Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [99]
“I’d like to go to the top of the rock,” he said, remembering his duties as Imperial Planetologist. “If we could retrieve some of the equipment from my groundcar—I presume you’ve kept it safe?—I’d like to establish a weather station here. It’s imperative that we collect climate data—temperature variations, atmospheric humidity, and wind patterns—from as many isolated spots as possible.”
Turok looked at him, surprised and disbelieving. Then he shrugged. “As you wish, Planetologist.” Knowing the conservative ways of the sietch elders, Turok was pessimistic about the fate of this enthusiastic but not terribly bright man. What a futile effort it would be for Kynes to continue his vigorous work. But if it kept him happy in his last days . . .
“Come,” Turok said. “Put on your stillsuit.”
“Oh, we’ll only be out for a few minutes.”
Turok scowled at him, looking stern and much older. “A breath of moisture is water wasted into the air. We are not so rich we can afford to waste water.”
Shrugging, Kynes pulled on his crinkling, slick-surfaced uniform and took the time to attach all the seals, though he did so clumsily. Heaving a heavy sigh, Turok assisted him, explaining the most effective way to dress out the suit and adjust the fittings to optimize its efficiency.
“You have bought a decent stillsuit. It is of Fremen manufacture,” the young man observed. “In this at least you have chosen well.”
Kynes followed Turok to the storage chamber where his groundcar had been kept. The Fremen had stripped it of amenities, and his equipment lay in open boxes on the cave floor, inspected and cataloged. No doubt the sietch inhabitants had been trying to determine how they could put these things to use.
They’re still planning to kill me, Kynes thought. Haven’t they heard a thing I’ve said? Oddly, the thought neither depressed nor frightened him. He simply took the knowledge as a challenge. He was not about to give up—there was too much left to do. He would have to make them understand.
Among the clutter he found his weather apparatus and tucked the components under his arms, but made no comment about what had been done to his possessions. He knew Fremen had a communal mentality: Every item owned by an individual was owned by the entire community. Since he had spent so much of his life alone, relying only on himself and his abilities, he found it difficult to absorb such a mind-set.
Turok did not offer to carry any of the equipment, but led the way up steep steps that had been rough-hewn into the stone wall. Kynes panted but did not complain. Ahead of him the guide shifted aside numerous barricades, moisture baffles, and doorseals. Turok flashed glances over his shoulder to make sure the Planetologist was keeping up, then increased his speed.
Finally they emerged from a cleft atop the rubble-strewn peaks. The young Fremen leaned back in the shadow of the rocks, keeping himself cool, while Kynes stepped out into open sunlight. All around them the stone was coppery brown with a few discolorations of lichen. A good sign, he thought. The advance footprints of biological systems.
As he stared out at the sweeping vista of the Great Basin, he saw dunes that were the grayish white and brown of newly decomposed rock grains, as well as the buttery yellow of older, oxidized sand.
From the sandworms he’d seen, as well as the teeming sand plankton in the spice-rich sands, Kynes knew that Dune already had the basis for a complex ecosystem. He was certain it would take only a few crucial nudges in the proper direction to make this dormant place blossom.
The Fremen people could do it.
“Imperial man,” said Turok, stepping forward from the shade, “what is it you see when you stare out onto the desert like that?”
Kynes answered without looking at him. “I see limitless possibilities.”
In a sealed chamber deep in the sietch, wizened Heinar sat at the head of a stone table, glaring with his single eye. Trying to remain apart from the debate, the sietch Naib watched the council elders