[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Glad for the opportunity to be away from the fight, Josten sprinted over
the dune toward the waiting 'thopter. From the dune top, he looked
back at his companions, then rushed to the darkened craft. As he
ducked inside, he encountered a man clad in desert tans, hands flicking
across the controls with the speed of a snake on a hot plate.
"Hey, what are you-" Josten cried.
In the cabin light he saw that the figure had a narrow leathery face. The
eyes captivated him: blue-within-blue, with the sharp intensity of a man
accustomed to killing. Before Josten could react, his arm was grabbed
with a grip as strong as an eagle's talon, and he was dragged deeper into
the cockpit. The Fremen's other hand flashed, and he saw a curved,
milky-blue knife strike up. A bright icicle of pain slashed into his
throat, all the way back to his spine-then the knife was gone before
even a droplet of blood could cling to its surface.
Like a scorpion that had just unleashed its sting, the Fremen backed up.
Josten fell forward, already feeling red death spreading from his throat.
He tried to say something, to ask a question that seemed all-important
to him, but his words only came out as a gurgle. The Fremen snatched
something from his stillsuit and pressed it against the young man's
throat, an absorbent cloth that drank his blood as it spilled.
Was the desert man saving him? A bandage? A flash of hope rose in
Josten's mind. Had it all been a mistake? Was this gaunt native trying to
make amends?
But Josten's blood pumped out too quickly and forcefully for any
medical help. As his life faded, he realized that the absorbent pack had
never been meant as a wound dressing, but simply to capture every
droplet of blood for its moisture...
· · · · ·
When Kiel came to within firing distance of the two Fremen youths,
Garan looked back into the moonlight. "I thought I heard something
from the 'thopter."
"Probably Josten tripping on his own feet," the sidegunner said, not
lowering his weapon.
The trapped Fremen staggered to a halt across a shallow pan of soft
sand. They crouched and pulled out small, clumsy-looking knives.
Kiel laughed out loud. "What do you mean to do with those? Pick your
teeth?"
"I'll pick the teeth from your dead body," one of the boys shouted. "Got
any old-fashioned gold molars we can sell in Arrakeen?"
Garan chortled and looked at his companion. "This is going to be fun."
Moving in lockstep, the troopers marched into the flat sandy area.
As they closed to within five meters, the sand around them erupted.
Human forms popped out of the dust, covered with grit-tan human
silhouettes, like animated corpses boiling up from a graveyard.
Garan let out a useless warning cry, and Kiel fired once with his lasgun,
burning down one of the men. Then the dusty forms surged forward.
Clustering around the pilot, they pressed in so close that he couldn't
bring his lasgun to bear. They attacked him like blood-lice on an open
wound.
As they drove Garan to his knees, he cried out in the manner of an old
woman. The Fremen restrained him so that he could do little more than
breathe and blink his eyes. And scream.
One of the white-clad "victims" hurried forward. The young man held
out the small knife that Garan and Kiel had snickered at just moments
ago. The youth darted downward, jabbing with the tip of the blade-but
with precise control, as gentle as a kiss-to gouge out both of Garan's
eyes, transforming his sockets into red Oedipal stains.
Stilgar barked out a command, "Bind him and keep him. We shall bring
this one back to our sietch alive, and let the women take care of him in
their own way."
Garan screamed again...
When the Fremen rushed forward to attack Kiel, the sidegunner
responded by swinging his weapon like a club. As clawing hands
grabbed for it, he surprised them by releasing the lasrifle. The Fremen
who clutched the gun fell backward, caught off balance by the
unexpected action.
Then Kiel began to run. Fighting would do him no good here. They had
already taken Garan, and he assumed Josten was dead back at the
'thopter. So he left the Fremen, running as he had never run before. He
sprinted across the night sands away from the rocks, away from the
'thopter ... and out into the open desert. The Fremen might be able to
catch him, but he would give them a run for it.
Panting, leaving his companions behind, Kiel raced across the dunes
with no plan and no thought other than to flee farther and farther
away...
· · · · ·
"We've captured the 'thopter intact, Stil," Warrick said, flushed with
adrenaline and quite proud of himself. The commando leader nodded
grimly. Umma Kynes would be exceedingly pleased at the news. He
could always use a 'thopter for his agricultural inspections, and he
didn't need to know where it came from.
