coolness and the moisture were blessed relief. Then, as his planet killed him, it occurred to Kynes that his father and all the other scientists were wrong, that the most persistent principles of the universe were accident and error.
Even the hawks could appreciate these facts.
= = = = = =
Prophecy and prescience--How can they be put to the test in the face of the unanswered questions? Consider: How much is actual prediction of the "waveform"
(as Muad'Dib referred to his vision-image) and how much is the prophet shaping the future to fit the prophecy? What of the harmonics inherent in the act of prophecy? Does the prophet see the future or does he see a line of weakness, a fault or cleavage that he may shatter with words or decisions as a diamond-cutter shatters his gem with a blow of a knife?
-"Private Reflections on Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan
"Get their water," the man calling out of the night had said. And Paul fought down his fear, glanced at his mother. His trained eyes saw her readiness for battle, the waiting whipsnap of her muscles.
"It would be regrettable should we have to destroy you out of hand," the voice above them said.
That's the one who spoke to us first, Jessica thought. There are at least two of them--one to our right and one on our left.
"Cignoro hrobosa sukares hin mange la pchagavas doi me kamavas na beslas lele pal hrobas!"
It was the man to their right calling out across the basin.
To Paul, the words were gibberish, but out of her Bene Gesserit training, Jessica recognized the speech. It was Chakobsa, one of the ancient hunting languages, and the man above them was saying that perhaps these were the strangers they sought.
In the sudden silence that followed the calling voice, the hoop-wheel face of the second moon--faintly ivory blue--rolled over the rocks across the basin, bright and peering.
Scrambling sounds came from the rocks--above and to both sides . . . dark motions in the moonlight. Many figures flowed through the shadows.
A whole troop! Paul thought with a sudden pang.
A tall man in a mottled burnoose stepped in front of Jessica. His mouth baffle was thrown aside for clear speech, revealing a heavy beard in the sidelight of the moon, but face and eyes were hidden in the overhang of his hood.
"What have we here--jinn or human?" he asked.
And Jessica heard the true-banter in his voice, she allowed herself a faint hope. This was the voice of command, the voice that had first shocked them with its intrusion from the night.
"Human, I warrant," the man said.
Jessica sensed rather than saw the knife hidden in a fold of the man's robe.
She permitted herself one bitter regret that she and Paul had no shields.
"Do you also speak?" the man asked.
Jessica put all the royal arrogance at her command into her manner and voice. Reply was urgent, but she had not heard enough of this man to be certain she had a register on his culture and weaknesses.
"Who comes on us like criminals out of the night?" she demanded.
The burnoose-hooded head showed tension in a sudden twist, then slow relaxation that revealed much. The man had good control.
Paul shifted away from his mother to separate them as targets and give each of them a clearer arena of action.
The hooded head turned at Paul's movement, opening a wedge of face to moonlight. Jessica saw a sharp nose, one glinting eye--dark, so dark the eye, without any white in it--a heavy brown and upturned mustache.
"A likely cub," the man said. "If you're fugitives from the Harkonnens, it may be you're welcome among us. What is it, boy?"
The possibilities flashed through Paul's mind: A trick? A fact? Immediate decision was needed.
"Why should you welcome fugitives?" he demanded.
"A child who thinks and speaks like a man," the tall man said. "Well, now, to answer your question, my young wali, I am one who does not pay the fai, the water tribute, to the Harkonnens. That is why I might welcome a fugitive."
He knows who we are, Paul thought. There's concealment in his voice.
"I am Stilgar, the Fremen," the tall man said. "Does that speed your tongue, boy?"
It is the same voice, Paul thought. And he remembered the Council with this man seeking the body of a friend slain by the Harkonnens.
"I know you, Stilgar," Paul said. "I was with my father in Council when you came for the water of your friend. You took away with you my father's man, Duncan Idaho--an exchange of friends."
"And Idaho abandoned us to return to his Duke," Stilgar said.
Jessica heard the shading of disgust in his voice, held herself prepared for attack.
The voice from the rocks above them called: "We waste time here, Stil."
"This is the Duke's son," Stilgar barked. "He's certainly the one Liet told us to seek."
"But . . . a child, Stil."
