Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [230]
Next, Kynes pondered the second phase of the ecological transformation process, in which he and his team would plant tougher sword grasses, add processed chemical fertilizers, build windtraps and dew-precipitators. Later, careful not to pressure the fragile new ecology, they would add deeper plantings, including amaranth, pigweed, scotch broom, and dwarf tamarisk, followed by familiar desert icons such as saguaro and barrel cactus. The timetable scrolled out toward the horizon, decades and centuries hence.
In Dune’s northern inhabited areas, the Fremen had to content themselves with small plantings and hidden growths. The vast population of Fremen knew the terraforming secret and labored with their collective sweat and lifeblood . . . and managed to keep the monumental task and its accompanying dream hidden from prying eyes.
Kynes had the patience to see the metamorphosis take place little by little. The Fremen had intense faith in their “Umma.” Their unquestioning belief in one man’s dreams and cooperation with his difficult demands warmed his heart, but Kynes was determined to give them more than just grand lectures and empty promises. The Fremen deserved to see a brilliant glimmer of hope—and he had accomplished just that.
Others knew about his place in Plaster Basin, of course, but he wanted to be the first to show it to Frieth and their baby son Liet. “I’m taking you to see something incredible,” Kynes said as his wife dismantled the minicamp. “I want to show you exactly what Dune can be. Then you’ll understand why I work at it so hard.”
“I already understand, husband.” Frieth smiled knowingly, then zip-sealed her pack. “You cannot keep secrets from me.” She looked at him with a strange confidence, and Kynes realized that he did not need to rationalize his dreams to the Fremen. Any Fremen.
Surveying the increasing steepness and hazards of the trail, Frieth didn’t place the child back on the kulon, but chose to carry him in her arms instead.
Caught up in his thoughts again, Kynes began speaking aloud to Frieth as if she were one of his most dedicated students. “The thing the ecologically illiterate don’t realize about an ecosystem is that it’s a system.” He grabbed on to a rock on the rough mountain wall and hauled himself forward. He didn’t look back to observe the kulon’s difficulties in negotiating the tight turn. Its hooves stumbled on loose rock, but it followed.
In his mother’s arms, the baby Liet whimpered, then silenced himself. Frieth continued to listen to her husband.
“A system maintains a certain fluid stability that can be destroyed by a single misstep in only one niche. Everything comes crashing down with the slightest of mistakes. An ecological system flows from point to point . . . but if something dams that flow, then the order collapses. An untrained person might miss the impending collapse until it is too late.”
Already the Fremen had introduced insect forms, populations of tunneling creatures to aerate the soil. Kit fox, kangaroo mouse, and larger animals such as desert hares and sand terrapin, along with their appropriate predators, desert hawk and dwarf owl, scorpions, centipedes, and trapdoor spiders . . . even the desert bat and biting wasps—every small point interconnected on the web of life.
He couldn’t tell if Frieth understood what he was saying or if she was interested. In her silence, she agreed with him wholeheartedly. Just once, though, he wished his wife would debate with him. But Pardot Kynes was her husband and considered a prophet among the Fremen. Her own ingrained beliefs were too strong for her to question anything he said.
Kynes drew a deep breath through his nose filters and continued up the side of the mountain. If they didn’t reach the cave opening before afternoon, the sun would pass overhead and bake them. They’d have to find shelter and wouldn’t get to Plaster Basin until the following day. Anxious to show them his ecological treasure vault, Kynes picked