Paul of Dune

substantially more equipment into service than we lose to the desert, at least seventeen percent more.”

“The spice must flow,” Chani said. “So it must,” Dayef agreed.

Paul observed through the scratched plaz window of the ‘thopter as people moved with antlike efficiency down on the active spice field. The pilot landed the craft near the first of four enormous spice factories.

“These operations have been going for only twenty minutes, and already they are at full production levels,” Dayef said.

Paul was pleased to see the clockwork cooperation that could erect a veritable city in less than half an hour, all the machinery exploiting a deep rich vein that scouts had found only that morning.

Years ago, during the introductory tour that Dr. Kynes had given Duke Leto, there had been only one factory crawler. Now Paul counted six insectile structures, lumbering machines each the size of an industrial base. The work gangs rushed about at a frenetic pace: spice operators, dunemen, depth-probe operators, riggers, even a few weather-beaten CHOAM inspectors.

In addition to skilled Fremen spice crews, offworld pilgrims volunteered for the work in droves, considering it part of their sacred hajj to touch natural melange on the dunes. The armies of laborers also consisted of prisoners and slaves captured in the Jihad. Defeated and indoctrinated, they accepted Muad’Dib’s guarantee of freedom after six months in a spice factory, at which time they would be released, forgiven, and offered a chance to stay on Dune. Very few survived to reap the reward.

Paul felt a twinge inside as he realized another difference between himself and his father: Duke Leto would have abhorred using forced labor for such operations, but right now this was necessary to meet obligations to the Guild and to feed the machine that ran the new Empire of Muad’Dib. We do what is required. And the people silently demanded it, forcing themselves to participate in these work gangs to demonstrate their altruism and their worth. And they would keep doing it for him. “This is impressive, Dayef.”

“They do it to show their faith in you, Muad’Dib.”

Chani chided Paul in a low voice. “Do not forget that you are just a man, Usul.”

He smiled back at her. “You will never let me forget that, my Sihaya.” Nevertheless, he did need to be reminded, since he spent his days on Arrakeen watching the construction of his ostentatious citadel, hearing the millions chanting his name, knowing that across the galaxy his banner was being planted on more worlds than he would ever bother to count.

I am just a man. I am Paul Atreides. I am only the Terrible Muad’Dib if I allow myself to be.

Because this particular spice deposit had been found in a part of the desert sheltered by a low line of rocky outcroppings, the worms could approach from only one direction, so the spotters concentrated their attention there. This meant that the harvesting process operated under a higher than usual margin of safety and was able to continue far longer than they might otherwise have expected.

The low rock wall, however, did not shelter them from a sudden sandstorm that whipped up from the east. Thermal currents from the blistering sands converged with winds that blew along the sharp ridgeline and slammed together to create a sudden, unexpected storm cell.

Within the sheltered ‘thopter, Dayef listened on his communication bands as the voices began to crackle with static. The harvesting crews alerted everyone to the change in the weather, summoning their outriders back to the carryalls, but most of the crews remained at their stations. The factory crawlers continued to churn away, harvesting until the last possible moment.

“Because they know you are here, Muad’Dib, they intend to put in an extra effort until the last instant,” Dayef said.

“I do not want that. Call them in. Now! It is my command. Don’t risk them.” He looked at Chani beside him, then at the oncoming fringe of the storm. He would not risk her either. “And we must depart before that wind hits.” He remembered his father shouting, Damn the spice!, and the desperate measures they had taken to rescue the few stranded men….

Dayef’s order caused further scrambling in the temporary camp, but some of the workers still didn’t evacuate. Instead, they stood outside their spice harvesters, raising their fists and chanting. Paul could barely hear the tiny echo of their voices, “Muad’Dib, Muad’Dib…”

With a flash of anger and dismay, Paul realized that simply by coming here to inspect the site, he had given these workers a false sense of security. Because they so wanted his praise, they felt a foolish need to show off. He could see the razor-edged dust now, curling up over the rock wall, brown plumes swirling like the smoke of a burned village.

Those winds carried abrasive sand particles with enough force to scour flesh away, and the men knew it.

Carryalls dropped down to snag the large factory crawlers, lifting them into the air and lumbering away as the weather intensified. The pilot turned to Paul and Chani. “If you do not wish me to fight with the winds of hell, Muad’Dib, we need to take off now.”

“Do it.” Paul strapped himself in and made sure that Chani did the same. The ‘thopter’s articulated wings began to shudder, giving them lift. The breezes were already pushing them. A few last ground vehicles raced aboard the harvesters, calling for pickup. It was like a gigantic airlift in a war zone. Paul looked down as their ‘thopter rose from the dunes, heard the hiss of sand grains across the transparent shield.

Dayef touched the communication stud in his ear, nodded. “The spice crew managers report that all of the big equipment is getting away, Muad’Dib. A dozen small rover vehicles have been lost, along with four sand diggers, and two sledges.”

“What about those men down there?” Paul saw a line of thirty figures atop the crest of a low dune. The fabric of their work garb whipped about as they braced themselves. They raised their hands into the air, defying the storm.

“Merely one of your new slave crews from Omwara, hard workers but a bit unruly. Although they didn’t join the rebel Thorvald, they are shamed that some of their brothers gave him temporary refuge on their planet. They wish to prove their loyalty to you.”

“They can prove their loyalty by obeying my orders. Tell them to get themselves to safety! Make sure they know it is Muad’Dib’s command that they do so. Have them board the last carrier.”

The sandstorm was getting worse, sweeping down like a curtain over the ridge and already erasing the human-made marks on the desert. Dayef frowned. “Communications are down — too much static electricity.”

“Can they fit in ‘thopters?” Paul asked, feeling a greater desperation. “We could land and pick them up.” He clenched his fist, feeling the danger increase with every second.

A hard knot of wind struck the ‘thopter, causing it to shear sideways and lurch toward the ground. Its articulated wings flapped and struggled to keep the craft airborne. Alarms whistled on the cockpit controls as the pilot fought to keep them from crashing. The storm grew more intense each moment as the front rolled over the work site.

Paul looked at Chani, having reached a hard decision. I will not risk her. “We can’t save those men. If we brought the transports back down to retrieve them, we would lose the ships and all those other men as well.”

Chani’s face was drawn. “They believe you have the power to save them, Usul. They believe you can intervene and stop the winds.” But I am just a man!

The line of workers below continued shouting at the tempest. The ‘thopter shuddered, and the pilot finally lifted the aircraft, carrying Paul and Chani safely above the worst of the weather. Paul continued to gaze downward. What must those poor fools be thinking now? Did they truly believe that at any moment Muad’Dib could stop the winds? As they died, would they think he had failed them?

“And the spice?” Paul asked. “Did we receive a full load?”

“I believe so, Muad’Dib.”

His father would have done anything, risked anything to personally rescue those men, even if it cost numerous other lives, an entire spice harvest, and all the equipment. But in some things Paul was not like his father, because he was more than a Duke and had to balance the needs of an entire Empire. And without melange to grease the wheels of that Empire…

Below, the doomed men still stood atop the dune, facing the knife-wind of the storm. He saw three of them