Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [228]
Hidar Fen Ajidica had his own concealed weapons, though. He had set up contingency plans to deal with the most dangerous of outsiders . . . to ensure that the Tleilaxu remained in control at all times.
Our laboratories may indeed come up with a substitute for the spice, he thought. But no powindah will ever learn how it is made.
Our timetable will achieve the stature of a natural phenomenon. A planet’s life is a vast, tightly interwoven fabric. Vegetation and animal changes will be determined at first by the raw physical forces we manipulate. As they establish themselves, though, our changes will become controlling influences in their own right—and we will have to deal with them, too. Keep in mind, though, that we need control only three percent of the energy surface—only three percent—to tip the entire structure over into our self-sustaining system.
—PARDOT KYNES, Arrakis Dreams
When his son Liet was a year and a half old, Pardot Kynes and his wife embarked on a journey into the desert. They dressed their silent child in a custom-fitted stillsuit and robes to shield his skin against the sun and the heat.
Kynes was delighted to spend time with his family, to show them what he had accomplished in the transformation of Dune. His entire life rested on sharing his dreams.
His three apprentices, Stilgar, Turok, and Ommun, had tried to insist on going along to protect and guide him, but Kynes would hear none of it. “I’ve spent more years alone in the wilderness than any of you have been alive. I can handle a few days’ sojourn with my family.” He made a shooing ges-ture with his hands. “Besides, haven’t I given you enough work to do—or shall I find additional tasks?”
“If you have more for us to do,” Stilgar said, “we will gladly do it for you.”
“Just . . . just keep yourselves busy,” Kynes said, nonplussed, then set off on foot with Frieth and young Liet. The baby rode one of the sietch’s three kulons, a domesticated desert ass that had been brought to Dune by smugglers and prospectors.
The animal’s water price was high, despite its inbred adaptation to a harsh, arid environment. The Fremen had even developed a modified four-legged stillsuit for the beast, which saved some of the moisture the animal exuded. But in such a contraption the kulon had difficulty moving—in addition to the fact that it looked ridiculous—and Kynes decided not to bother with such extreme measures. This required taking extra water on the journey, which the animal carried in literjons attached to its back.
In the shadow of morning, the tall, bearded Kynes led his small party up a winding thread that only a Fremen would have called a path. His eyes, like Frieth’s, were the blue of the Ibad. The desert ass picked its way up the precipitous slope, but made no sound of complaint. Kynes didn’t mind walking; he had done so for much of his life, during his years of ecological study on Salusa Secundus and Bela Tegeuse. His muscles rippled, whipcord-tough. Besides, when he went on foot he could keep his eyes focused more on the pebbles and varying grains of sand beneath his boots than on the distant mountains or the sweltering sun.
Eager to please her husband, Frieth turned her attention every time Kynes pointed out a rock formation, studied a spot of ground for its composition, or assessed sheltered crannies as possible sites for planting future vegetation. After a time of uncertainty, she also pointed things out to him. “A Fremen’s greatest strength is in observation,” Frieth said, as if quoting an old proverb for him. “The more we observe, the more we know. Such knowledge gives us power, especially when others fail to see.”
“Interesting.” Kynes knew little about his Fremen wife’s background. He’d been too busy to ask her for many details about her childhood and her own passions, but she didn’t seem in the least offended by his preoccupation with the terraforming work. In Fremen culture, husbands and wives lived in different worlds connected by only a few narrow and fragile bridges.
Kynes knew, however,