Liet looked down at the blinded captive, whose gouged eye sockets had
been covered by a cloth. "I saw what the Harkonnens did to Bilar Camp
with my own eyes ... the poisoned cistern, the tainted water." The other
body had already been packed in the rear of the patrol 'thopter to be
taken to the deathstills. "This doesn't pay back a tenth part of the
suffering."
Going to his blood brother's side, Warrick made a face of disgust.
"Such is my scorn that I don't even want to take their water for our
tribe."
Stilgar glowered at him as if he had spoken sacrilege. "You would
prefer to let them mummify in the sands, to let their water go wasted
into the air? It would be an insult to Shai-Hulud."
Warrick bowed his head. "It was only my anger speaking, Stil. I did not
mean it."
Stilgar looked up at the ruddy rising moon. The entire ambush had
lasted less than an hour. "We shall perform the ritual of tal hai so that
their souls will never rest. They will be damned to walk the desert for
all eternity." Then his voice became harsh and fearful. "But we must
take extra care to cover our tracks, so that we do not lead their ghosts
back to our sietch."
The Fremen muttered as superstitious fear dampened their vengeful
pleasure. Stilgar intoned the ancient chant, while others drew designs in
the sand, labyrinthine power-shapes that would bind the spirits of the
cursed men to the dunes forever.
Out across the moonlit sands they could still see the clumsily running
figure of the remaining trooper. "That one is our offering to Shai-
Hulud," Stilgar said, finishing his chant. The tal hai curse was
complete. "The world will be at balance, and the desert will be
pleased."
"He's chugging like a broken crawler." Liet stood next to Stilgar,
drawing himself up, though he was still small compared to the
commando leader. "It won't be long now."
They gathered their supplies. As many as possible piled into the patrol
'thopter, while the remaining Fremen slipped back across the sands.
They used a well-practiced random gait so that their footsteps made no
sound that was not natural to the desert.
The Harkonnen sidegunner continued to flee in a blind panic. By now,
he might be entertaining a hope of escape, though the direction of his
flight across the ocean of dunes would take him nowhere.
Within minutes, a worm came for him.
The End [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
Glad for the opportunity to be away from the fight, Josten sprinted over
the dune toward the waiting 'thopter. From the dune top, he looked
back at his companions, then rushed to the darkened craft. As he
ducked inside, he encountered a man clad in desert tans, hands flicking
across the controls with the speed of a snake on a hot plate.
"Hey, what are you-" Josten cried.
In the cabin light he saw that the figure had a narrow leathery face. The
eyes captivated him: blue-within-blue, with the sharp intensity of a man
accustomed to killing. Before Josten could react, his arm was grabbed
with a grip as strong as an eagle's talon, and he was dragged deeper into
the cockpit. The Fremen's other hand flashed, and he saw a curved,
milky-blue knife strike up. A bright icicle of pain slashed into his
throat, all the way back to his spine-then the knife was gone before
even a droplet of blood could cling to its surface.
Like a scorpion that had just unleashed its sting, the Fremen backed up.
Josten fell forward, already feeling red death spreading from his throat.
He tried to say something, to ask a question that seemed all-important
to him, but his words only came out as a gurgle. The Fremen snatched
something from his stillsuit and pressed it against the young man's
throat, an absorbent cloth that drank his blood as it spilled.
Was the desert man saving him? A bandage? A flash of hope rose in
Josten's mind. Had it all been a mistake? Was this gaunt native trying to
make amends?
But Josten's blood pumped out too quickly and forcefully for any
medical help. As his life faded, he realized that the absorbent pack had
never been meant as a wound dressing, but simply to capture every
droplet of blood for its moisture...
· · · · ·
When Kiel came to within firing distance of the two Fremen youths,
Garan looked back into the moonlight. "I thought I heard something
from the 'thopter."
"Probably Josten tripping on his own feet," the sidegunner said, not
lowering his weapon.
The trapped Fremen staggered to a halt across a shallow pan of soft
sand. They crouched and pulled out small, clumsy-looking knives.
Kiel laughed out loud. "What do you mean to do with those? Pick your
teeth?"
"I'll pick the teeth from your dead body," one of the boys shouted. "Got
any old-fashioned gold molars we can sell in Arrakeen?"
