Dune (21 page)

“I see it, Gurney.”

“That's what we seek,” Kynes said.

Paul stretched up in the seat to peer ahead, saw a rolling yellow cloud low on the desert surface some thirty kilometers ahead.

“One of your factory crawlers,” Kynes said. “It's on the surface and that means it's on spice. The cloud is vented sand being expelled after the spice has been centrifugally removed. There's no other cloud quite like it.”

“Aircraft over it,” the Duke said.

“I see two . . . three... four spotters,” Kynes said. “They're watching for wormsign.”

“Wormsign?” the Duke asked.

“A sandwave moving toward the crawler. They'll have seismic probes on the surface, too. Worms sometimes travel too deep for the wave to show.” Kynes swung his gaze around the sky. “Should be a carryall wing around, but I don't see it.”

“The worm always comes, eh?” Halleck asked.

“Always.”

Paul leaned forward, touched Kynes' shoulder. “How big an area does each worm stake out?”

Kynes frowned. The child kept asking adult questions.

“That depends on the size of the worm.”

“What's the variation?” the Duke asked.

“Big ones may control three or four hundred square kilometers. Small ones—” He broke off as the Duke kicked on the jet brakes. The ship bucked as its tail pods whispered to silence. Stub wings elongated, cupped the air. The craft became a full 'thopter as the Duke banked it, holding the wings to a gentle beat, pointing with his left hand off to the east beyond the factory crawler.

“Is that wormsign?”

Kynes leaned across the Duke to peer into the distance.

Paul and Halleck were crowded together, looking in the same direction, and Paul noted that their escort, caught by the sudden maneuver, had surged ahead, but now was curving back. The factory crawler lay ahead of them, still some three kilometers away.

Where the Duke pointed, crescent dune tracks spread shadow ripples toward the horizon and, running through them as a level line stretching into the distance, came an elongated mount-in-motion—a cresting of sand. It reminded Paul of the way a big fish disturbed the water when swimming just under the surface.

“Worm,” Kynes said. “Big one.” He leaned back, grabbed the microphone from the panel, punched out a new frequency selection. Glancing at the grid chart on rollers over their heads, he spoke into the microphone: “Calling crawler at Delta Ajax niner. Wormsign warning. Crawler at Delta Ajax niner. Wormsign warning. Acknowledge, please.” He waited.

The panel speaker emitted static crackles, then a voice: “Who calls Delta Ajax niner? Over.”

“They seem pretty calm about it,” Halleck said.

Kynes spoke into the microphone: “Unlisted flight—north and east of you about three kilometers. Wormsign is on intercept course, your position, estimated contact twenty-five minutes.”

Another voice rumbled from the speaker: “This is Spotter Control. Sighting confirmed. Stand by for contact fix.” There was a pause, then: “Contact in twenty-six minutes minus. That was a sharp estimate. Who's on that unlisted flight? Over.”

Halleck had his harness off and surged forward between Kynes and the Duke. “Is this the regular working frequency, Kynes?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Who'd be listening?”

“Just the work crews in this area. Cuts down interference.”

Again, the speaker crackled, then: “This is Delta Ajax niner. Who gets bonus credit for that spot? Over.”

Halleck glanced at the Duke.

Kynes said: “There's a bonus based on spice load for whoever gives first worm warning. They want to know—”

“Tell them who had first sight of that worm,” Halleck said.

The Duke nodded.

Kynes hesitated, then lifted the microphone: “Spotter credit to the Duke Leto Atreides. The Duke Leto Atreides. Over.”

The voice from the speaker was flat and partly distorted by a burst of static: “We read and thank you.”

“Now, tell them to divide the bonus among themselves,” Halleck ordered. “Tell them it's the Duke's wish.”

Kynes took a deep breath, then: “It's the Duke's wish that you divide the bonus among your crew. Do you read? Over.”

“Acknowledged and thank you,” the speaker said.

The Duke said: “I forgot to mention that Gurney is also very talented in public relations.”

