Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [89]
He looked coolly down at the dying Edrik. Only a few rusty curls of gas continued to ooze from cracks in the tank. “You have served your purpose, Navigator. Take solace in that.” The Face Dancer strutted away.
Edrik continued to heave great breaths, but barely a scent of melange remained. By the time the computer-controlled Guildships got into formation in space, he could barely keep from slumping into unconsciousness.
The opposing vessels opened fire. Edrik’s Heighliner exploded before he could utter a curse.
There is an art to legend-telling, and an art to living the legend.
—a saying of Ancient Kaitain
The Ithaca’s replenishing operations had taken place in the stillrich northern latitudes, far from any visible population centers. Garimi managed the complex process with dozens of flying craft from the hangar decks, leaving Duncan on the command bridge. He felt trapped there, unable to leave because of the protective veil that the no-ship usually afforded him. He hated having to remain behind while others did the risky work . . . and he didn’t even know what the old man and woman wanted from him.
He had no idea what was going on back in the Old Empire, with Murbella and Chapterhouse. He knew only that the Enemy was still searching for him—and he was still hiding, as he had been for decades. Was this truly the best way to fight, the best way to defend humanity? He had been adrift for as long as the Ithaca, and of late, the waters of uncertainty seemed deeper than ever.
It had been two days now without word from Teg or Sheeana and their team. If their group was simply meeting with the natives, someone should have checked in by now. Duncan feared another trap like the one they had encountered on the planet of the Handlers.
Miles Teg had been his mentor and his student, and Sheeana . . . ah, Sheeana. They had been lovers and sexual opponents. She had cured him and saved him, so of course he cared for her. He had tried to protect himself by denying it, but she hadn’t believed him, and he hadn’t believed himself. Both knew they had a bond unlike any other, different from the one he and Murbella had imposed upon one another.
As he studied the landscape below, it seemed to call to him. Many cities were discernible in the northern and southern forested latitudes. He felt he should be down there facing any possible dangers with the others, not stuck aboard the Ithaca, forced to remain safe and out of sight.
How long am I supposed to wait?
When he was Swordmaster of House Atreides he would never have hesitated. If it had been young Paul Atreides under threat, Duncan would have leapt in to fight for him, ignoring the intangible threat of the old man and woman. As the witches said in their oft-quoted Litany, I will face my fear. And it was about time he did so.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the spreading desert that looked like a seeping knife wound across the continent. “I will not ignore this.” Duncan summoned Thufir Hawat as well as Garimi, who had recently returned to the no-ship with all of her flying craft after reloading the Ithaca’s stores.
Duncan stood when they arrived. “We are going to rescue the landing party,” he announced, “and we’re going to do it now. I don’t know what kind of military force those people have down there, but we’ll stand against it if the Bashar is in trouble.”
Thufir’s eyes brightened and his face flushed. “I’ll pilot one of the ships.”
Duncan remained stern. “No, you will follow my orders.”
Garimi was taken aback by Duncan’s bold comment, but nodded as she heard him rebuke Thufir. “Do you have instructions for us before we depart? Shall I command the mission?”
“No—I will do it personally.” Before either could argue with him, Duncan strode toward the lift, and they were forced to follow him. “I’m sick of hiding. My plan has been to run and remain unobtrusive, staying one step ahead of that strange net.