So soft! he thought.
“All secure, Sire,” Halleck said.
Leto fed power to the wings, felt them cup and dip—once, twice. They were airborne in ten meters, wings feathered tightly and afterjets thrusting them upward in a steep, hissing climb.
“Southeast over the Shield Wall,” Kynes said. “That’s where I told your sandmaster to concentrate his equipment.”
“Right.”
The Duke banked into his air cover, the other craft taking up their guard positions as they headed southeast.
“The design and manufacture of these stillsuits bespeaks a high degree of sophistication,” the Duke said.
“Someday I may show you a sietch factory,” Kynes said.
“I would find that interesting,” the Duke said. “I note that suits are manufactured also in some of the garrison cities.”
“Inferior copies,” Kynes said. “Any Dune man who values his skin wears a Fremen suit.”
“And it’ll hold your water loss to a thimbleful a day?”
“Properly suited, your forehead cap tight, all seals in order, your major water loss is through the palms of your hands,” Kynes said. “You can wear suit gloves if you’re not using your hands for critical work, but most Fremen in the open desert rub their hands with juice from the leaves of the creosote bush. It inhibits perspiration.”
The Duke glanced down to the left at the broken landscape of the Shield Wall—chasms of tortured rock, patches of yellow-brown crossed by black lines of fault shattering. It was as though someone had dropped this ground from space and left it where it smashed.
They crossed a shallow basin with the clear outline of gray sand spreading across it from a canyon opening to the south. The sand fingers ran out into the basin—a dry delta outlined against darker rock.
Kynes sat back, thinking about the water-fat flesh he had felt beneath the stillsuits. They wore shield belts over their robes, slow pellet stunners at the waist, coin-sized emergency transmitters on cords around their necks. Both the Duke and his son carried knives in wrist sheathes and the sheathes appeared well worn. The people struck Kynes as a strange combination of softness and armed strength. There was a poise to them totally unlike the Harkonnens.
“When you report to the Emperor on the change of government here, will you say we observed the rules?” Leto asked. He glanced at Kynes, back to their course.
“The Harkonnens left; you came,” Kynes said.
“And is everything as it should be?” Leto asked.
Momentary tension showed in the tightening of a muscle along Kynes’ jaw. “As Planetologist and Judge of the Change, I am a direct subject of the Imperium... my Lord.”
The Duke smiled grimly. “But we both know the realities.”
“I remind you that His Majesty supports my work.”
“Indeed? And what is your work?”
In the brief silence, Paul thought: He’s pushing this Kynes too hard. Paul glanced at Halleck, but the minstrel-warrior was staring out at the barren landscape.
Kynes spoke stiffly: “You, of course, refer to my duties as planetologist.”
“Of course.”
“It is mostly dry land biology and botany... some geological work—core drilling and testing. You never really exhaust the possibilities of an entire planet.”
“Do you also investigate the spice?”
Kynes turned, and Paul noted the hard line of the man’s cheek. “A curious question, my Lord.”
“Bear in mind, Kynes, that this is now my fief. My methods differ from those of the Harkonnens. I don’t care if you study the spice as long as I share what you discover.” He glanced at the planetologist. “The Harkonnens discouraged investigation of the spice, didn’t they?”
Kynes stared back without answering.
“You may speak plainly,” the Duke said, “without fear for your skin.”
“The Imperial Court is, indeed, a long way off,” Kynes muttered. And he thought: What does this water-soft invader expect? Does he think me fool enough to enlist with him?
The Duke chuckled, keeping his attention on their course. “I detect a sour note in your voice, sir. We’ve waded in here with our mob of tame killers, eh? And we expect you to realize immediately that we’re different from the Harkonnens?”
“I’ve seen the propaganda you’ve flooded into sietch and village,” Kynes said. “‘Love the good Duke!’ Your corps of—”
“Here now!” Halleck barked. He snapped his attention away from the window, leaned forward.
Paul put a hand on Halleck’s arm.