Kynes turned a puzzled frown on Halleck.

“This lets the men know their Duke is concerned for their safety,” Halleck said. “Word will get around. It was on an area working frequency—not likely Harkonnen agents heard.” He glanced out at their air cover. “And we're a pretty strong force. It was a good risk.”

The Duke banked their craft toward the sandcloud erupting from the factory crawler. “What happens now?”

“There's a carryall wing somewhere close,” Kynes said. “It'll come in and lift off the crawler.”

“What if the carryall's wrecked?” Halleck asked.

“Some equipment is lost,” Kynes said. “Get in close over the crawler, my Lord; you'll find this interesting.”

The Duke scowled, busied himself with the controls as they came into turbulent air over the crawler.

Paul looked down, saw sand still spewing out of the metal and plastic monster beneath them. It looked like a great tan and blue beetle with many wide tracks extending on arms around it. He saw a giant inverted funnel snout poked into dark sand in front of it.

“Rich spice bed by the color,” Kynes said. “They'll continue working until the last minute.”

The Duke fed more power to the wings, stiffened them for a steeper descent as he settled lower in a circling glide above the crawler. A glance left and right showed his cover holding altitude and circling overhead.

Paul studied the yellow cloud belching from the crawler's pipe vents, looked out over the desert at the approaching worm track.

“Shouldn't we be hearing them call in the carryall?” Halleck asked.

“They usually have the wing on a different frequency,” Kynes said.

“Shouldn't they have two carryalls standing by for every crawler?” the Duke asked. “There should be twenty-six men on that machine down there, not to mention cost of equipment.”

Kynes said: “You don't have enough ex—”

He broke off as the speaker erupted with an angry voice: “Any of you see the wing? He isn't answering.”

A garble of noise crackled from the speaker, drowned in an abrupt override signal, then silence and the first voice: “Report by the numbers! Over.”

“This is Spotter Control. Last I saw, the wing was pretty high and circling off northwest. I don't see him now. Over.”

“Spotter one: negative. Over.”

“Spotter two: negative. Over.”

“Spotter three: negative. Over.”

Silence.

The Duke looked down. His own craft's shadow was just passing over the crawler. “Only four spotters, is that right?”

“Correct,” Kynes said.

“There are five in our party,” the Duke said. “Our ships are larger. We can crowd in three extra each. Their spotters ought to be able to lift off two each.”

Paul did the mental arithmetic, said: “That's three short.”

“Why don't they have two carryalls to each crawler?” barked the Duke.

“You don't have enough extra equipment,” Kynes said.

“All the more reason we should protect what we have!”

“Where could that carryall go?” Halleck asked.

“Could've been forced down somewhere out of sight,” Kynes said.

The Duke grabbed the microphone, hesitated with thumb poised over its switch. “How could they lose sight of a carryall?”

“They keep their attention on the ground looking for wormsign,” Kynes said.

The Duke thumbed the switch, spoke into the microphone. “This is your Duke. We are coming down to take off Delta Ajax niner's crew. All spotters are ordered to comply. Spotters will land on the east side. We will take the west. Over.” He reached down, punched out his own command frequency, repeated the order for his own air cover, handed the microphone back to Kynes.

Kynes returned to the working frequency and a voice blasted from the speaker: “. . . almost a full load of spice! We have almost a full load! We can't leave that for a damned worm! Over.”

“Damn the spice!” the Duke barked. He grabbed back the microphone, said: “We can always get more spice. There are seats in our ships for all but three of you. Draw straws or decide any way you like who's to go. But you're going, and that's an order!” He slammed the microphone back into Kynes' hands, muttered: “Sorry,” as Kynes shook an injured finger.

“How much time?” Paul asked.

“Nine minutes,” Kynes said.

The Duke said: “This ship has more power than the others. If we took off under jet with three-quarter wings, we could crowd in an additional man.”

“That sand's soft,” Kynes said.

“With four extra men aboard on a jet takeoff, we could snap the wings, Sire,” Halleck said.

