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robed representatives。 Ferretlike invader teams scoured the stalactite buildings in search of any nobles in hiding。 Face Dancer troops proved much more efficient than the reckless lower classes。
Far below； suboids reveled in the streets。。。but they didn't know what else to do。 Soon； they grew bored and went sullenly back to their old jobs。 Without Face Dancer instigators to tell them what to want or demand； the suboids had no organized meetings； no way to make their own decisions。 Their lives became the same again； under different masters； with tighter production quotas。 C'tair realized that the new Tleilaxu overseers would have to begin making enormous profits in order to pay the material costs of this takeover。
On the streets of the underground city； C'tair shuffled unnoticed among the defeated populace shift supervisors and families of mid…ranked workers who had survived the purges and had nowhere to go。 Dressed in drab clothes； he crossed damaged walkways into the ruined upper city and took lift tubes down to the rubble of the manufacturing centers。 He couldn't hide forever； but he couldn't be seen yet either。
C'tair refused to accept that the battle was already lost。 The Bene Tleilax had few friends among the Landsraad； and they certainly couldn't withstand a coordinated resistance。 Yet； Ix seemed to offer none。
Standing in a small； cowed group of pedestrians on a sidewalk made of interlocked tiles； he watched blond； chiseled…featured soldiers march by。 They wore gray…and…black uniforms definitely not Ixians or suboids； and certainly not Tleilaxu。 Tall and erect； the haughty soldiers carried stunners； wore black riot…control helmets； and enforced order。 A new order。 With horror； he recognized them。
The Emperor's Sardaukar！
The sight of Imperial troops assisting in the takeover made C'tair furious as he prehended greater depths to this conspiracy。。。but he masked his emotions in the crowd。 He couldn't allow anyone to notice him。 Around him； he heard the grumbling of Ixian natives despite Sardaukar enforcement； even the middle classes were none too content with their changed situation。 Earl Vernius had been a good…natured if somewhat preoccupied ruler； the Bene Tleilax； on the other hand； were religious fanatics with brutal rules。 Many of the freedoms Ixians took for granted would soon vanish under Tleilaxu government。
C'tair wished he could do something to get even with these treacherous invaders。 He vowed to make that his focus for as long as it might take。
As he crept along the gloomy； damaged streets on the grotto floor； it saddened him to see buildings blackened and crumbling from the ceiling。 The upper city had been gutted。 Two of the diamond pillars supporting the immense rock roof had been blown； and the resulting avalanches had buried entire blocks of suboid dwelling plexes。
With a muffled groan； C'tair realized that virtually all of the grand Ixian public artworks had been destroyed； including the stylized Guild Heighliner model that had graced Plaza Dome。 Even the beautiful fiber…optic sky on the rock ceiling was damaged and the projections were splotchy now。 The dour and fanatical Tleilaxu had never been known to appreciate art。 To them； it simply got in the way。
He remembered that Kailea Vernius had dabbled in painting and motile sculptures。 She had talked with C'tair about certain styles that were all the rage on Kaitain and had greedily absorbed any tourist images his father brought back from ambassadorial duties。 But now the art was gone； and so was Kailea。
Once again； C'tair felt paralyzed by his aloneness。
Slipping unnoticed into the ruins of a collapsed outbuilding in what had once been a botanical park； C'tair stopped suddenly； transfixed。 Something caught his eye； and he squinted to clear his vision。
Out of the smoldering rubble emerged the hazy image of a familiar old man； barely visible。 C'tair blinked could this be his imagination； a stuttering hologram from a diary…disk。。。or something else？ He hadn't eaten all day； and he was tense and weary to the point of collapse。 But still the image was there。 Wasn't it？
Through smoke and acrid fumes； he recognized the form of the old inventor Davee Rogo； the crippled genius who had befriended the twins and taught them his innovations。 As C'tair gasped； the apparition began to whisper in a frail； creaking voice。 Was it a ghost。。。a vision； a mad hallucination？ Eccentric Rogo seemed to be telling C'tair what to do； what technological ponents he needed； and how to put them all together。
〃Are you real？〃 C'tair whispered； stepping closer。 〃What are you telling me？〃
For some reason the blurry image of old Rogo did not respond to questions。 C'tair didn't understand； but he listened。 Wires and metal parts lay strewn at his feet where a machine had been wrecked by indiscriminate explosives。 These are ponents I need。
Bending over and scanning warily for unwanted observers； he gathered the pieces that stood out in his mind； along with other technological remnants： small bits of metal； plaz crystals； and electronic cells。 The old man had given him some kind of inspiration。
C'tair stuffed the items into his pockets and beneath his clothing。 Ix would change mightily under the new Tleilaxu rule； and any scrap of his civilization's precious past might prove valuable。 The Tleilaxu would confiscate everything if they found him。。。。
In the following days of haunted exploration； C'tair never saw the image of the old man again； never truly prehended what he had encountered； but he worked hard to add to his technological collection； his resources。 He would continue this battle。。。alone； if necessary。
Each night he passed under the noses of the enemy as they settled in for permanent occupation。 He ransacked empty portions of the upper and lower city； before rebuilding teams could clean up and remove unwanted memories。
Remembering what the vision of Rogo had whispered into his imagination； he began to construct。。。something。
WHEN THE ATREIDES rescue ships returned to Caladan and approached the spaceport fields of Cala City； the Old Duke made only minimal attempts at a grand wele。 The times and circumstances were too somber for the usual protocol ministers； band； and banner carriers。
Duke Atreides stood in the open air； squinting up into the cloud…dappled sunshine as the ships landed。 He wore his favorite cape of spotted whale…fur to block the brisk wind； though it did not match his patterned tunic。 All the mustered retainers and household troops waited at attention beside the receiving platform； but he didn't care about his dress； or the impression he might make。 Paulus was just glad to have his son home； and safe。
Lady Helena stood beside him； rigid…backed and dressed in a formal gown and cape； her appearance impeccable。 As the frigate settled down onto the spaceport landing area； Helena regarded her husband with an 〃I told you so〃 expression； then she posed her face into a weling smile for all to see。 No observer would ever guess at the repeated shouting matches they'd engaged in while the Heighliner was en route； bringing their son home。
〃I don't see how you could offer those two sanctuary；〃 she said； her voice qu