Herbert Brian Dune House Harkonnen

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The two white-clad Fremen froze out in the open, their bright clothes
unmistakable against the pale, moonlit sand. No true Fremen would ever be
caught in such a show of clumsiness . . . but the Harkonnens didn't know that.
They would not suspect.
As soon as the 'thopter came into view, Liet made an exaggerated gesture of
alarm. "Come on, Warrick. Let's make a good show of it." The two ran away
pell-mell, as if in a panic.
Predictably, the 'thopter circled to intercept them. A powerful spotlight
flooded down, then a laughing sidegunner leaned out of the 'thopter. He fired
his lasgun twice, sketching a line of melted glass upon the sand surface.
Liet and Warrick tumbled down the steep side of a dune. The gunner fired three
more blasts, missing them each time.
The 'thopter landed on the broad surface of a nearby dune . . . close to where
Stilgar and his men had buried themselves. Liet and Warrick flashed each other
a smile, and prepared for the second part of the game.
SIDEGUNNER KIEL SHOULDERED his still-hot lasgun rifle and popped open the door.
"Let's go hunt some Fremen." He jumped onto the sand as soon as Garan had
landed the patrol craft.
Behind them, the fresh-faced recruit Josten fumbled for his own weapon. "It
would be easier just to shoot them from above."
"What kind of sport would that be?" Garan asked in his gruff voice.
"Or is it just that you don't want blood on your new uniform, kid?" Kiel called
over his shoulder. They stood beside the armored craft looking across the
moonlit dunes, where the two scrawny nomads stumbled away -- as if they had any
hope of escape once a Harkonnen trooper decided to target them.
Garan grabbed his weapon, and the three of them strode across the sands. The
two Fremen youths scuttled like beetles, but the threat of the troops might
cause them to turn around and surrender . . . or better yet, fight like cornered
rats.
"I've heard stories about these Fremen." Josten panted as he kept up with the
two older men. "Their children are said to be killers, and their women will
torture you in ways that even Piter de Vries couldn't imagine."
Kiel gave a rude snort of laughter. "We've got lasguns, Josten. What are they
going to do -- throw rocks at us?"
"Some of them carry maula pistols."
Garan looked back at the young recruit, then gave a shrug. "Why don't you go
back to the 'thopter and get our stunner, then? We can use a wide field if
things get bad."
"Yeah," Kiel said, "that way we can make this last longer." The two white-clad
Fremen continued to flounder across the sand, and the Harkonnen troopers closed
the distance with purposeful strides.
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 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,
injuring one of the men in the shoulder. 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 like 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 -- Liet-Kynes --
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. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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