Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [92]
Liet-Kynes picked up the speech as if he and Stilgar had rehearsed what they were going to say. “Look around. Can you imagine a world where our talents are more desperately needed? We are trained as fighters against impossible odds. We’re used to desert combat. As a planetologist, I know the best ways to control the spread of the dunes, and I understand more about the sandworm cycle than most people.”
Stilgar added, his passion rising, “We can show these fighters how to build sietches in the harshest desert. We can teach them to make real stillsuits. One day, perhaps, we shall even ride the great worms again.” His voice cracked. “No one can stop the desert, but we can keep the people alive. The rest of you go back to the no-ship, but the Qelsans need us here.”
Sheeana stopped at the hatch of the nearest ship, clearly displeased. “That is not possible. We need you, and all of the gholas, aboard the Ithaca. Each one of you was created, raised, and trained to assist us against the Enemy.”
“But no one knows how, Sheeana,” Duncan pointed out, moved by what the two young men had said. “None of you can say for certain why we need Stilgar and Liet. And what exactly is our fight?”
“We are not your tools or game pieces.” Stilgar crossed his arms over his chest. “We are human beings with free will, regardless of how we might have been created. I never asked to serve the Bene Gesserit witches.”
Liet stood by his friend. “This is what we want to do, and who’s to say it isn’t our destiny? We could save a planet, or at least its population. Isn’t that an important enough goal?”
Teg understood the dilemma all too well. These two had found a connection they could hold onto, a battle they could fight that did indeed require their specific abilities. He himself had been created as a pawn, and he’d been forced to play that role. “Let them go, Sheeana. You have enough experimental subjects on the ship.”
Thufir Hawat came up to the Bashar, relieved to see his mentor safe. He shot a disturbed glance toward Sheeana. “Is that all we are to them, Bashar? Experimental subjects?”
“In a certain sense. And now we must go back to our cage.” He was anxious to leave this dying planet before other problems arose.
“Not so fast,” the old Rabbi said, stepping forward. “My people are not, and never have been, part of your reckless flight across space. We’ve always wanted a world to settle. Compared to metal decks and small chambers, this planet looks good enough.”
“Qelso is dying,” Sheeana said. The Rabbi and his hardworking companions simply shrugged.
Var scowled, as did some of the nomadic villagers nearest him. “We do not need any further drain on our resources. You are welcome here only if you intend to fight back against the desert.”
Isaac, one of the strong Jewish men, nodded. “If we decide to stay here, we will fight and work. Our people are no strangers to surviving when the rest of the universe is pitted against us.”
No matter where I go, no matter what I leave behind, my past is always with me, like a shadow.
—DUNCAN IDAHO,
no-ship logs
Liet-Kynes and Stilgar returned briefly to the Ithaca to retrieve informational archives and some of the equipment they would need to monitor Qelso’s changing climate. Liet even converted several spare sensor buoys into orbital weathersats, which the no-ship deployed.
He said his goodbyes to the other ghola children who had been raised with him—Paul Atreides, Jessica, Leto II. And Chani, his own daughter. With a surge of emotion, Liet grasped the hand of the young woman, who was physically almost three years older than he. He smiled at her. “Chani, someday you will remember me as I was on Arrakis—busy in the sietches, working as the Imperial Planetologist or the Judge of the Change, carrying on my father’s dream for the Fremen and for Dune.”
Her expression was intense, as if she struggled