Another voice rumbled from the speaker: “This is Spotter Control. Sighting confirmed. Stand by for contact fix.” There was a pause, then: “Contact in twenty-six minutes minus. That was a sharp estimate. Who’s on that unlisted flight? Over.”
Halleck had his harness off and surged forward between Kynes and the Duke. “Is this the regular working frequency, Kynes?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Who’d be listening?”
“Just the work crews in this area. Cuts down interference.”
Again, the speaker crackled, then: “This is Delta Ajax niner. Who gets bonus credit for that spot? Over.”
Halleck glanced at the Duke.
Kynes said: “There’s a bonus based on spice load for whoever gives first worm warning. They want to know—”
“Tell them who had first sight of that worm,” Halleck said.
The Duke nodded.
Kynes hesitated, then lifted the microphone: “Spotter credit to the Duke Leto Atreides. The Duke Leto Atreides. Over.”
The voice from the speaker was flat and partly distorted by a burst of static: “We read and thank you.”
“Now, tell them to divide the bonus among themselves,” Halleck ordered. “Tell them it’s the Duke’s wish.”
Kynes took a deep breath, then: “It’s the Duke’s wish that you divide the bonus among your crew. Do you read? Over.”
“Acknowledged and thank you,” the speaker said.
The Duke said: “I forgot to mention that Gurney is also very talented in public relations.”
Kynes turned a puzzled frown on Halleck.
“This lets the men know their Duke is concerned for their safety,” Halleck said. “Word will get around. It was on an area working frequency—not likely Harkonnen agents heard.” He glanced out at their air cover. “And we’re a pretty strong force. It was a good risk.”
The Duke banked their craft toward the sandcloud erupting from the factory crawler. “What happens now?”
“There’s a carryall wing somewhere close,” Kynes said. “It’ll come in and lift off the crawler.”
“What if the carryall’s wrecked?” Halleck asked.
“Some equipment is lost,” Kynes said. “Get in close over the crawler, my Lord; you’ll find this interesting.”
The Duke scowled, busied himself with the controls as they came into turbulent air over the crawler.
Paul looked down, saw sand still spewing out of the metal and plastic monster beneath them. It looked like a great tan and blue beetle with many wide tracks extending on arms around it. He saw a giant inverted funnel snout poked into dark sand in front of it.
“Rich spice bed by the color,” Kynes said. “They’ll continue working until the last minute.”
The Duke fed more power to the wings, stiffened them for a steeper descent as he settled lower in a circling glide above the crawler. A glance left and right showed his cover holding altitude and circling overhead.
Paul studied the yellow cloud belching from the crawler’s pipe vents, looked out over the desert at the approaching worm track.
“Shouldn’t we be hearing them call in the carryall?” Halleck asked.
“They usually have the wing on a different frequency,” Kynes said.
“Shouldn’t they have two carryalls standing by for every crawler?” the Duke asked. “There should be twenty-six men on that machine down there, not to mention cost of equipment.”
Kynes said: “You don’t have enough ex—”
He broke off as the speaker erupted with an angry voice: “Any of you see the wing? He isn’t answering.”
A garble of noise crackled from the speaker, drowned in an abrupt override signal, then silence and the first voice: “Report by the numbers! Over.”
“This is Spotter Control. Last I saw, the wing was pretty high and circling off northwest. I don’t see him now. Over.”
“Spotter one: negative. Over.”
“Spotter two: negative. Over.”
“Spotter three: negative. Over.”
Silence.
The Duke looked down. His own craft’s shadow was just passing over the crawler. “Only four spotters, is that right?”
“Correct,” Kynes said.
“There are five in our party,” the Duke said. “Our ships are larger. We can crowd in three extra each. Their spotters ought to be able to lift off two each.”
Paul did the mental arithmetic, said: “That’s three short.”
“Why don’t they have two carryalls to each crawler?” barked the Duke.
“You don’t have enough extra equipment,” Kynes said.
“All the more reason we should protect what we have!”
“Where could that carryall go?” Halleck asked.
“Could’ve been forced down somewhere out of sight,” Kynes said.
The Duke grabbed the microphone, hesitated with thumb poised over its switch. “How could they lose sight of a carryall?”
“They keep their attention on the ground looking for wormsign,” Kynes said.
The Duke thumbed the switch, spoke into the microphone. “This is your Duke. We are coming down to take off Delta Ajax niner’s crew. All spotters are ordered to comply. Spotters will land on the east side. We will take the west. Over.” He reached down, punched out his own command frequency, repeated the order for his own air cover, handed the microphone back to Kynes.
Kynes returned to the working frequency and a voice blasted from the speaker: “... almost a full load of spice! We have almost a full load! We can’t leave that for a damned worm! Over.”
“Damn the spice!” the Duke barked. He grabbed back the microphone, said: “We can always get more spice. There are seats in our ships for all but three of you. Draw straws or decide any way you like who’s to go. But you’re going, and that’s an order!” He slammed the microphone back into Kynes’ hands, muttered: “Sorry,” as Kynes shook an injured finger.
“How much time?” Paul asked.
“Nine minutes,” Kynes said.
