Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [75]
At the first rumors that the seaworms were thriving, Waff had turned his efforts to the last few sandtrout in his original stock. Sculpting worm chromosomes for survival in a comfortable ocean environment had been a challenge; much more difficult, though, was the task of toughening the monsters to survive out in the blasted wastelands of Rakis. But Waff did not turn his back on difficulty. All along, his goal had been to bring the sandworms back where they belonged. God’s Messenger must return to Dune.
He studied Edrik, who stroked with webbed hands as he considered the request. “Our Oracle recently sent us a message, calling upon Navigators to leave the Guild and join her in a great battle. That must be my priority now.”
“I implore you, take me to Rakis.” As if to remind Waff of his imminent mortality, a twinge of pain shot through his chest and down his spine. He needed all his effort not to show the anguish of dying, the misery of failure. He had so little time remaining. “Is that so much to ask? Grant me this one favor at the end of my life.”
“That is all you wish to do? Die there?”
“I will spend my last energies on my sandworm specimens. Perhaps there is a way of reintroducing them to Rakis and regenerating the ecological systems. Think of it: If I succeed, you will have yet another source of melange.”
“You will not be pleased with what you find there. Even with moisture recycling, shelters, and equipment, survival on Rakis is more difficult than it has ever been. Your expectations are unrealistic. Nothing useful remains.”
Waff tried unsuccessfully to keep desperation out of his voice. “Rakis is my home, my spiritual compass.”
Edrik thought it over, then said, “I can fold space to Rakis, but I cannot promise to return. The Oracle has called me.”
“I will remain there as long as necessary. God will provide for me.”
Waff rushed back to his private research levels. Intending to stay on the desert planet, undoubtedly for the rest of his life, he requisitioned all the supplies and equipment he might need for years, allowing him to be entirely self-sufficient on that bleak and lifeless world. After placing the order, he looked at his tanks where the new armored sandworms writhed, eager to be released.
Rakis . . . Dune . . . was his destiny. He felt in his heart that God had summoned him there, and if Waff perished on the planet . . . then so be it. He felt a warm, soothing wave of contentment. He understood his place in the universe.
THE BLACKENED, FAINTLY coppery ball appeared in the Heighliner’s private viewing plates. Waff had been so anxious gathering his things that he hadn’t even felt the activation of the Holtzman engines, the folding of space.
Edrik surprised him by offering additional supplies and a small team of loyal Guild assistants to help with the labor of setting up a camp and administering the experiments. Perhaps he wanted his own people on hand to see if the Tleilaxu man succeeded again with his worms. Waff didn’t mind, so long as they stayed out of the way.
Without introducing himself to the silent members of his new team, Waff directed the transfer of his armored sandworm specimens from the isolated lab, his self-erecting shelters and his equipment, everything they would need for survival on the charred world.
One of the silent, smooth-faced Guild assistants piloted the lighter. Before they reached the dead surface of Dune, the Heighliner had already drifted out of orbit. Edrik was anxious to be on his way to answer the Oracle’s call, carrying its cargo of ultraspice and the tidings of new hope for all Navigators.
Waff, though, had eyes only for the blistered, lifeless landscape of the legendary world.
Bacteria are like tiny machines, notable for their effects on larger biological systems. In a similar way, humans behave as disease organisms among planetary systems,