Дюна

           Hetookhismother’sarmwithhisotherhand.Theyscrambledontotheliftingrock,upapebble-litteredsurfacethroughatwisted,wind-carvedchannel.Breathcamedryandgaspingintheirthroats.

           “Ican’trunanyfarther,”Jessicapanted.

           Paulstopped,pressedherintoagutofrock,turnedandlookeddownontothedesert.Amound-in-motionranparalleltotheirrockisland—moonlitripples,sandwaves,acrestingburrowalmostlevelwithPaul’seyesatadistanceofaboutakilometer.Theflatteneddunesofitstrackcurvedonce—ashortloopcrossingthepatchofdesertwheretheyhadabandonedtheirwreckedornithopter.

           Wherethewormhadbeentherewasnosignoftheaircraft.

           Theburrowmoundmovedoutwardintothedesert,coursedbackacrossitsownpath,questing.

           “It’sbiggerthanaGuildspaceship,”Paulwhispered.“Iwastoldwormsgrewlargeinthedeepdesert,butIdidn’trealize...howbig.”

           “NorI,”Jessicabreathed.

           Again,thethingturnedoutawayfromtherocks,spednowwithacurbingtracktowardthehorizon.Theylisteneduntilthesoundofitspassagewaslostingentlesandstirringsaroundthem.

           Paultookadeepbreath,lookedupatthemoon-frostedescarpment,andquotedfromtheKitabal-Ibar:“Travelbynightandrestinblackshadethroughtheday.”Helookedathismother.“Westillhaveafewhoursofnight.Canyougoon?”

           “Inamoment.”

           Paulsteppedoutontotherockshingle,shoulderedthepackandadjusteditsstraps.Hestoodamomentwithaparacompassinhishands.

           “Wheneveryou’reready,”hesaid.