“It’ll be close.” Ptolemy coughed, and each breath seared like heated glass dust washed down with acid. He coughed again, and a splatter of blood appeared on the control screen in front of his face.
Alarmed, Administrator Noffe shouted commands to the two cymeks carrying Ptolemy’s walker. They hauled him to the wide-open door of the hangar dome and roughly tossed the twitching, failing walker body inside. Using nimble claw hands, they operated the airlock controls.
Sealed in his cab, Ptolemy coughed uncontrollably. He breathed in a blistering-hot chemical mist. With a roar of loud wind, the air exchangers inside the dome began to suck away the contaminated atmosphere, venting it outside. Even before the green light winked on, Ptolemy disengaged the cab’s hatch and popped it open. He couldn’t wait any longer. How could the air within the hangar dome be deadlier than what he was struggling to breathe inside the life-support capsule? He yanked his arms free from the control linkages, crawled out of the cab, and collapsed onto the cold metal floor, retching, gasping, and coughing in a raw throat.
Thankfully, each breath felt a little cleaner than the previous one. Wind rushed around him as fresh oxygen poured into the enclosed area, but his lungs seemed to be filled with caustic blood.
Finally, a smaller airlock from the interior tube opened, and a frantic Noffe ran toward him. “Doctors are on their way.” He bent next to Ptolemy, helping him to his feet.
Ptolemy could barely see through his burning eyes, but he didn’t think he was severely injured. Or maybe he was deluding himself. “That wouldn’t have happened if I were a cymek.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you were more careful,” Noffe retorted. “You shouldn’t have gone so far in an old walker like that.”
Somehow Ptolemy managed to smile, grating out his words. “Did you see … the Navigator walkers respond? Analyzed the emergency … rescued me. Passed the first test admirably.”
“Yes, they performed better than you did. We almost lost you!”
More thoughts were forming in Ptolemy’s head. “Directeur Venport needs to know how competent the new Titans are. Even this hazardous environment is not the most extreme place in which our cymeks could find themselves fighting.”
He kept talking even as medical personnel busily checked him over. They placed a mask on his face and dispensed some kind of analgesic mist into his lungs. Before long, Ptolemy could breathe better, and he pulled the mask aside, continuing to chatter to Noffe. “We have to conduct a more dramatic test for Directeur Venport — and I’ve thought of just the place to do it. We will take them to Arrakis.”
“You should rest and heal first,” Noffe said. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m worried about other things — I can rest while I make the important arrangements.”
Chapter 23 (Every hammer has the innate capacity to strike a nail)
Every hammer has the innate capacity to strike a nail. Every human mind has the innate capacity for greatness. But not every hammer is properly used, nor is every human mind.
— DRAIGO ROGET, Mentat debriefing for Venport Holdings
Even before he left Arrakis orbit, Taref was weary of being astonished. He didn’t know how many more remarkable things he could endure. Even his dreams had never imagined so much.
If he returned to the desert sietch now and told them everything he had experienced in the short time since accepting VenHold’s offer, Naib Rurik would tell him to abandon such nonsense, and his older brothers would mock him.
But Taref knew it was all true.
His wide-eyed companions clustered together aboard the VenHold shuttle, staring out the windowports as the craft rose into orbit and approached the main spacefolder. The isolated Freemen tribes were vaguely aware of other planets and other ways, but none of his friends had known much beyond their lives in an isolated cave settlement … until now.
Taref and Lillis stood at the windowport, marveling at the view. Even dour Shurko, unable to hide his nervousness, stared at the brassy sphere of the planet. That was Arrakis down there — it seemed utterly incomprehensible. The largest sietch was no more than an immeasurable speck from here, and the sandworms were too small to be seen. Even Arrakis City, the largest metropolis Taref had ever visited or imagined, was barely a mark tucked into a sheltered rock-rimmed basin. As the shuttle continued to rise, he managed to locate the city only after careful concentration and help from Lillis.
“Will we ever go back? Did we make the right decision, Taref?” she asked, and Shurko looked to him as well, eager to hear his answer.
“Of course we did. Our people will be proud.”
“Our people will never understand us,” Shurko said. “They won’t know why we did this.”
