Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
TheydisgorgedGurney’splatoonandliftedtohoverflight.
Gurneytestedhismusclesinhisstillsuit,stretching.Heleftthefiltermaskoffhisface,losingmoistureforthesakeofagreaterneed—thecarryingpowerofhisvoiceifhehadtoshoutcommands.Hebeganclimbingupintotherocks,checkingtheterrain—pebblesandpeasandunderfoot,thesmellofspice.
Goodsiteforanemergencybase,hethought.Mightbesensibletoburyafewsupplieshere.
Heglancedback,watchinghismenspreadoutastheyfollowedhim.Goodmen,eventhenewoneshehadn’thadtimetotest.Goodmen.Didn’thavetobetoldeverytimewhattodo.Notashieldglimmershowedonanyofthem.Nocowardsinthisbunch,carryingshieldsintothedesertwhereawormcouldsensethefieldandcometorobthemofthespicetheyfound.
Fromthisslightelevationintherocks,Gurneycouldseethespicepatchabouthalfakilometerawayandthecrawlerjustreachingthenearedge.Heglancedupatthecoverflight,notingthealtitude—nottoohigh.Henoddedtohimself,turnedtoresumehisclimbuptheridge.
Inthatinstant,theridgeerupted.
Twelveroaringpathsofflamestreakedupwardtothehovering’thoptersandcarrierwing.Therecameablastingofmetalfromthefactorycrawler,andtherocksaroundGurneywerefullofhoodedfightingmen.
Gurneyhadtimetothink:BythehornsoftheGreatMother!Rockets!Theydaretouserockets!
Thenhewasfacetofacewithahoodedfigurewhocrouchedlow,crysknifeattheready.Twomoremenstoodwaitingontherocksabovetoleftandright.
