paracompass, water distilleries, and reliable note-keeping devices.
It was said that many tribes of the enigmatic Fremen lived in the trackless wastes. Kynes wanted to talk with them, to understand how they squeezed survival from such a harsh environment. But the out-of-place Fremen seemed reticent within the boundaries of Carthag, and they hurried away whenever he tried to talk with them ....
Kynes didn't much care for the city himself. House Harkonnen had erected the new headquarters en masse when, four decades earlier, Guild manipulations had given them Arrakis as a quasi-fief to govern. Carthag had been built with the rapidity of inexhaustible human labor, without finesse or attention to detail: blocky buildings constructed of substandard materials for ostentatious purposes or functionality. No elegance whatsoever.
Carthag did not appear to belong here; its architecture and placement were offensive to his sensibilities. Kynes had an innate ability to see how the fabric of an ecosystem meshed, how the pieces fit together in a natural world.
But this population center was wrong, like a pustule on the skin of the planet.
Another outpost to the southwest, Arrakeen, was a more primitive city that had grown slowly, naturally, nestled against a mountainous barrier called the Shield Wall. Perhaps Kynes should have gone there first. But political requirements had forced him to establish his base with the rulers of the planet.
At least that had given him the opportunity to search for one of the giant sandworms.
The large 'thopter transport carrying Rabban's hunting party lifted off, and soon Kynes received his initial glimpse of the true desert. Kynes peered out the windowplaz at the rippled wastelands below. From experiences in other desert regions, he was able to identify dune patterns . . . shapes and sinuous curves that revealed much about seasonal wind patterns, prevailing air currents, and the severity of storms. So much could be learned from studying these ripples and lines, the fingerprints of weather. He pressed his face to the plaz observation ports; none of the other passengers appeared to be interested at all.
The Harkonnen troops fidgeted, hot in their heavy blue uniforms and armor.
Their weapons clattered against each other and scraped the floor plates. The men seemed uneasy without their personal body, shields, but the presence of a shield and its Holtzman field would drive any nearby worms into a killing frenzy. Today, Rabban himself wanted to do the killing.
Glossu Rabban, the twenty-one-year-old son of the planet's former lackluster governor, sat up front near the pilot, looking for targets out on the sand.
With severely cropped brown hair, he was broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, and short-tempered. Icy pale blue eyes looked out from a sunburned face. He seemed to do everything possible to be the opposite of his father.
"Will we see worm tracks from the sky?" he asked.
Behind him, Thekar the desert guide leaned very close, as if wishing to remain within Rabban's personal space. "The sands shift and mask the passage of a worm. Often they travel deep. You will not see a worm moving until it approaches the surface and is ready to attack."
The tall, angular Kynes listened intently, taking mental notes. He wanted to record all of these details in his logbook, but that would have to wait until later.
"Then how are we going to find one? I heard the open desert is crawling with worms."
"Not that simple, m'Lord Rabban," Thekar responded. "The great worms have their own domains, some extending to hundreds of square kilometers. Within these boundaries they hunt and kill any intruders."
Growing impatient, Rabban turned around in his seat. His skin grew darker.
"How do we know where to find a worm's domain?"
Thekar smiled, and his dark, close-set eyes took on a distant look. "All of the desert is owned by Shai-Hulud."
"By what? Stop evading my questions." Within another moment, Kynes was sure
It was said that many tribes of the enigmatic Fremen lived in the trackless wastes. Kynes wanted to talk with them, to understand how they squeezed survival from such a harsh environment. But the out-of-place Fremen seemed reticent within the boundaries of Carthag, and they hurried away whenever he tried to talk with them ....
Kynes didn't much care for the city himself. House Harkonnen had erected the new headquarters en masse when, four decades earlier, Guild manipulations had given them Arrakis as a quasi-fief to govern. Carthag had been built with the rapidity of inexhaustible human labor, without finesse or attention to detail: blocky buildings constructed of substandard materials for ostentatious purposes or functionality. No elegance whatsoever.
Carthag did not appear to belong here; its architecture and placement were offensive to his sensibilities. Kynes had an innate ability to see how the fabric of an ecosystem meshed, how the pieces fit together in a natural world.
But this population center was wrong, like a pustule on the skin of the planet.
Another outpost to the southwest, Arrakeen, was a more primitive city that had grown slowly, naturally, nestled against a mountainous barrier called the Shield Wall. Perhaps Kynes should have gone there first. But political requirements had forced him to establish his base with the rulers of the planet.
At least that had given him the opportunity to search for one of the giant sandworms.
The large 'thopter transport carrying Rabban's hunting party lifted off, and soon Kynes received his initial glimpse of the true desert. Kynes peered out the windowplaz at the rippled wastelands below. From experiences in other desert regions, he was able to identify dune patterns . . . shapes and sinuous curves that revealed much about seasonal wind patterns, prevailing air currents, and the severity of storms. So much could be learned from studying these ripples and lines, the fingerprints of weather. He pressed his face to the plaz observation ports; none of the other passengers appeared to be interested at all.
The Harkonnen troops fidgeted, hot in their heavy blue uniforms and armor.
Their weapons clattered against each other and scraped the floor plates. The men seemed uneasy without their personal body, shields, but the presence of a shield and its Holtzman field would drive any nearby worms into a killing frenzy. Today, Rabban himself wanted to do the killing.
Glossu Rabban, the twenty-one-year-old son of the planet's former lackluster governor, sat up front near the pilot, looking for targets out on the sand.
With severely cropped brown hair, he was broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, and short-tempered. Icy pale blue eyes looked out from a sunburned face. He seemed to do everything possible to be the opposite of his father.
"Will we see worm tracks from the sky?" he asked.
Behind him, Thekar the desert guide leaned very close, as if wishing to remain within Rabban's personal space. "The sands shift and mask the passage of a worm. Often they travel deep. You will not see a worm moving until it approaches the surface and is ready to attack."
The tall, angular Kynes listened intently, taking mental notes. He wanted to record all of these details in his logbook, but that would have to wait until later.
"Then how are we going to find one? I heard the open desert is crawling with worms."
"Not that simple, m'Lord Rabban," Thekar responded. "The great worms have their own domains, some extending to hundreds of square kilometers. Within these boundaries they hunt and kill any intruders."
Growing impatient, Rabban turned around in his seat. His skin grew darker.
"How do we know where to find a worm's domain?"
Thekar smiled, and his dark, close-set eyes took on a distant look. "All of the desert is owned by Shai-Hulud."
"By what? Stop evading my questions." Within another moment, Kynes was sure
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