Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [86]
“Then you may have it.” Waff performed a perfunctory bow. “We have other interests, as geological investigators and archaeologists. We wish to take readings and run tests to determine the extent of damage to the ecosystem.” The four Guild assistants waited beside him in complete silence.
Guriff laughed loudly and heartily. “There isn’t much of an ecosystem left here.”
“Then where does breathable oxygen come from?” He knew that Liet-Kynes had asked that question in the ancient days, curious because the planet had neither widespread plant life nor volcanoes to generate an atmosphere.
The man just stared. Obviously, he had not thought about this. “Do I look like a planetologist to you? Go ahead and look into it, but don’t expect any help from us. Here on Rakis, you are self-sufficient or you die.”
The Tleilaxu man raised his eyebrows. “And what if we wish to share some of our spice coffee with you, as a token of friendship? I understand that water is more easily obtainable than in the old days.”
Guriff glanced at his prospectors, then said, “We’re happy to accept your hospitality, but we have no intention of reciprocating.”
“Nonetheless, our offer stands.”
INSIDE GURIFF’S DUSTY hut, Waff used his own supplies of melange (left over from his sandworm experiments) to brew coffee. Guriff didn’t have a desperate shortage of water in his camp, though his dwelling smelled of long-unwashed bodies and the savory sweetness of a drug smoke that Waff could not identify.
At his command, the four Guildsmen erected the shelters brought down from the Heighliner, setting up armored sleeping tents and laboratory enclosures. Waff saw no reason to assist them. He was a Tleilaxu Master after all, and these were his workers, so he would allow them to perform their tasks.
While they drank a second pot of spice coffee, Guriff grew more relaxed. He didn’t trust the diminutive Tleilaxu, but he didn’t seem to trust anyone. He took pains to say he harbored no particular hatred toward Waff’s race, and that his scavengers held no grudges against others of low social position. Guriff cared only about Rakis.
“All that melted sand and plascrete. By chipping away the upper crust of glass, we were able to get down to the foundations of the sturdier buildings in Keen.” Guriff produced a hand-drawn chart. “Scraping out buried treasure. We found what we think is the original Bene Gesserit Keep—a few heavily barricaded bomb shelters filled with skeletons.” He smiled. “We also uncovered the extravagant temple built by the Priests of the Divided God. It was so huge we couldn’t miss it. Full of trinkets, but still not enough to pay for our effort. CHOAM is expecting us to find something much more extraordinary, though they seem happy enough to sell containers of ‘genuine Rakian sand’ to gullible fools.”
Waff didn’t reply. Edrik and the Navigators had obtained such Rakian sand for him to use in his original experiments.
“But we’ve got a lot more digging to do. Keen was a big city.”
In his previous life, Waff had seen those structures before they were destroyed. He knew the ostentation that the deluded Priests placed in all the rooms and towers (as if God cared about such gaudiness!). Guriff and his men would indeed find plenty of treasure there. But the wrong kind.
“The Priesthood’s temple had collapsed worse than most other large buildings. Maybe it was a direct target of the Honored Matre attack.” The prospector smiled with thick lips. “But deep in the sublevels beneath the temple, we did find chests of stored solaris and hoarded melange. A worthwhile haul. More than we expected, but not so much. We’re after something bigger. The Tyrant buried a huge spice hoard deep in the southern polar regions—I’m sure of it.”
Waff made a skeptical sound as he sipped spice coffee. “No one has been able to find that treasure for fifteen hundred years.”
Guriff held up a finger, noticed a hangnail, and