Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [232]
Frieth huddled against the cliff wall, holding Kynes close, astonished at the unexpected Fremen defense. He could tell she had expected to fight the attackers single-handedly—but he had other protectors as well.
As the Harkonnen ’thopter reeled in the sky, Fremen defenders opened fire on its vulnerable engine components. The air smelled of fire and burned metal. The pilot desperately attempted to stabilize, while black smoke spewed from exhaust ports and lifeblood lubricants sizzled out of severed transport lines. The craft spun, whined, and lumbered toward the ground.
The ’thopter struck the side of the cliff, split open, and continued to scrape down the rock wall. In vain, the articulated wings kept beating, twitching like involuntary muscles, until the craft smashed into the base of the ridge.
“I know of no sietch up here,” Frieth said, breathless and confused. “Who are these people? What tribe claims them?”
“Troops of mine, defending the project.”
Below, he noticed that the Harkonnen pilot had survived the crash. Part of the canopy popped open, and the wounded man began to crawl out, holding one dangling arm. Within moments camouflaged Fremen troops boiled out of the rocks and swarmed over the wreckage.
The pilot tried to duck back into the dubious safety of his craft, but two Fremen pulled him out. A flash of blue-white crysknife, then a splatter of crimson, and the pilot was dead. Watermen—consecrated body handlers—whisked away the corpse to where its water could be recovered. Kynes knew any moisture or fertilizer chemicals derived from this victim would be devoted to the Plaster Basin project, rather than to enriching any particular family unit.
“But what could be so important up here?” Frieth asked. “What is it you are doing, husband?”
He rewarded her with a sparkling smile. “You will see. I wanted you to be our first visitor.”
Frieth hurried back to retrieve their child from his sheltered hiding place. She picked up the baby, checked him for injuries. Young Liet had not even begun to cry. “He’s a true Fremen,” she said proudly, holding him up for Kynes to see.
Below, organized teams began dismantling the ruined ’thopter, stripping away the metal, the engines, the stash of supplies. Younger Fremen crawled up the dangerous cliff face to retrieve the fallen lasgun rifle.
Kynes led his wife past the remains of the butchered kulon. He gave a sad sigh. “We’ll have meat at least—that’s a rarity. And I think there’s good cause for celebration, once we get to the cave.”
The Fremen worked furiously to scour away all traces of the crash, dragging the heavy components into hidden tunnels, repairing scars in the rock, even combing the sand on the desert floor. Though Kynes had been with these people for some time, their hardened efficiency still astonished him.
Striding in the lead now, he led Frieth to the low, shielded opening shortly past noon. The sun burned down, its line of yellow fire sharpening the jagged crest of the mountains. Drifting out of the cave, the smell of cool, rock-moist air was like a refreshing breath.
Kynes plucked out his nose plugs and inhaled deeply, gesturing for his wife to do the same, though she seemed reluctant to shuck her desert survival instincts. Then she grinned in amazement as she looked deep into the shadows. “I smell water, my husband.”
He took her arm. “Come with me. This is something I want you to see.”
As they rounded a sharp corner whose purpose was to block light and evaporation from the grotto, Kynes gestured magnanimously to indicate the Eden he had made in Plaster Basin.
Yellow glowglobes hovered at the ceiling. The air was rich with humidity, redolent with the scents of flowers, shrubs, trees. The sweet sound of running water chuckled from narrow grooved troughs. In a carefully arranged appearance of randomness, flower beds burst with magenta and orange blossoms.
Irrigation systems trickled droplets into algae-packed tanks, while fans stirred the air to keep the moisture level