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

“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 belt. 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.