Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
“I’llwageryonpatchofspiceislittlemorethanasandgrain’sthickness,abaittolureus.”
“That’sawageryou’dwin,”Paulsaid.Helookeddownatthemenbeingdisarmed.“Arethereanymoreofmyfather’smenamongyourcrew?”
“None.We’respreadthin.There’reafewamongthefreetraders.Mosthavespenttheirprofitstoleavethisplace.”
“Butyoustayed.”
“Istayed.”
“BecauseRabbanishere,”Paulsaid.
“IthoughtIhadnothingleftbutrevenge,”Gurneysaid.
Anoddlychoppedcrysoundedfromtheridgetop.GurneylookeduptoseeaFremenwavinghiskerchief.
“Amakercomes,”Paulsaid.HemovedouttoapointofrockwithGurneyfollowing,lookedofftothesouthwest.Theburrowmoundofawormcouldbeseeninthemiddledistance,adust-crownedtrackthatcutdirectlythroughthedunesonacoursetowardtheridge.
“He’sbigenough,”Paulsaid.
Aclatteringsoundliftedfromthefactorycrawlerbelowthem.Itturnedonitstreadslikeagiantinsect,lumberedtowardtherocks.
“Toobadwecouldn’thavesavedthecarryall,”Paulsaid.
Gurneyglancedathim,lookedbacktothepatchesofsmokeanddebrisoutonthedesertwherecarryallandornithoptershadbeenbroughtdownbyFremenrockets.Hefeltasuddenpangforthemenlostthere—hismen,andhesaid:
“Yourfatherwould’vebeenmoreconcernedforthemenhecouldn’tsave.”
Paulshotahardstareathim,loweredhisgaze.Presently,hesaid:“Theywereyourfriends,Gurney.Iunderstand.Tous,though,theyweretrespasserswhomightseethingstheyshouldn’tsee.