Taref had always felt like a misfit, imagining stories and worlds while the rest of his tribe found all they needed to know in the sand at their feet and the wind on their faces. But he remembered history. “Generations ago, our ancestors escaped slavery and flew an unguided spacefolder to our new home. We’ve been stranded on Arrakis ever since — and now we are simply returning to the rest of the universe, breaking our chains and escaping our enslavement to the desert. And if we do well out there, my friends, we’ll be the first of many Freemen who branch out. Our people no longer need to be trapped where there is nothing but dunes and the prospect of a parched death.”
Taref doubted he would ever want to return to that dust bowl, and he did not know many others in the sietch who thought the way he did. Even though he had instilled a sense of curiosity in his friends, they didn’t really feel the depth of his dreams; the others merely listened to his impassioned stories rather than dreaming for themselves.
For much of his life, Taref had felt trapped in the isolated, primitive settlement. His father had berated him for dreaming about places other than Arrakis. “How does that help your survival? If Shai-Hulud comes because you walk with too much rhythm across the sands, will he listen to your stories before he devours you?”
But Taref had dreamed anyway. He chafed under Naib Rurik’s stern disapproval, and questioned many of the rules of the desert. He knew that traditions were a basis for day-to-day survival, but some of the old ways were no longer valid. He asked questions about old customs, drawing only ire from other tribe members, not answers. Peculiar Taref would never become his people’s Naib, nor did he ever want to. Naib Rurik would probably rule the sietch for many years, and Taref’s two older brothers would take their father’s place.
Taref had seen the rigid path his own life was set to take, like a channel carved deep into the rock — and he didn’t accept what he saw. He wanted the universe! It must be so wonderful out there, planet after planet of miracles. Back in the clear, dry air of the desert, he used to look up at the stars and imagine other worlds. Several times, he had made the journey to Arrakis City just to watch the spaceships arrive and depart … and dream of what might be.
Taref wanted to be like the offworlders. They had so many opportunities open to them, yet in a way he also resented them. Several times he had volunteered to work aboard spice harvesters because he knew it would draw his father’s disapproval. And when he and his friends sabotaged the harvesting equipment, Taref pretended he was getting even with the offworlders because of who they were and the opportunities they had.
When the Mentat Draigo Roget had made his offer, Taref at first had tried to remain aloof, but the longing was like a thirst in him, and the VenHold Mentat had offered a symbolic literjon of cool water.
Watching the desert planet recede as the spacefolder accelerated away, Taref struggled to imagine the sights and experiences they would have on faraway worlds. The Holtzman engines folded space, and the ship twisted itself out of the Canopus star system.
While the great vessel was in transit, Draigo went to address his new recruits. “You have everything you need? We will provide water, food, and new clothing.”
“So much water,” Lillis said in a voice like a sigh.
“And we already have clothing,” Chumel said.
Though Taref knew their distilling suits were well-made outfits that had saved their lives many times out in the open desert, Draigo frowned at the dusty garb. “You will clean up and dress exactly like other workers. You cannot complete your mission if you stand out. You must pass unnoticed like faint shadows.” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed deeply, although Taref had never noticed any odor among the desert people. “We will instruct you in traditional hygiene practices.”
“No Freeman will let another take away his stillsuit,” said Bentur, a gruff-voiced young man who usually kept his words to himself.
“We will provide better garments for your temporary use. In the meantime we will hold your things for you and return them whenever you wish to go back to Arrakis.”
“I heard offworlders are thieves,” Shurko said.
Draigo gave a small smile that was more like a smirk. “And I heard that the Freemen of the desert know very little about offworlders.” Shurko took offense and looked ready to fight the Mentat.
Taref said, “Stop, Shurko — you gave me your word.”
“I did not agree to be insulted!”
“Stop being stupid. They are taking us away from Arrakis at great expense, showing us their ways. They have no need to steal from us. Remember that planet with the ocean and the rain falling from the sky? If he meant to deceive us, this is an elaborate and costly trick.”
“But what does he expect from us that would be worth such an investment?” Lillis asked.
“It is not a trick — it’s an opportunity,” Draigo said. “We will teach you about offworlders and about our commercial competitors. We will give you the modern wonders that were merely rumors in your little desert village.”
“It’s called a sietch,” Lillis said.
Draigo gave a brief nod. “Very well. I will learn from you, as you learn from me.”