Dune

“The Baron, he told me to make sure what happened to them two,” Scarface said.

“What you so worried about?” asked another trooper from behind the litter-bearer.

“She is a Bene Gesserit witch,” the deaf one said. “They have powers.”

“Ah-h-h….” The litter-bearer made the sign of the fist at his ear. “One of them, eh? Know whatcha mean.”

The trooper behind him grunted. “She’ll be worm meat soon enough. Don’t suppose even a Bene Gesserit witch has powers over one of them big worms. Eh, Czigo?” He nudged the litter-bearer.

“Yee-up,” the litter-bearer said. He returned to the litter, took Jessica’s shoulders. “C’mon, Kinet. You can go along if you wants to make sure what happens.”

“It is nice of you to invite me, Czigo,” Scarface said.

Jessica felt herself lifted, the wing shadow spinning—stars. She was pushed into the rear of the ’thopter, her krimskell fiber bindings examined, and she was strapped down. Paul was jammed in beside her, strapped securely, and she noted his bonds were simple rope.

Scarface, the deaf one they called Kinet, took his place in front. The litter-bearer, the one they called Czigo, came around and took the other front seat.

Kinet closed his door, bent to the controls. The ’thopter took off in a wing-tucked surge, headed south over the Shield Wall. Czigo tapped his companion’s shoulder, said: “Whyn’t you turn around and keep an eye on them two?”

“Sure you know the way to go?” Kinet watched Czigo’s lips.

“I listened to the traitor same’s you.”

Kinet swiveled his seat. Jessica saw the glint of starlight on a lasgun in his hand. The ’thopter’s light-walled interior seemed to collect illumination as her eyes adjusted, but the guard’s scarred face remained dim. Jessica tested her seat belt, found it loose. She felt roughness in the strap against her left arm, realized the strap had been almost severed, would snap at a sudden jerk.

Has someone been at this ’thopter, preparing it for us? she wondered. Who? Slowly, she twisted her bound feet clear of Paul’s.

“Sure do seem a shame to waste a good-looking woman like this,” Scarface said. “You ever have any highborn types?” He turned to look at the pilot.

“Bene Gesserit ain’t all highborn,” the pilot said.

“But they all looks heighty.”

He can see me plain enough, Jessica thought. She brought her bound legs up onto the seat, curled into a sinuous ball, staring at Scarface.

“Real pretty, she is,” Kinet said. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Sure do seem a shame.” He looked at Czigo.

“You thinking what I think you’re thinking?” the pilot asked.

“Who’d be to know?” the guard asked. “Afterwards….” He shrugged. “I just never had me no highborns. Might never get a chance like this one again.”

“You lay a hand on my mother….” Paul grated. He glared at Scarface.

“Hey!” the pilot laughed. “Cub’s got a bark. Ain’t got no bite, though.”

And Jessica thought: Paul’s pitching his voice too high. It may work, though.

They flew on in silence.

These poor fools, Jessica thought, studying her guards and reviewing the Baron’s words. They’ll be killed as soon as they report success on their mission. The Baron wants no witnesses.

The ’thopter banked over the southern rim of the Shield Wall, and Jessica saw a moonshadowed expanse of sand beneath them.

“This oughta be far enough,” the pilot said. “The traitor said to put ’em on the sand anywhere near the Shield Wall.” He dipped the craft toward the dunes in a long, falling stoop, brought it up stiffly over the desert surface.

Jessica saw Paul begin taking the rhythmic breaths of the calming exercise. He closed his eyes, opened them. Jessica stared, helpless to aid him. He hasn’t mastered the Voice yet, she thought, if he fails….

The ’thopter touched sand with a soft lurch, and Jessica, looking north back across the Shield Wall, saw a shadow of wings settle out of sight up there.

Someone’s following us! she thought. Who? Then: The ones the Baron set to watch this pair. And there’ll be watchers for the watchers, too.

Czigo shut off his wing rotors. Silence flooded in upon them.

Jessica turned her head. She could see out the window beyond Scarface a dim glow of light from a rising moon, a frosted rim of rock rising from the desert. Sandblast ridges streaked its sides.

Paul cleared his throat.

The pilot said: “Now, Kinet?”

“I dunno, Czigo.”

Czigo turned, said: “Ah-h-h, look.” He reached out for Jessica’s skirt.

“Remove her gag,” Paul commanded.

Jessica felt the words rolling in the air. The tone, the timbre excellent—imperative, very sharp. A slightly lower pitch would have been better, but it could still fall within this man’s spectrum.