"the touch of the spicebrush" to mean a man had gone too native. And there was always a hint of distrust in the idea.
"There was a time when we did not ride the maker in the light of day in these latitudes," Paul said. "But Rabban has little enough air cover left that he can waste it looking for a few specks in the sand." He looked at Gurney.
"Your aircraft were a shock to us here."
To us . . . to us . . .
Gurney shook his head to drive out such thoughts. "We weren't the shock to you that you were to us," he said.
"What's the talk of Rabban in the sinks and villages?" Paul asked.
"They say they've fortified the graben villages to the point where you cannot harm them. They say they need only sit inside their defenses while you wear yourselves out in futile attack."
"In a word," Paul said, "they're immobilized."
"While you can go where you will," Gurney said.
"It's a tactic I learned from you," Paul said. "They've lost the initiative, which means they've lost the war."
Gurney smiled, a slow, knowing expression.
"Our enemy is exactly where I want him to be," Paul said. He glanced at Gurney. "Well, Gurney, do you enlist with me for the finish of this campaign?"
"Enlist?" Gurney stared at him. "My Lord, I've never left your service.
You're the only one left me . . . to think you dead. And I, being cast adrift, made what shrift I could, waiting for the moment I might sell my life for what it's worth -- the death of Rabban."
An embarrassed silence settled over Paul.
A woman came climbing up the rocks toward them, her eyes between stillsuit hood and facemask flicking between Paul and his companion. She stopped in front of Paul. Gurney noted the possessive air about her, the way she stood close to Paul.
"Chani," Paul said, "this is Gurney Halleck. You've heard me speak of him."
She looked at Halleck, back to Paul. "I have heard."
"Where did the men go on the maker?" Paul asked.
"They but diverted it to give us time to save the equipment."
"Well then . . ." Paul broke off, sniffed the air.
"There's wind coming," Chani said.
A voice called out from the ridgetop above them: "Ho, there -- the wind!"
Gurney saw a quickening of motion among the Fremen now -- a rushing about and sense of hurry. A thing the worm had not ignited was brought about by fear of the wind. The factory crawler lumbered up onto the dry beach below them and a way was opened for it among the rocks . . . and the rocks closed behind it so neatly that the passage escaped his eyes.
"Have you many such hiding places?" Gurney asked.
"Many times many," Paul said. He looked at Chani. "Find Korba. Tell him that Gurney has warned me there are men among this smuggler crew who're not to be trusted."
She looked once at Gurney, back to Paul, nodded, and was off down the rocks, leaping with a gazelle-like agility.
"She is your woman," Gurney said.
"The mother of my firstborn," Paul said. "There's another Leto among the Atreides."
Gurney accepted this with only a widening of the eyes.
Paul watched the action around them with a critical eye. A curry color dominated the southern sky now and there came fitful bursts and gusts of wind that whipped dust around their heads.
"Seal your suit," Paul said. And he fastened the mask and hood about his face.
Gurney obeyed, thankful for the filters.
Paul spoke, his voice muffled by the filter: "Which of your crew don't you trust, Gurney?"
"There're some new recruits," Gurney said. "Offworlders . . . " He hesitated, wondering at himself suddenly. Offworlders. The word had come so easily to his tongue.
"Yes?" Paul said.
"They're not like the usual fortune-hunting lot we get," Gurney said.
"They're tougher."
"Harkonnen spies?" Paul asked.
"I think m'Lord, that they report to no Harkonnen. I suspect they're men of the Imperial service. They have a hint of Salusa Secundus about them."