“Not on this ship,” the Duke said. He hauled back on the controls as the 'thopter glided in beside the crawler. The wings tipped up, braked the 'thopter to a skidding stop within twenty meters of the factory.

The crawler was silent now, no sand spouting from its vents. Only a faint mechanical rumble issued from it, becoming more audible as the Duke opened his door.

Immediately, their nostrils were assailed by the odor of cinnamon—heavy and pungent.

With a loud flapping, the spotter aircraft glided down to the sand on the other side of the crawler. The Duke's own escort swooped in to land in line with him.

Paul, looking out at the factory, saw how all the 'thopters were dwarfed by it—gnats beside a warrior beetle.

“Gurney, you and Paul toss out that rear seat,” the Duke said. He manually cranked the wings out to three-quarters, set their angle, checked the jet pod controls. “Why the devil aren't they coming out of that machine?”

“They're hoping the carryall will show up,” Kynes said. “They still have a few minutes.” He glanced off to the east.

All turned to look the same direction, seeing no sign of the worm, but there was a heavy, charged feeling of anxiety in the air.

The Duke took the microphone, punched for his command frequency, said: “Two of you toss out your shield generators. By the numbers. You can carry one more man that way. We're not leaving any men for that monster.” He keyed back to the working frequency, barked: “All right, you in Delta Ajax niner! Out! Now! This is a command from your Duke! On the double or I'll cut that crawler apart with a lasgun!”

A hatch snapped open near the front of the factory, another at the rear, another at the top. Men came tumbling out, sliding and scrambling down to the sand. A tall man in a patched working robe was the last to emerge. He jumped down to a track and then to the sand.

The Duke hung the microphone on the panel, swung out onto the wing step, shouted: “Two men each into your spotters.”

The man in the patched robe began tolling off pairs of his crew, pushing them toward the craft waiting on the other side.

“Four over here!” the Duke shouted. “Four into that ship back there!” He jabbed a finger at an escort 'thopter directly behind him. The guards were just wrestling the shield generator out of it. “And four into that ship over there!” He pointed to the other escort that had shed its shield generator. “Three each into the others! Run, you sand dogs!”

The tall man finished counting off his crew, came slogging across the sand followed by three of his companions.

“I hear the worm, but I can't see it,” Kynes said.

The others heard it then—an abrasive slithering, distant and growing louder.

“Damn sloppy way to operate,” the Duke muttered.

Aircraft began flapping off the sand around them. It reminded the Duke of a time in his home planet's jungles, a sudden emergence into a clearing, and carrion birds lifting away from the carcass of a wild ox.

The spice workers slogged up to the side of the 'thopter, started climbing in behind the Duke. Halleck helped, dragging them into the rear.

“In you go, boys!” he snapped. “On the double!”

Paul, crowded into a corner by sweating men, smelled the perspiration of fear, saw that two of the men had poor neck adjustments on their stillsuits. He filed the information in his memory for future action. His father would have to order tighter stillsuit discipline. Men tended to become sloppy if you didn't watch such things.

The last man came gasping into the rear, said, “The worm! It's almost on us! Blast off!”

The Duke slid into his seat, frowning, said: “We still have almost three minutes on the original contact estimate. Is that right, Kynes?” He shut his door, checked it.

“Almost exactly, my Lord,” Kynes said, and he thought:
A cool one, this duke
.

“All secure here, Sire,” Halleck said.

The Duke nodded, watched the last of his escort take off. He adjusted the igniter, glanced once more at wings and instruments, punched the jet sequence.

The take-off pressed the Duke and Kynes deep into their seats, compressed the people in the rear. Kynes watched the way the Duke handled the controls—gently, surely. The 'thopter was fully airborne now, and the Duke studied his instruments, glanced left and right at his wings.

“She's very heavy, Sire,” Halleck said.

“Well within the tolerances of this ship,” the Duke said. “You didn't really think I'd risk this cargo, did you, Gurney?”