Дюна
Book Two: Muad‘dib
“Throughthereandbeyond,that’sfoodprocessingandstillsuitmaintenance.”ShelookedatPaul.
“Yoursuitlooksnew.Butifitneedswork,I’mgoodwithsuits.Iworkinthefactoryinseason.”
Theybegancomingonknotsofpeoplenowandthickerclusteringsofopeningsinthetunnel’ssides.Afileofmenandwomenpassedthemcarryingpacksthatgurgledheavily,thesmellofspicestrongaboutthem.
“They’llnotgetourwater,”Harahsaid.“Orourspice.Youcanbesureofthat.”
Paulglancedattheopeningsinthetunnelwalls,seeingtheheavycarpetsontheraisedledge,glimpsesofroomswithbrightfabricsonthewalls,piledcushions.Peopleintheopeningsfellsilentattheirapproach,followedPaulwithuntamedstares.
“ThepeoplefinditstrangeyoubestedJamis,”Harahsaid.“Likelyyou’llhavesomeprovingtodowhenwe’resettledinanewsietch.”
“Idon’tlikekilling,”hesaid.
“ThusStilgartellsit,”shesaid,buthervoicebetrayedherdisbelief.
Ashrillchantinggrewlouderaheadofthem.TheycametoanothersideopeningwiderthananyoftheothersPaulhadseen.Heslowedhispace,staringinataroomcrowdedwithchildrensittingcross-leggedonamaroon-carpetedfloor.
Atachalkboardagainstthefarwallstoodawomaninayellowwraparound,aprojecto-stylusinonehand.Theboardwasfilledwithdesigns—circles,wedgesandcurves,snaketracksandsquares,flowingarcssplitbyparallellines.
Thewomanpointedtothedesignsoneaftertheotherasfastasshecouldmovethestylus,andthechildrenchantedinrhythmwithhermovinghand.