The Duke said: “This ship has more power than the others. If we took off under jet with three-quarter wings, we could crowd in an additional man.”
“That sand’s soft,” Kynes said.
“With four extra men aboard on a jet takeoff, we could snap the wings, Sire,” Halleck said.
“Not on this ship,” the Duke said. He hauled back on the controls as the ’thopter glided in beside the crawler. The wings tipped up, braked the ’thopter to a skidding stop within twenty meters of the factory.
The crawler was silent now, no sand spouting from its vents. Only a faint mechanical rumble issued from it, becoming more audible as the Duke opened his door.
Immediately, their nostrils were assailed by the odor of cinnamon—heavy and pungent.
With a loud flapping, the spotter aircraft glided down to the sand on the other side of the crawler. The Duke’s own escort swooped in to land in line with him.
Paul, looking out at the factory, saw how all the ’thopters were dwarfed by it—gnats beside a warrior beetle.
“Gurney, you and Paul toss out that rear seat,” the Duke said. He manually cranked the wings out to three-quarters, set their angle, checked the jet pod controls. “Why the devil aren’t they coming out of that machine?”
“They’re hoping the carryall will show up,” Kynes said. “They still have a few minutes.” He glanced off to the east.
All turned to look the same direction, seeing no sign of the worm, but there was a heavy, charged feeling of anxiety in the air.
The Duke took the microphone, punched for his command frequency, said: “Two of you toss out your shield generators. By the numbers. You can carry one more man that way. We’re not leaving any men for that monster.” He keyed back to the working frequency, barked:
“All right, you in Delta Ajax niner! Out! Now! This is a command from your Duke! On the double or I’ll cut that crawler apart with a lasgun!”
A hatch snapped open ne
ar the front of the factory, another at the rear, another at the top. Men came tumbling out, sliding and scrambling down to the sand. A tall man in a patched working robe was the last to emerge. He jumped down to a track and then to the sand.
The Duke hung the microphone on the panel, swung out onto the wing step, shouted: “Two men each into your spotters.”
The man in the patched robe began tolling off pairs of his crew, pushing them toward the craft waiting on the other side.
“Four over here!” the Duke shouted. “Four into that ship back there!” He jabbed a finger at an escort ’thopter directly behind him. The guards were just wrestling the shield generator out of it. “And four into that ship over there!” He pointed to the other escort that had shed its shield generator. “Three each into the others! Run, you sand dogs!”
The tall man finished counting off his crew, came slogging across the sand followed by three of his companions.
“I hear the worm, but I can’t see it,” Kynes said.
The others heard it then—an abrasive slithering, distant and growing louder.
“Damn sloppy way to operate,” the Duke muttered.
Aircraft began flapping off the sand around them. It reminded the Duke of a time in his home planet’s jungles, a sudden emergence into a clearing, and carrion birds lifting away from the carcass of a wild ox.
The spice workers slogged up to the side of the ’thopter, started climbing in behind the Duke. Halleck helped, dragging them into the rear.
“In you go, boys!” he snapped. “On the double!”
Paul, crowded into a corner by sweating men, smelled the perspiration of fear, saw that two of the men had poor neck adjustments on their stillsuits. He filed the information in his memory for future action. His father would have to order tighter stillsuit discipline. Men tended to become sloppy if you didn’t watch such things.
The last man came gasping into the rear, said, “The worm! It’s almost on us! Blast off!”
The Duke slid into his seat, frowning, said: “We still have almost three minutes on the original contact estimate. Is that right, Kynes?” He shut his door, checked it.
“Almost exactly, my Lord,” Kynes said, and he thought: A cool one, this duke.
“All secure here, Sire,” Halleck said.
The Duke nodded, watched the last of his escort take off. He adjusted the igniter, glanced once more at wings and instruments, punched the jet sequence.
The take-off pressed the Duke and Kynes deep into their seats, compressed the people in the rear. Kynes watched the way the Duke handled the controls—gently, surely. The ’thopter was fully airborne now, and the Duke studied his instruments, glanced left and right at his wings.
“She’s very heavy, Sire,” Halleck said.
“Well within the tolerances of this ship,” the Duke said. “You didn’t really think I’d risk this cargo, did you, Gurney?”
Halleck grinned, said: “Not a bit of it, Sire.”
The Duke banked his craft in a long easy curve—climbing over the crawler.
Paul, crushed into a corner beside a window, stared down at the silent machine on the sand. The wormsign had broken off about four hundred meters from the crawler. And now, there appeared to be turbulence in the sand around the factory.
“The worm is now beneath the crawler,” Kynes said. “You are about to witness a thing few have seen.”
Flecks of dust shadowed the sand around the crawler now. The big machine began to tip down to the right. A gigantic sand whirlpool began forming there to the right of the crawler. It moved faster and faster. Sand and dust filled the air now for hundreds of meters around.
Then they saw it!
A wide hole emerged from the sand. Sunlight flashed from glistening white spokes within it. The hole’s diameter was at least twice the length of the crawler, Paul estimated. He watched as the machine slid into that opening in a billow of dust and sand. The hole pulled back.
