"Ah-h-h-h." The Fremen removed his hand from his weapon. "You think we have the Byzantine corruption. You don't know us. The Harkonnens have not water enough to buy the smallest child among us."
But they had the price of Guild passage for more than two thousand fighting ships, Hawat thought. And the size of that price still staggered him.
"We both fight Harkonnens," Hawat said. "Should we not share the problems and ways of meeting the battle issue?"
"We are sharing," the Fremen said. "I have seen you fight Harkonnens. You are good. There've been times I'd have appreciated your arm beside me."
"Say where my arm may help you," Hawat said.
"Who knows?" the Fremen asked. "There are Harkonnen forces everywhere. But you still have not made the water decision or put it to your wounded."
I must be cautious, Hawat told himself. There's a thing here that's not understood.
He said: "Will you show me your way, the Arrakeen way?"
"Stranger-thinking," the Fremen said, and there was a sneer in his tone. He pointed to the northwest across the clifftop. "We watched you come across the sand last night." He lowered his arm. "You keep your force on the slip-face of the dunes. Bad. You have no stillsuits, no water. You will not last long."
"The ways of Arrakis don't come easily," Hawat said.
"Truth. But we've killed Harkonnens."
"What do you do with your own wounded? "Hawat demanded.
"Does a man not know when he is worth saving?" the Fremen asked. "Your wounded know you have no water." He tilted his head, looking sideways up at Hawat. "This is clearly a time for water decision. Both wounded and unwounded must look to the tribe's future."
The tribe's future, Hawat thought. The tribe of Atreides. There's sense in that. He forced himself to the question he had been avoiding.
"Have you word of my Duke or his son?"
Unreadable blue eyes stared upward into Hawat's. "Word?"
"Their fate!" Hawat snapped.
"Fate is the same for everyone," the Fremen said. "Your Duke, it is said, has met his fate. As to the Lisan al-Gaib, his son, that is in Liet's hands.
Liet has not said."
I knew the answer without asking, Hawat thought.
He glanced back at his men. They were all awake now. They had heard. They were staring out across the sand, the realization in their expressions: there was no returning to Caladan for them, and now Arrakis was lost.
Hawat turned back to the Fremen. "Have you heard of Duncan Idaho?"
"He was in the great house when the shield went down," the Fremen said.
"This I've heard . . . no more."
She dropped the shield and let in the Harkonnens, he thought. I was the one who sat with my back to a door. How could she do this when it meant turning also against her own son? But . . . who knows how a Bene Gesserit witch thinks . . .
if you can call it thinking?
Hawat tried to swallow in a dry throat. "When will you hear about the boy?"
"We know little of what happens in Arrakeen," the Fremen said. He shrugged.
"Who knows?"
"You have ways of finding out?"
"Perhaps." The Fremen rubbed at the scar beside his nose. "Tell me, Thufir Hawat, do you have knowledge of the big weapons the Harkonnens used?"
The artillery, Hawat thought bitterly. Who could have guessed they'd use artillery in this day of shields?
"You refer to the artillery they used to trap our people in the caves," he said. "I've . . . theoretical knowledge of such explosive weapons."
"Any man who retreats into a cave which has only one opening deserves to die," the Fremen said.
"Why do you ask about these weapons?"
"Liet wishes it."
Is that what he wants from us? Hawat wondered. He said: "Did you come here seeking information about the big guns?"
"Liet wished to see one of the weapons for himself."
"Then you should just go take one," Hawat sneered.
"Yes," the Fremen said. "We took one. We have it hidden where Stilgar can study it for Liet and where Liet can see it for himself if he wishes. But I doubt he'll want to: the weapon is not a very good one. Poor design for Arrakis."
