Dune [Frank Herbert's Dune Saga Collection: Books 1 - 6]

Paul glanced down at a conical projection chart of the northern Arrakeen latitudes spread on the table. “The desert belt and south polar regions are marked uninhabitable. Is it the worms?”

“And the storms.”

“But any place can be made habitable.”

“If it’s economically feasible,” Yueh said. “Arrakis has many costly perils.” He smoothed his drooping mustache. “Your father will be here soon. Before I go, I’ve a gift for you, something I came across in packing.” He put an object on the table between them—black, oblong, no larger than the end of Paul’s thumb.

Paul looked at it. Yueh noted how the boy did not reach for it, and thought: How cautious he is.

“It’s a very old Orange Catholic Bible made for space travelers. Not a filmbook, but actually printed on filament paper. It has its own magnifier and electrostatic charge system.” He picked it up, demonstrated. “The book is held closed by the charge, which forces against spring-locked covers. You press the edge—thus, and the pages you’ve selected repel each other and the book opens.”

“It’s so small.”

“But it has eighteen hundred pages. You press the edge—thus, and so…and the charge moves ahead one page at a time as you read. Never touch the actual pages with your fingers. The filament tissue is too delicate.” He closed the book, handed it to Paul. “Try it.”

Yueh watched Paul work the page adjustment, thought: I salve my own conscience. I give him the surcease of religion before betraying him. Thus may I say to myself that he has gone where I cannot go.

“This must’ve been made before filmbooks,” Paul said.

“It’s quite old. Let it be our secret, eh? Your parents might think it too valuable for one so young.”

And Yueh thought: His mother would surely wonder at my motives.

“Well….” Paul closed the book, held it in his hand. “If it’s so valuable….”

“Indulge an old man’s whim,” Yueh said. “It was given to me when I was very young.” And he thought: I must catch his mind as well as his cupidity. “Open it to four-sixty-seven Kalima—where it says: ‘From water does all life begin.’ There’s a slight notch on the edge of the cover to mark the place.”

Paul felt the cover, detected two notches, one shallower than the other. He pressed the shallower one and the book spread open on his palm, its magnifier sliding into place.

“Read it aloud,” Yueh said.

Paul wet his lips with his tongue, read: “‘Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear. Then, what deafness may we not all possess? What senses do we lack that we cannot see and cannot hear another world all around us? What is there around us that we cannot—’”