Дюна
Book Two: Muad‘dib
“Don’ttheyteachyouanythinginthe...whereveritisyoucomefrom?”
“Notaboutdewcollectors.”
“Hai!”shesaid,andtherewasawholeconversationintheoneword.
“Well,whatarethey?”
“Eachbush,eachweedyouseeoutthereintheerg,”shesaid,“howdoyousupposeitliveswhenweleaveit?Eachisplantedmosttenderlyinitsownlittlepit.Thepitsarefilledwithsmoothovalsofchromoplastic.Lightturnsthemwhite.Youcanseethemglisteninginthedawnifyoulookdownfromahighplace.Whitereflects.ButwhenOldFatherSundeparts,thechromoplasticrevertstotransparencyinthedark.Itcoolswithextremerapidity.Thesurfacecondensesmoistureoutoftheair.Thatmoisturetricklesdowntokeepourplantsalive.”
“Dewcollectors,”hemuttered,enchantedbythesimplebeautyofsuchascheme.
“I’llmournJamisinthepropertimeforit,”shesaid,asthoughhermindhadnotlefthisotherquestion.“Hewasagoodman,Jamis,butquicktoanger.Agoodprovider,Jamis,andawonderwiththechildren.HemadenoseparationbetweenGeoff’sboy,myfirstborn,andhisowntrueson.Theywereequalinhiseyes.”SheturnedaquestingstareonPaul.“Woulditbethatwaywithyou,Usul?”
“Wedon’thavethatproblem.”
“Butif—”
“Harah!”
Sherecoiledattheharshedgeinhisvoice.
Theypassedanotherbrightlylightedroomvisiblethroughanarchontheirleft.“What’smadethere?”heasked.
“Theyrepairtheweavingmachinery,”shesaid.“Butitmustbedismantledbytonight.”Shegesturedatatunnelbranchingtotheirleft.
