge and felt a spike of fear for the Duke. At the last possible instant, he caught the attack on his crysknife's point. Feyd dodged sideways, and moved out of the way. A slight clench of his jaw indicated the Duke had slashed him.

"Treachery! He's poisoned me! I do feel poison in my arm!" Feyd shouted.

The Duke spoke up. "Only a little acid to counter the soporific on the Emperor's blade."

Adan nodded. So, that's why he was so happy. A soporific to slow down the Duke's muscle responses. And since it's not a poison, the snooper missed it. A feint within a feint within a feint, all of them lethal. The whelp learned from Thufir well.

Feyd resumed the offensive, coming in close, and soon, the two nobles were grappling with each other, trying to bring their knives to bear. The Duke forced a turn to the right, but an odd motion from Feyd's left side forced him to sag, throwing off his footing enough for Feyd to throw him to the floor. Adan tensed, prepared to call Feyd out if he succeeded in killing the Duke. Kanly forbade outside intervention, and Adan was bound by it. Wait, why is he turning his left side to the Duke? The poisoned needle! It was on his left! Damn!

The slightest hesitation came over Feyd, and Adan was relieved to see Paul take advantage of it to reverse their positions. Paul freed his left hand, and forced his crysknife through Feyd's jaw, driving the point straight through the brain.

The last act of this drama begins. Now, pour salt into his open wounds, my Duke!

"Majesty, your force is reduced by one more. Shall we now shed pretense and sham? Shall we now discuss what must be? Your daughter wed to me and the way opened for an Atreides to sit on the throne."

Shaddam turned, looked at Count Hasimir Fenring. Fenring, the fox that hides behind the Emperor's cloak. Distaff Corrino cousin and Shaddam IV's crib companion. A genetic eunuch and one of the best fighters in the Imperium. Even more ferocious than Imperial Sardaukar!

"Do it!" Shaddam hissed.

Fenring turned his gaze on the Duke, studying the Duke. Adan recognized the look as Bene Gesserit training, surprised until he remembered that Fenring was the son of a Bene Gesserit, and had married another. So, he picked up some tricks, eh?

At last, Fenring said, "Majesty, I must refuse."

Rage stormed through Shaddam. With two steps, he cut through his entourage and to Fenring. Viciously, he cuffed the man he had grown up with.

"We have been friends, Majesty. What I do now is out of friendship. I shall forget that you have struck me." There was a deliberate lack of emphasis in Fenring's words, and Adan admired the vocal control he exhibited. Another male trained in the Bene Gesserit way. That makes three of us: Duke Paul, Count Fenring and myself.

The Duke cleared his throat, said: "We were speaking of the throne, Majesty."

Turning, the Emperor glared. "I sit on the throne!"

"You shall have a throne on Salusa Secundus."

Why does he mention the hellhole Shaddam uses as prison planet? Adan wondered. Revelation came quickly.

"I put down my arms and came here on your word of bond!" The Emperor was in a rage, and had dropped all pretense of Imperial hauteur. "You dare threaten—"

"Your person is safe in my presence. An Atreides promised it. Muad'dib, however, sentences you to your prison planet. But have no fear, Majesty. I will ease the harshness of the place with all the powers at my disposal. It shall become a garden world, full of gentle things."

"Now we see true motives," Shaddam sneered.

"Indeed."

"And what of Arrakis? Another garden world full of gentle things?"

"The Fremen have the word of Muad'dib. There will be flowing water here open to the sky, and green oases rich with good things. But we have the spice to think of, too. Thus, there must always be desert on Arrakis…and fierce winds, and trials to toughen a man. We Fremen have a saying: 'God created Arrakis to train the faithful'. One cannot go against the word of God."

By the Great Mother! Adan felt the shock of the words through his Bene Gesserit training, and his Mentat mind realized what Muad'dib intended. He would unleash these Fremen on the Imperium, in a vicious Jihad that would cover the Atreides banner in blood. While he did not doubt he would have a role in the fighting, Adan swore to himself he would permit no religious atrocities.

"You cannot loose these people on the universe!" the old Truthsayer exclaimed, evidently understanding the subtleties of Muad'dib's statement as well as Adan had.

"You will think back on the gentle ways of the Sardaukar!" the Duke snapped.

"You cannot," she whispered.

Sneering, Paul-Muad'dib said, "You're a Truthsayer. Review your words." Turning to the Emperor, the Duke said, "Best be done quickly, Majesty."

Irulan, using the soothing intonations of Voice, said, "For this I was trained, Father."

While it might have been possible for Shaddam to shrug off one Voice, two was a different matter. The old witch, harsh in her control, stated, "You cannot stay this thing."

Adan and Paul watched as Shaddam's whole body accepted the crushing defeat. Trying to recover the revenants of the pride of the Corrino lion, Shaddam's voice, thick with remembered dignity, said: "Who will negotiate for you, kinsman?"

We have won. This drama is over. But there is another one yet to begin. And I know I must be at the forefront of it.