“Gods, what a monster!” muttered a man beside Paul.
“Got all our floggin’ spice!” growled another.
“Someone is going to pay for this,” the Duke said. “I promise you that.”
By the very flatness of his father’s voice, Paul sensed the deep anger. He found that he shared it. This was criminal waste!
In the silence that followed, they heard Kynes.
“Bless the Maker and His water,” Kynes murmured. “Bless the coming and going of Him. May His passage cleanse the world. May He keep the world for His people.”
“What’s that you’re saying?” the Duke asked.
But Kynes remained silent.
Paul glanced at the men crowded around him. They were staring fearfully at the back of Kynes’ head. One of them whispered: “Liet.”
Kynes turned, scowling. The man sank back, abashed.
Another of the rescued men began coughing—dry and rasping. Presently, he gasped: “Curse this hell hole!”
The tall Dune man who had come last out of the crawler said: “Be you still, Coss. You but worsen your cough.” He stirred among the men until he could look through them at the back of the Duke’s head. “You be the Duke Leto, I warrant,” he said. “It’s to you we give thanks for our lives. We were ready to end it there until you came along.”
“Quiet, man, and let the Duke fly his ship,” Halleck muttered.
Paul glanced at Halleck. He, too, had seen the tension wrinkles at the corner of his father’s jaw. One walked softly when the Duke was in a rage.
Leto began easing his ’thopter out of its great banking circle, stopped at a new sign of movement on the sand. The worm had withdrawn into the depths and now, near where the crawler had been, two figures could be seen moving north away from the sand depression. They appeared to glide over the surface with hardly a lifting of dust to mark their passage.
“Who’s that down there?” the Duke barked.
“Two Johnnies who came along for the ride, Scor,” said the tall Dune man.
“Why wasn’t something said about them?”
“It was the chance they took, Soor,” the Dune man said.
“My Lord,” said Kynes, “these men know it’s of little use to do anything about men trapped on the desert in worm country.”
“We’ll send a ship from base for them!” the Duke snapped.
“As you wish, my Lord,” Kynes said. “But likely when the ship gets here there’ll be no one to rescue.”
“We’ll send a ship, anyway,” the Duke said.
“They were right beside where the worm came up,” Paul said. “How’d they escape?”
“The sides of the hole cave in and make the distances deceptive,” Kynes said.
“You waste fuel here, Sire,” Halleck ventured.
“Aye, Gurney.”
The Duke brought his craft around toward the Shield Wall. His escort came down from circling stations, took up positions above and on both sides.
Paul thought about what the Dune man and Kynes had said. He sensed half-truths, outright lies. The men on the sand had glided across the surface so surely, moving in a way obviously calculated to keep from luring the worm back out of its depths.
Fremen! Paul thought. Who else would be so sure on the sand? Who else might be left out of your worries as a matter of course—because they are in no danger? They know how to live here! They know how to outwit the worm!
“What were Fremen doing on that crawler?” Paul asked.
Kynes whirled.
The tall Dune man turned wide eyes on Paul—blue within blue within blue. “Who be this lad?” he asked.
Halleck moved to place himself between the man and Paul, said: “This is Paul Atreides, the ducal heir.”
“Why says he there were Fremen on our rumbler?” the man asked.
“They fit the description,” Paul said.
Kynes snorted. “You can’t tell Fremen just by looking at them!” He looked at the Dune man. “You. Who were those men?”
“Friends of one of the
others,” the Dune man said. “Just friends from a village who wanted to see the spice sands.”
Kynes turned away. “Fremen!”
But he was remembering the words of the legend: “TheLisan al-Gaib shall see through all subterfuge. ”
“They be dead now, most likely, young Soor,” the Dune man said. “We should not speak unkindly on them.”
But Paul heard the falsehood in their voices, felt the menace that had brought Halleck instinctively into guarding position.
Paul spoke dryly: “A terrible place for them to die.”
Without turning, Kynes said: “When God hath ordained a creature to die in a particular place, He causeth that creature’s wants to direct him to that place.”
Leto turned a hard stare at Kynes.
And Kynes, returning the stare, found himself troubled by a fact he had observed here: This Duke was concerned more over the men than he was over the spice. He risked his own life and that of his son to save the men. He passed off the loss of a spice crawler with a gesture. The threat to men’s lives had him in a rage. A leader such as that would command fanatic loyalty. He would be difficult to defeat.
Against his own will and all previous judgments, Kynes admitted to himself: I like this Duke.
Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.
—from “Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
IN THE dining hall of the Arrakeen great house, suspensor lamps had been lighted against the early dark. They cast their yellow glows upward onto the black bull’s head with its bloody horns, and onto the darkly glistening oil painting of the Old Duke.
Beneath these talismans, white linen shone around the burnished reflections of the Atreides silver, which had been placed in precise arrangements along the great table—little archipelagos of service waiting beside crystal glasses, each setting squared off before a heavy wooden chair. The classic central chandelier remained unlighted, and its chain twisted upward into shadows where the mechanism of the poison-snooper had been concealed.
Dune (40th Anniversary Edition) Page 16
