Дюна
Book One: Dune
Withsuddeninsight,Letorealizedthatshemusthaveplannedtosellthewatersqueezingsfromthefoot-trampledtowels,wringingafewcoppersfromthewretcheswhocametothedoor.Perhapsthatalsowasacustom.
Hisfaceclouded,andhegrowled:“I’mpostingaguardtoseethatmyordersarecarriedouttotheletter.”
Hewhirled,strodebackdownthepassagetotheGreatHall.Memoriesrolledinhismindlikethetoothlessmutteringsofoldwomen.Herememberedopenwaterandwaves—daysofgrassinsteadofsand—dazedsummersthathadwhippedpasthimlikewindstormleaves.
Allgone.
I’mgettingold,hethought.I’vefeltthecoldhandofmymortality.Andinwhat?Anoldwoman’sgreed.
IntheGreatHall,theLadyJessicawasthecenterofamixedgroupstandinginfrontofthefireplace.Anopenblazecrackledthere,castingflickersoforangelightontojewelsandlacesandcostlyfabrics.HerecognizedinthegroupastillsuitmanufacturerdownfromCarthag,anelectronicsequipmentimporter,awatershipperwhosesummermansionwasnearhispolar-capfactory,arepresentativeoftheGuildBank(leanandremote,thatone),adealerinreplacementpartsforspiceminingequipment,athinandhard-facedwomanwhoseescortserviceforoff-planetvisitorsreputedlyoperatedascoverforvarioussmuggling,spying,andblackmailoperations.
Mostofthewomeninthehallseemedcastfromaspecifictype—decorative,preciselyturnedout,anoddminglingofuntouchablesensuousness.
Evenwithoutherpositionashostess,Jessicawouldhavedominatedthegroup,hethought.
