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.No one, not even members of C’tair’s resistance group, had been able to determine what the overlords had in mind.Inside the echoing facility, flinty-eyed resistance fighters spoke in whispers.There would be no formal agenda, no leader, no speech.C’tair smelled their nervous sweat, heard odd inflections in the low voices.No matter how many security precautions they took, how many escape plans they devised, it was still dangerous to have so many gathered in one place.C’tair always kept his eyes open, aware of the nearest exit.He had business to conduct.He’d brought a disguised satchel containing the most vital items he had hoarded.He needed to trade with other scavengers to find components for his innovative but problematic transmitter, the rogo.The prototype allowed him to communicate through foldspace with his twin brother D’murr, a Guild Navigator.But C’tair rarely succeeded in establishing contact, either because his twin had mutated so far from human.or because the transmitter itself was falling apart.On a dusty metal table, he brought out weapons components, power sources, communications devices, and scanning equipment— items that would have led to his immediate execution if any Tleilaxu had stopped to ask his business.But C’tair armed himself well, and he had killed the gnomish men before.C’tair displayed his wares.He searched the faces of the rebels, the crude disguises and intentional dirt smudges, until he spotted a woman with large eyes, prominent cheekbones, and a narrow chin.Her hair had been raggedly chopped in an effort to destroy any hint of beauty.He knew her as Miral Alechem, though that might not have been her real name.In her face, C’tair saw echoes of Kailea Vernius, the pretty daughter of Earl Vernius.He and his twin brother had both fancied Kailea, flirted with her.back when they’d thought nothing would ever change.Now Kailea was exiled on Caladan, and D’murr was a Guild Navigator.The twins’ mother, a Guild banker, had been killed during the takeover of Ix.And C’tair himself lived like a furtive rat, flitting from hideout to hideout.“I found the crystalpak you requested,” he said to Miral.She withdrew a wrapped item from a sack at her waist.“I’ve got the module rods you needed, calibrated precisely.I hope.I had no way of checking.”C’tair took the packet, feeling no need to inspect the merchandise.“I can do it myself.” He handed Miral the crystalpak, but did not ask what she had in mind for it.Everyone present searched for ways to strike against the Tleilaxu.Nothing else mattered.As he exchanged a nervous glance with her, he wondered if she might be thinking the same thing he was, that under different circumstances they might have had a personal relationship.But he couldn’t allow her that close to him.Not anyone.It would weaken him and divert his resolve.He had to remain focused, for the sake of the Ixian cause.One of the door guards hissed an alarm, and everyone fell into fearful silence, ducking low.The muted glowglobes dimmed.C’tair held his breath.A humming sound passed overhead as a surveillance pod cruised above the abandoned buildings, trying to pick up unauthorized vibrations or movements.Shadows smothered the hiding rebels.C’tair mentally reviewed the location of every possible escape from this facility, in case he needed to duck out into the blinding darkness.But the humming device cruised onward down the length of the city grotto.Shortly afterward, the nervous rebels stood again and began muttering to themselves, wiping sweat off their faces, laughing nervously.Spooked, C’tair decided not to remain any longer.He memorized the coordinates for the group’s next gathering, packed up his remaining equipment, and looked around, scanning the faces once more, marking them in his mind.If they were caught, he might never see these people again.He nodded a final time at Miral Alechem, then slipped off into the Ixian night, flitting under artificial stars.He had already made up his mind where he would spend the remainder of the sleep shift.and which identity he would choose for the following day.It is said that the Fremen has no conscience, having lost it in a burning desire for revenge.This is foolish.Only the rawest primitive and the sociopath have no conscience.The Fremen possesses a highly evolved worldview centered on the welfare of his people.His sense of belonging to the community is almost stronger than his sense of self.It is only to outsiders that these desert dwellers seem brutish.just as outsiders appear to them.— PARDOT KYNES, The People of ArrakisLuxury is for the noble-born, Liet,” Pardot Kynes said as the groundcar trundled across the uneven ground.Here, in privacy, he could use his son’s secret sietch name, rather than Weichih, the name reserved for outsiders.“On this planet you must instantly become aware of your own surroundings, and remain alert at all times.If you fail to learn this lesson, you won’t live long.”As Kynes operated the simple controls, he gestured toward the buttery morning light that melted across the stark dunes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]