Part 16 (1/2)
”You flaunt the fact that you are more than just a child, but a part of you is still - or wants to be - a girl. I had four younger sisters with whom I could interact and squabble and share secrets, whenever some nursemaid or guard wasn't watching over us in the Imperial Palace. I am sorry that you do not have even that much of a childhood, Alia.”
With an abrupt gesture, Alia swept the scorpions off her arm and back to the sands and rock in the tank. Agitated and disoriented, not knowing what had just happened in their world, the creatures began to fight each other, clacking pincers, jabbing with stingers.
”I have many childhoods - all of them in Other Memory.” She could not stop herself from adding a taunt. ”You will understand it one day, Irulan, if you ever become a Reverend Mother.”
The Princess did not rise to the bait. ”You may say that, little Alia. I know you can learn many things from Other Memory, but not everything. You need a childhood of your own.”
The desert erases all footprints.
-THE PRINCESS IRULAN, The Manual of Muad'Dib The Manual of Muad'Dib
Sietch Tabr.
Paul and his mother had gone there after fleeing from the Harkonnens so many years ago, but before that the isolated sietch had been merely one Fremen settlement, little different from all the others. Now, it was considered a sacred place. I change everything I touch, touch, Paul thought. Paul thought.
Fremen traditionalism had preserved Sietch Tabr intact even as his enormous new citadel and governmental complex continued to grow in Arrakeen under the masterful management of Whitmore Bludd. With Stilgar off on Bela Tegeuse, Gurney on Giedi Prime, and Alia left to watch the affairs of government, he and Chani came here to remember the taste of the desert again, the smells and flavors of what life had been like. They came to reconnect with themselves and to disconnect disconnect from the nonsense that continued to grow around him. The Jihad... the monster that was becoming part of him like a second skin. Fremen would understand the mystical nature of the call to find an inner refuge for the soul. from the nonsense that continued to grow around him. The Jihad... the monster that was becoming part of him like a second skin. Fremen would understand the mystical nature of the call to find an inner refuge for the soul.
After he and Chani settled into their old quarters within the rock walls, complete with familiar hangings across the door opening, Paul did not need prescience to know that his momentary peace would be interrupted soon.
For practical reasons, Paul had announced that he was going to Sietch Tabr to observe the expanded spice operations in the desert, to compliment the workers and the foremen, to praise their successes and mourn their losses. Melange, the lifeblood of his Imperium, continued to flow through the veins of the universe.
Dayef, the current naib of this settlement, had expressed his eagerness to take Muad'Dib out to the spice fields. Paul and Chani changed into full desert garb, took a Fremkit, checked their stillsuits. Even though he would have an army of guards, a.s.sistants, and observers with him, old habits would not permit him to be careless when facing the raw power of Arrakis. Too many accidents could occur out there.
Dayef selected a young Fremen pilot who swore he would battle the storms of h.e.l.l to protect Muad'Dib. Paul simply said, ”I would prefer a flight with less turbulence today.”
Dayef took the seat beside him in the 'thopter, and they left the sheltering mountains and flew out into the vast ocean of dunes. This naib was more of a business leader than a warrior; he had a crysknife, but also carried an accounting tablet.
”Out production is now five times that of House Harkonnen at its peak,” Dayef said. ”When we find spice, we dispatch at least four spice harvesters. New specialized carryalls are being manufactured on at least six different planets and more are placed into service every month.”
”What of our losses to weather and worms?” Paul remembered how such things had constantly hindered the work of House Atreides.
”We are now able to place twice as many spotters in the air. They range farther on scouting missions and can announce wormsign sooner. That lets us work with a greater margin of safety.”
”I want no accidents.” How Duke Leto had hated losing men! He felt a pang inside. His father would have been appalled by Paul's Jihad, in which billions had already died in his name. Leto would have lamented the terrible cost, but Paul had to view the larger picture and see past the blood to the future. A safe future, he hoped.
”There are always accidents, Muad'Dib. However, with regular deliveries of new machinery, we are placing substantially more equipment into service than we lose to the desert, at least seventeen percent more.”
”The spice must flow,” Chani said. ”So it must,” Dayef agreed.
Paul observed through the scratched plaz window of the 'thopter as people moved with antlike efficiency down on the active spice field. The pilot landed the craft near the first of four enormous spice factories.
”These operations have been going for only twenty minutes, and already they are at full production levels,” Dayef said.
Paul was pleased to see the clockwork cooperation that could erect a veritable city in less than half an hour, all the machinery exploiting a deep rich vein that scouts had found only that morning.
Years ago, during the introductory tour that Dr. Kynes had given Duke Leto, there had been only one factory crawler. Now Paul counted six insectile structures, lumbering machines each the size of an industrial base. The work gangs rushed about at a frenetic pace: spice operators, dunemen, depth-probe operators, riggers, even a few weather-beaten CHOAM inspectors.
In addition to skilled Fremen spice crews, offworld pilgrims volunteered for the work in droves, considering it part of their sacred hajj to touch natural melange on the dunes. The armies of laborers also consisted of prisoners and slaves captured in the Jihad. Defeated and indoctrinated, they accepted Muad'Dib's guarantee of freedom after six months in a spice factory, at which time they would be released, forgiven, and offered a chance to stay on Dune. Very few survived to reap the reward.
