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hands.
-CROWN PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO, Discourses on Galactic Leadership
AT THE HEIGHLINER CONSTRUCTION SITE in the deep caverns of Ix, glowglobes shed
garish shadows and searing reflections along girders. Beams glimmered through a
haze of caustic smoke from burned solder and fused alloys. Work bosses shouted
commands; heavy structural plates slammed together with a din that echoed off
the rock walls.
The downtrodden laborers worked as little as possible, hindering progress and
diminishing Tleilaxu profits. Even months after the beginning of construction,
the old-design Heighliner had not progressed beyond a skeletal framework.
In disguise, C'tair had joined the construction crew, welding girders and
support trusses to reinforce the cavernous cargo bay. Today, he needed to be
out in the open grotto, where he could see the artificial sky overhead.
Where he could watch the latest step in his desperate plan. . . .
After the major set of explosions he and Miral had set off two years ago, the
Masters had become even more repressive, but the Ixians were immune to further
hardships. Instead, the example of these two resistance fighters gave their
people the strength to endure. Enough "rebels," acting alone or in small groups
with sufficient determination, constituted a formidable army -- and it was a
fighting force that no amount of repression could stop.
Cut off and unaware of the situation inside Ix, Prince Rhombur continued to send
explosives and other supplies for the resistance, but only one small additional
shipment had found its way to C'tair and Miral. The Masters opened and
inspected every container. The workers at the port-of-entry canyon had changed,
and the ship pilots had been replaced. All of C'tair's surreptitious contacts
were now lost, and he was isolated again.
Still, he and Miral had been heartened to see random windows broken, internal
cargoes disrupted, and work productivity diminished even further from its
already-disgraceful pace. Just a week before, a man who had no connections to
politics, who had never called attention to himself, was caught painting garish
letters all along a highly traveled corridor: DEATH TO TLEILAXU SLIGS!
Now C'tair did a graceful catwalk along a cross-girder to reach a floating pad,
where he picked up a sonic welder. He ascended via lift platform to the top
framework of the Heighliner and looked down the kilometers-long grotto. Below
him, surveillance pods avoided the framework of the Heighliner and studied labor
troops under the cavern lights. The others on C'tair's construction squad
continued their tasks, unaware of what was about to happen. A welder in
coveralls moved closer to C'tair, and with a quick peripheral glance he noted
that it was Miral, in her own disguise. They would see this together.
Any moment now.
The embedded holoprojectors in the artificial sky flickered; clouds from the
Tleilaxu homeworld were dotted with skyscraper islands that protruded downward,
glittering with light. Once, those buildings had appeared to be crystal
stalactites; now the fairyland structures looked like old, chipped teeth set
into the rock of the Ixian crust.
With Miral standing nearby, C'tair squatted on the girder, listening to
hammering construction sounds that echoed with tinny reverberations. He looked
up like an ancient wolf staring at the moon. Waiting.
Then the illusory picture of the sky shifted, distorted, and changed color, as
if the alien clouds were gathering in a false storm. The holoprojectors
flickered and shifted to project a completely different image, one taken from
faraway Caladan. The close-up of a face filled the sky like a titanic god-head.
Rhombur had changed greatly during eighteen years of exile. He looked much more
mature, more regal, with a hard edge to his stare and determination in his deep
voice.
"I am Prince Rhombur Vernius," the projection boomed, and everyone stared
upward, gaping in awe. His mouth was as large as a Guild frigate, his lips
opening and closing to dispense words like commandments from on high. "I am the
rightful ruler of Ix, and I will return to lead you from your suffering."
Gasps and cheers erupted from all the Ixians. From their perch, C'tair and
Miral saw Sardaukar moving about in confusion, and Commander Garon shouting to
his troops to impose order. On balconies high above, Tleilaxu Masters emerged,
gesturing. Guards raced back into the administrative buildings.
C'tair and Miral enjoyed the moment, allowing themselves an exchange of bright
smiles.
"We did it," she said, words that were heard only by him in the confusion around
them.
It had taken the pair weeks to study the systems well enough to hijack the
projector controls. No one had thought to prepare for such a clever sabotage,
such a manipulative invasion of their daily environment.
In the solitary shipment that got through, Rhombur Vernius had smuggled the
recorded message, hoping they could secretly disseminate it to loyal Ixians.
The Prince had suggested talking posters or coded message bursts inside the
regular communication systems of the underground city.
But the enterprising guerrilla couple had chosen to do something far more
memorable. To Miral's credit, this had been her idea, and C'tair had perfected
many of the details.
Rhombur's face was wide and squarish, his eyes glittering with a passion any
other exiled leader would envy. His blond hair had just the right ragged edge
to give him a noble, yet disheveled, appearance. The Prince had learned a great
deal about statecraft during his years with House Atreides.
"You must rise up and overthrow these foul slave masters. They have no legal
right to give you orders or manipulate your daily lives. You must help me
return Ix to its former glory. Remove this disease called the Bene Tleilax.
Band together and use whatever means necessary to --"
Rhombur's words cut off, stuttering, as someone worked the override controls in
the main administrative complex, but the Prince's voice crackled through again,
insistent. "-- shall return. I merely await the proper time. You are not
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