“Gurney!” the Duke said. He glanced back. “This man’s been long under the Harkonnens.”
Halleck sat back. “Ayah.”
“Your man Hawat’s subtle,” Kynes said, “but his object’s plain enough.”
“Will you open those bases to us, then?” the Duke asked.
Kynes spoke curtly: “They’re His Majesty’s property.”
“They’re not being used.”
“They could be used.”
“Does His Majesty concur?”
Kynes darted a hard stare at the Duke. “Arrakis could be an Eden if its rulers would look up from grubbing for spice!”
He didn’t answer my question, the Duke thought. And he said: “How is a planet to become an Eden without money?”
“What is money,” Kynes asked, “if it won’t buy the services you need?”
Ah, now! the Duke thought. And he said: “We’ll discuss this another time. Right now, I believe we’re coming to the edge of the Shield Wall. Do I hold the same course?”
“The same course,” Kynes muttered.
Paul looked out his window. Beneath them, the broken ground began to drop away in tumbled creases toward a barren rock plain and a knife-edged shelf. Beyond the shelf, fingernail crescents of dunes marched toward the horizon with here and there in the distance a dull smudge, a darker blotch to tell of something not sand. Rock outcroppings, perhaps. In the heat-addled air, Paul couldn’t be sure.
“Are there any plants down there?” Paul asked.
“Some,” Kynes said. “This latitude’s life-zone has mostly what we call minor water stealers—adapted to raiding each other for moisture, gobbling up the trace-dew. Some parts of the desert teem with life. But all of it has learned how to survive under these rigors. If you get caught down there, you imitate that life or you die.”
“You mean steal water from each other?” Paul asked. The idea outraged him, and his voice betrayed his emotion.
“It’s done,” Kynes said, “but that wasn’t precisely my meaning. You see, my climate demands a special attitude toward water. You are aware of water at all times. You waste nothing that contains moisture.”
And the Duke thought: “... my climate!”
“Come around two degrees more southerly, my Lord,” Kynes said. “There’s a blow coming up from the west.”
The Duke nodded. He had seen the billowing of tan dust there. He banked the ‘thopter around, noting the way the escort’s wings reflected milky orange from the dust-refracted light as they turned to keep pace with him.
“This should clear the storm’s edge,” Kynes said.
“That sand must be dangerous if you fly into it,” Paul said. “Will it really cut the strongest metals?”
“At this altitude, it’s not sand but dust,” Kynes said. “The danger is lack of visibility, turbulence, clogged intakes.”
“We’ll see actual spice mining today?” Paul asked.
“Very likely,” Kynes said.
Paul sat back. He had used the questions and hyperawareness to do what his mother called “registering” the person. He had Kynes now—tone of voice, each detail of face and gesture. An unnatural folding of the left sleeve on the man’s robe told of a knife in an arm sheath. The waist bulged strangely. It was said that desert men wore a belted sash into which they tucked small necessities. Perhaps the bulges came from such a sash—certainly not from a concealed shield bel
t. A copper pin engraved with the likeness of a hare clasped the neck of Kynes’ robe. Another smaller pin with similar likeness hung at the corner of the hood which was thrown back over his shoulders.
Halleck twisted in the seat beside Paul, reached back into the rear compartment and brought out his baliset. Kynes looked around as Halleck tuned the instrument, then returned his attention to their course.
“What would you like to hear, young Master?” Halleck asked.
“You choose, Gurney,” Paul said.
Halleck bent his ear close to the sounding board, strummed a chord and sang softly:“Our fathers ate manna in the desert,
In the burning places where whirlwinds came.
Lord, save us from that horrible land!
Save us... oh-h-h-h, save us
From the dry and thirsty land.”
Kynes glanced at the Duke, said: “You do travel with a light complement of guards, my Lord. Are all of them such men of many talents?”
“Gurney?” The Duke chuckled. “Gurney’s one of a kind. I like him with me for his eyes. His eyes miss very little.”
The planetologist frowned.
