Дюна
Book Two: Muad‘dib
Paulglimpsedadultshapesbehindthechildrenpartlyhiddenbyfilmyhangings.
“I...bestedJamis.”
“Stilgarsaidtheceremonywasheldandyou’reafriendofJamis.”Sheglancedsidelongathim.“Stilgarsaidyougavemoisturetothedead.Isthattruth?”
“Yes.”
“It’smorethanI’lldo...cando.”
“Don’tyoumournhim?”
“Inthetimeofmourning,I’llmournhim.”
Theypassedanarchedopening.Paullookedthroughitatmenandwomenworkingwithstand-mountedmachineryinalarge,brightchamber.Thereseemedanextratempoofurgencytothem.
“What’retheydoinginthere?”Paulasked.
Sheglancedbackastheypassedbeyondthearch,said:“Theyhurrytofinishthequotaintheplasticsshopbeforeweflee.Weneedmanydewcollectorsfortheplanting.”
“Flee?”
“Untilthebutchersstophuntingusoraredrivenfromourland.”Paulcaughthimselfinastumble,sensinganarrestedinstantoftime,rememberingafragment,avisualprojectionofprescience—butitwasdisplaced,likeamontageinmotion.Thebitsofhisprescientmemorywerenotquiteasherememberedthem.
“TheSardaukarhuntus,”hesaid.
“They’llnotfindmuchexceptinganemptysietchortwo,”shesaid.“And
they’llfindtheirshareofdeathinthesand.”
“They’llfindthisplace?”heasked.
“Likely.”
“Yetwetakethetimeto....”Hemotionedwithhisheadtowardthearchnowfarbehindthem.“...make...dewcollectors?”
“Theplantinggoeson.”
“What’redewcollectors?”heasked.
Theglancesheturnedonhimwasfullofsurprise.