Garan chortled and looked at his companion. "This is going to be fun."
Moving in lockstep, the troopers marched into the flat sandy area.
As they closed to within five meters, the sand around them erupted.
Human forms popped out of the dust, covered with grit-tan human
silhouettes, like animated corpses boiling up from a graveyard.
Garan let out a useless warning cry, and Kiel fired once with his lasgun,
burning down one of the men. Then the dusty forms surged forward.
Clustering around the pilot, they pressed in so close that he couldn't
bring his lasgun to bear. They attacked him like blood-lice on an open
wound.
As they drove Garan to his knees, he cried out in the manner of an old
woman. The Fremen restrained him so that he could do little more than
breathe and blink his eyes. And scream.
One of the white-clad "victims" hurried forward. The young man held
out the small knife that Garan and Kiel had snickered at just moments
ago. The youth darted downward, jabbing with the tip of the blade-but
with precise control, as gentle as a kiss-to gouge out both of Garan's
eyes, transforming his sockets into red Oedipal stains.
Stilgar barked out a command, "Bind him and keep him. We shall bring
this one back to our sietch alive, and let the women take care of him in
their own way."
Garan screamed again...
When the Fremen rushed forward to attack Kiel, the sidegunner
responded by swinging his weapon like a club. As clawing hands
grabbed for it, he surprised them by releasing the lasrifle. The Fremen
who clutched the gun fell backward, caught off balance by the
unexpected action.
Then Kiel began to run. Fighting would do him no good here. They had
already taken Garan, and he assumed Josten was dead back at the
'thopter. So he left the Fremen, running as he had never run before. He
sprinted across the night sands away from the rocks, away from the
'thopter ... and out into the open desert. The Fremen might be able to
catch him, but he would give them a run for it.
Panting, leaving his companions behind, Kiel raced across the dunes
with no plan and no thought other than to flee farther and farther
away...
· · · · ·
"We've captured the 'thopter intact, Stil," Warrick said, flushed with
adrenaline and quite proud of himself. The commando leader nodded
grimly. Umma Kynes would be exceedingly pleased at the news. He
could always use a 'thopter for his agricultural inspections, and he
didn't need to know where it came from.
Liet looked down at the blinded captive, whose gouged eye sockets had
been covered by a cloth. "I saw what the Harkonnens did to Bilar Camp
with my own eyes ... the poisoned cistern, the tainted water." The other
body had already been packed in the rear of the patrol 'thopter to be
taken to the deathstills. "This doesn't pay back a tenth part of the
suffering."
Going to his blood brother's side, Warrick made a face of disgust.
"Such is my scorn that I don't even want to take their water for our
tribe."
Stilgar glowered at him as if he had spoken sacrilege. "You would
prefer to let them mummify in the sands, to let their water go wasted
into the air? It would be an insult to Shai-Hulud."
Warrick bowed his head. "It was only my anger speaking, Stil. I did not
mean it."
Stilgar looked up at the ruddy rising moon. The entire ambush had
lasted less than an hour. "We shall perform the ritual of tal hai so that
their souls will never rest. They will be damned to walk the desert for
all eternity." Then his voice became harsh and fearful. "But we must
take extra care to cover our tracks, so that we do not lead their ghosts
back to our sietch."
The Fremen muttered as superstitious fear dampened their vengeful
pleasure. Stilgar intoned the ancient chant, while others drew designs in
the sand, labyrinthine power-shapes that would bind the spirits of the
cursed men to the dunes forever.
Out across the moonlit sands they could still see the clumsily running
figure of the remaining trooper. "That one is our offering to Shai-
Hulud," Stilgar said, finishing his chant. The tal hai curse was
complete. "The world will be at balance, and the desert will be
pleased."
"He's chugging like a broken crawler." Liet stood next to Stilgar,
drawing himself up, though he was still small compared to the
commando leader. "It won't be long now."
They gathered their supplies. As many as possible piled into the patrol
'thopter, while the remaining Fremen slipped back across the sands.
They used a well-practiced random gait so that their footsteps made no
sound that was not natural to the desert.
The Harkonnen sidegunner continued to flee in a blind panic. By now,
he might be entertaining a hope of escape, though the direction of his
flight across the ocean of dunes would take him nowhere.
Within minutes, a worm came for him.
The End [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]