Without missing a beat in his tune, Halleck interposed:“For I am like an owl of the desert, o!
Aiyah! am like an owl of the des-ert!”
The Duke reached down, brought up a microphone from the instrument panel, thumbed it to life, said: “Leader to Escort Gemma. Flying object at nine o’clock, Sector B. Do you identify it?”
“It’s merely a bird,” Kynes said, and added: “You have sharp eyes.”
The panel speaker crackled, then: “Escort Gemma. Object examined under full amplification. It’s a large bird.”
Paul looked in the indicated direction, saw the distant speck: a dot of intermittent motion, and realized how keyed up his father must be. Every sense was at full alert.
“I’d not realized there were birds that large this far into the desert,” the Duke said.
“That’s likely an eagle,” Kynes said. “Many creatures have adapted to this place.”
The ornithopter swept over a bare rock plain. Paul looked down from their two thousand meters’ altitude, saw the wrinkled shadow of their craft and escort. The land beneath seemed flat, but shadow wrinkles said otherwise.
“Has anyone ever walked out of the desert?” the Duke asked.
Halleck’s music stopped. He leaned forward to catch the answer.
“Not from the deep desert,” Kynes said. “Men have walked out of the second zone several times. They’ve survived by crossing the rock areas where worms seldom go.”
The timbre of Kynes’ voice held Paul’s attention. He felt his sense come alert the way they were trained to do.
“Ah-h, the worms,” the Duke said. “I must see one sometime.”
“You may see one today,” Kynes said. “Wherever there is spice, there are worms.”
“Always?” Halleck asked.
“Always.”
“Is there a relationship between worm and spice?” the Duke asked.
Kynes turned and Paul saw the pursed lips as the man spoke. “They defend spice sands. Each worm has a—territory. As to the spice... who knows? Worm specimens we’ve examined lead us to suspect complicated chemical interchanges within them. We find traces of hydrochloric acid in the ducts, more complicated acid forms elsewhere. I’ll give you my monograph on the subject.”
“And a shield’s no defense?” the Duke asked.
“Shields!” Kynes sneered. “Activate a shield within the worm zone and you seal your fate. Worms ignore territory lines, come from far around to attack a shield. No man wearing a shield has ever survived such attack.”
“How are worms taken, then?”
“High voltage electrical shock applied separately to each ring segment is the only known way of killing and preserving an entire worm,” Kynes said. “They can be stunned and shattered by explosives, but each ring segment has a life of its own. Barring atomics, I know of no explosive powerful enough to destroy a large worm entirely. They’re incredibly tough.”
“Why hasn’t an effort been made to wipe them out?” Paul asked.
“Too expensive,” Kynes said. “Too much area to cover.”
Paul leaned back in his corner. His truthsense, awareness of tone shadings, told him that Kynes was lying and telling half-truths. And he thought: If there’s a relationship between spice and worms, killing the worms would destroy the spice.
“No one will have to walk out of the desert soon,” the Duke said. “Trip these little transmitters at our necks and rescue is on its way. All our workers will be wearing them before long. We’re setting up a special rescue service.”
“Very commendable,” Kynes said.
“Your tone says you don’t agree,” the Duke said.
“Agree? Of course I agree, but it won’t be much use. Static electricity from sandstorms masks out many signals. Transmitters short out. They’ve been tried here before, you know. Arrakis is tough on equipment. And if a worm’s hunting you there’s not much time. Frequently, you have no more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“What would you advise?” the Duke asked.
“You ask my advice?”
“As planetologist, yes.”
“You’d follow my advice?”
“If I found it sensible.”
“Very well, my Lord. Never travel alone.”
The Duke turned his attention from the controls. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. Never travel alone.”
“What if you’re separated by a storm and forced down?” Halleck asked. “Isn’t there anything you could do?”
“Anything covers much territory,” Kynes said.
“What would you do?” Paul asked.