Paul felt a twinge inside as he realized another difference between himself and his father: Duke Leto would have abhorred using forced labor for such operations, but right now this was necessary to meet obligations to the Guild and to feed the machine that ran the new Empire of Muad'Dib. We do what is required. We do what is required. And the people silently demanded it, forcing themselves to partic.i.p.ate in these work gangs to demonstrate their altruism and their worth. And they would keep doing it for him. ”This is impressive, Dayef.” And the people silently demanded it, forcing themselves to partic.i.p.ate in these work gangs to demonstrate their altruism and their worth. And they would keep doing it for him. ”This is impressive, Dayef.”
”They do it to show their faith in you, Muad'Dib.”
Chani chided Paul in a low voice. ”Do not forget that you are just a man, Usul.”
He smiled back at her. ”You will never let me forget that, my Sihaya.” Nevertheless, he did did need to be reminded, since he spent his days on Arrakeen watching the construction of his ostentatious citadel, hearing the millions chanting his name, knowing that across the galaxy his banner was being planted on more worlds than he would ever bother to count. need to be reminded, since he spent his days on Arrakeen watching the construction of his ostentatious citadel, hearing the millions chanting his name, knowing that across the galaxy his banner was being planted on more worlds than he would ever bother to count.
I am just a man. I am Paul Atreides. I am only the Terrible Muad'Dib if I allow myself to be.
Because this particular spice deposit had been found in a part of the desert sheltered by a low line of rocky outcroppings, the worms could approach from only one direction, so the spotters concentrated their attention there. This meant that the harvesting process operated under a higher than usual margin of safety and was able to continue far longer than they might otherwise have expected.
The low rock wall, however, did not shelter them from a sudden sandstorm that whipped up from the east. Thermal currents from the blistering sands converged with winds that blew along the sharp ridgeline and slammed together to create a sudden, unexpected storm cell.
Within the sheltered 'thopter, Dayef listened on his communication bands as the voices began to crackle with static. The harvesting crews alerted everyone to the change in the weather, summoning their outriders back to the carryalls, but most of the crews remained at their stations. The factory crawlers continued to churn away, harvesting until the last possible moment.
”Because they know you are here, Muad'Dib, they intend to put in an extra effort until the last instant,” Dayef said.
”I do not want that. Call them in. Now! It is my command. Don't risk them.” He looked at Chani beside him, then at the oncoming fringe of the storm. He would not risk her either. ”And we must depart before that wind hits.” He remembered his father shouting, d.a.m.n the spice! the spice!, and the desperate measures they had taken to rescue the few stranded men....
Dayef's order caused further scrambling in the temporary camp, but some of the workers still didn't evacuate. Instead, they stood outside their spice harvesters, raising their fists and chanting. Paul could barely hear the tiny echo of their voices, ”Muad'Dib, Muad'Dib...”
With a flash of anger and dismay, Paul realized that simply by coming here to inspect the site, he had given these workers a false sense of security. Because they so wanted his praise, they felt a foolish need to show off. He could see the razor-edged dust now, curling up over the rock wall, brown plumes swirling like the smoke of a burned village.
Those winds carried abrasive sand particles with enough force to scour flesh away, and the men knew it.
Carryalls dropped down to snag the large factory crawlers, lifting them into the air and lumbering away as the weather intensified. The pilot turned to Paul and Chani. ”If you do not wish me to fight with the winds of h.e.l.l, Muad'Dib, we need to take off now.”
”Do it.” Paul strapped himself in and made sure that Chani did the same. The 'thopter's articulated wings began to shudder, giving them lift. The breezes were already pus.h.i.+ng them. A few last ground vehicles raced aboard the harvesters, calling for pickup. It was like a gigantic airlift in a war zone. Paul looked down as their 'thopter rose from the dunes, heard the hiss of sand grains across the transparent s.h.i.+eld.
Dayef touched the communication stud in his ear, nodded. ”The spice crew managers report that all of the big equipment is getting away, Muad'Dib. A dozen small rover vehicles have been lost, along with four sand diggers, and two sledges.”
”What about those men down there?” Paul saw a line of thirty figures atop the crest of a low dune. The fabric of their work garb whipped about as they braced themselves. They raised their hands into the air, defying the storm.
”Merely one of your new slave crews from Omwara, hard workers but a bit unruly. Although they didn't join the rebel Thorvald, they are shamed that some of their brothers gave him temporary refuge on their planet. They wish to prove their loyalty to you.”
”They can prove their loyalty by obeying my orders. Tell them to get themselves to safety! Make sure they know it is Muad'Dib's command Muad'Dib's command that they do so. Have them board the last carrier.” that they do so. Have them board the last carrier.”
The sandstorm was getting worse, sweeping down like a curtain over the ridge and already erasing the human-made marks on the desert. Dayef frowned. ”Communications are down - too much static electricity.”
”Can they fit in 'thopters?” Paul asked, feeling a greater desperation. ”We could land and pick them up.” He clenched his fist, feeling the danger increase with every second.
A hard knot of wind struck the 'thopter, causing it to shear sideways and lurch toward the ground. Its articulated wings flapped and struggled to keep the craft airborne. Alarms whistled on the c.o.c.kpit controls as the pilot fought to keep them from cras.h.i.+ng. The storm grew more intense each moment as the front rolled over the work site.
Paul looked at Chani, having reached a hard decision. I will I will not not risk her. risk her. ”We can't save those men. If we brought the transports back down to retrieve them, we would lose the s.h.i.+ps and all those other men as well.” ”We can't save those men. If we brought the transports back down to retrieve them, we would lose the s.h.i.+ps and all those other men as well.”