Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [90]
Thufir stiffened, then allowed himself a pleased smile. “You should have left the Ithaca long ago, Duncan. I don’t see what you’ve accomplished by staying here. The no-field hasn’t exactly offered perfect protection.”
Garimi seemed pleased by Duncan’s attitude. “My recovery teams took a good look at that planet down there, and it seems a fine place to settle. Does that mean you’ll stop opposing my efforts and let us form a colony at last?”
The lift doors closed, and the group began to drop toward the hangar decks where the many ships were being refueled. “That remains to be seen.”
TEG BIDED HIS time in the camp long after Stilgar and Liet flew off into the early morning. By now, Duncan would certainly have drawn the obvious conclusions.
“Do you think they’ll kill us, after all?” Sheeana’s tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact, as if she had accepted the inevitable.
“Maybe just you. You’re the one they blame.” He spoke without humor. Though they were allowed to sit on the ground outside, their captors still watched them closely.
She sipped from a small cup of water that had been provided. “Is that a joke?”
“A distraction.” Teg glanced up at the sky. “We have to trust Duncan to decide on the correct response.”
“Maybe he thinks we can handle this ourselves. Duncan has great confidence in our independent abilities.”
“As do I. Should it become necessary, I could slaughter every one of these people.” He chose the word intentionally. Slaughter. As he had done with the Honored Matres in their fortress on Gammu. “And it would take me no longer than the blink of an eye. You know it.”
Sheeana had seen him move against the Handlers, helping her, Thufir, and the Rabbi escape, and she had also seen how much that brief burst of energy had drained him. “Yes, I know, Miles. And I pray it doesn’t become necessary.”
Off in the distance they heard the whining drone of the small flyer returning from the desert. Teg’s sharply attuned ears recognized its sputtering engine sound. The villagers gathered at the packed landing zone, anxious to receive the hunting party. First, two specks appeared in the sky, flying low; then they were joined by many more dots, like a dispersed flock of migrating birds. The drone grew to a roar.
Teg shaded his eyes, identifying many of the flying craft. “Mining shuttles and lighters from the no-ship. So this is how Duncan plans to rescue us. He’s trying to impress them. It appears he sent everything we have.”
“We certainly have superior firepower. Duncan could have taken the direct method and rescued us by force of arms.”
Watching the ships come closer, Teg smiled. “He’s smarter than that. Like me, he wants to avoid bloodshed, especially in a conflict he doesn’t entirely understand.” Did I teach him that lesson, or did he teach me? As the Bashar reflected on their past lives, he didn’t know the answer.
More than forty craft landed together in a flat, open space at the outskirts of the village. They weren’t war vessels or armored attack ships, though some had defensive weapons. The Bashar stepped with Sheeana away from the tents, to face the largest mining shuttle. No one tried to stop them; the people were too awed by what they saw.
It surprised Teg to see Duncan Idaho himself march down the ramp of the lead craft, wearing his traditional House Atreides uniform, complete with polished boots and the starburst insignia of his rank. If the Qelsans had been gone from the Old Empire for fifteen centuries, they weren’t likely to recognize any of the symbols, but Teg thought the uniform gave his friend a distinguished aura of command, and undoubtedly provided self-assurance.
Duncan swept his gaze across the confused