Kynes turned a hard stare at the boy, brought his attention back to the Duke. “I’d remember to protect the integrity of my stillsuit. If I were outside the worm zone or in rock, I’d stay with the ship. If I were down in open sand, I’d get away from the ship as fast as I could. About a thousand meters would be far enough. Then I’d hide beneath my robe. A worm would get the ship, but it might miss me.”
“Then what?” Halleck asked.
Kynes shrugged. “Wait for the worm to leave.”
“That’s all?” Paul asked.
“When the worm has gone, one may try to walk out,” Kynes said. “You must walk softly, avoid drum sands, tidal dust basins—head for the nearest rock zone. There are many such zones. You might make it.”
“Drum sand?” Halleck asked.
“A condition of sand compaction,” Kynes said. “The slightest step sets it drumming. Worms always come to that.”
“And a tidal dust basin?” the Duke asked.
“Certain depressions in the desert have filled with dust over the centuries. Some are so vast they have currents and tides. All will swallow the unwary who step into them.”
Halleck sat back, resumed strumming the baliset. Presently, he sang:“Wild beasts of the desert do hunt there,
Waiting for the innocents to pass.
Oh-h-h, tempt not the gods of the desert,
Lest you seek a lonely epitaph.
The perils of the—”
He broke off, leaned forward. “Dust cloud ahead, Sire.”
“I see it, Gurney.”
“That’s what we seek,” Kynes said.
Paul stretched up in the seat to peer ahead, saw a rolling yellow cloud low on the desert surface some thirty kilometers ahead.
“One of your factory crawlers,” Kynes said. “It’s on the surface and that means it’s on spice. The cloud is vented sand being expelled after the spice has been centrifugally removed. There’s no other cloud quite like it.”
“Aircraft over it,” the Duke said.
“I see two... three... four spotters,” Kynes said. “They’re watching for wormsign.”
“Wormsign?” the Duke asked.
“A sandwave moving toward the crawler. They’ll have seismic pro
bes on the surface, too. Worms sometimes travel too deep for the wave to show.” Kynes swung his gaze around the sky. “Should be a carryall wing around, but I don’t see it.”
“The worm always comes, eh?” Halleck asked.
“Always.”
Paul leaned forward, touched Kynes’ shoulder. “How big an area does each worm stake out?”
Kynes frowned. The child kept asking adult questions.
“That depends on the size of the worm.”
“What’s the variation?” the Duke asked.
“Big ones may control three or four hundred square kilometers. Small ones—” He broke off as the Duke kicked on the jet brakes. The ship bucked as its tail pods whispered to silence. Stub wings elongated, cupped the air. The craft became a full ‘thopter as the Duke banked it, holding the wings to a gentle beat, pointing with his left hand off to the east beyond the factory crawler.
“Is that wormsign?”
Kynes leaned across the Duke to peer into the distance.
Paul and Halleck were crowded together, looking in the same direction, and Paul noted that their escort, caught by the sudden maneuver, had surged ahead, but now was curving back. The factory crawler lay ahead of them, still some three kilometers away.
Where the Duke pointed, crescent dune tracks spread shadow ripples toward the horizon and, running through them as a level line stretching into the distance, came an elongated mount-in-motion—a cresting of sand. It reminded Paul of the way a big fish disturbed the water when swimming just under the surface.
“Worm,” Kynes said. “Big one.” He leaned back, grabbed the microphone from the panel, punched out a new frequency selection. Glancing at the grid chart on rollers over their heads, he spoke into the microphone: “Calling crawler at Delta Ajax niner. Wormsign warning. Crawler at Delta Ajax niner. Wormsign warning. Acknowledge, please.” He waited.
The panel speaker emitted static crackles, then a voice: “Who calls Delta Ajax niner? Over.”
“They seem pretty calm about it,” Halleck said.
Kynes spoke into the microphone: “Unlisted flight—north and east of you about three kilometers. Wormsign is on intercept course, your position, estimated contact twenty-five minutes.”
Dune (40th Anniversary Edition) Page 15
