Road to Dune (10 page)

Jesse looked to the planetary ecologist for an explanation. Haynes picked up the transmitter. “If it’s that big, William, how could the satellites not have seen it?”

“That’s just it—they
couldn’t
have missed it. But there’s no mistake, and that storm is coming.” A dark undertone of anger like a bloodstain seeped into his voice. “If we’d relied entirely on those satellites for a warning, we would’ve continued our operations until it was too late.”

The answer flashed into Jesse’s mind as clear as weapons fire on a silent night:
Hoskanner sabotage
. “Recall our crews and scouts to the forward base where we’ll ride out the storm. Then somebody is going to get me answers. We need those satellites.”

INSIDE THE SHIELDED buildings, Jesse held a war council with Tuek, Haynes, and English. They sat at a long worktable, talking above the noise of furious winds outside.

Barri peered through an armored windowslit, trying to see past the murk. Like the men, he wore a sealable bodysuit with his face mask flapping loose. “Are we safe? Can the winds cut their way in here?”

“This shelter is protected enough, young Master,” Dr. Haynes said. “Outside, though, that storm-driven sand can flay a man to his bones, and then etch the bones.”

Getting down to business, Tuek spread documents on the table. “As near as I can determine, all the weather satellites were programmed to replace any readings of major weather disturbances with deceptively clear reports. Another goodbye gift from the Hoskanners.”

Dr. Haynes looked at English with respect. “If you hadn’t sensed the storm, William, we would’ve been wiped out.” The scarred spice foreman sat stiffly, as if trying to suppress his continuing uneasiness.

“It’s still a disaster,” Tuek said. “When we tried to delete the corrupted programming, we activated another trap, which shorted out the satellites. We’re completely blind in the skies now.” The veteran looked gray with disappointment. “I was searching for an outright assassination attempt, but this is much more insidious. Sweet affection, if only I’d foreseen it!”

Jesse simmered as he listened. “What’ll it take to repair the satellites?”

English said, “The damage is too extensive. We need to replace them.”

Jesse put his elbows on the table. “Options?”

English groaned. “Stop spice mining until we get new satellites.”

“Unacceptable. That might take months.”

Tuek suggested, “We could triple our scout flights to monitor the weather, do our best to predict dangers. But increased flights mean increased hazards as well. We’d lose flyers and pilots for sure.”

Jesse looked around the table, hoping for more alternatives. “Else?”

English spread his hands flat. “How lucky do you feel, Nobleman ? We could just continue spice mining and take our chances.”

The planetary ecologist pursed his lips. “I may be able to modify a research satellite or two, enough to give us some weather data.”

Everyone fell silent and looked at Jesse. “All right. Dr. Haynes, find out how much weather coverage we can put together. Minimize risks to our ships and crews—but we need to keep producing spice, no matter the setbacks.” The sandstorm outside skimmed the dome roughly, like the abrasive caresses of Valdemar Hoskanner himself. Jesse looked at his security chief, lowered his voice. “Esmar, I don’t know how we’re going to pay for new satellites.”

“Consult with your concubine, My Lord. But in my opinion, we do what we need to do. We have no choice.”

“I’ll tell Dorothy to increase our debt, as necessary, sell any holdings we have left on Catalan. But I want the network installed as soon as possible. Find out who can do it the fastest.”

Jesse’s instincts told him the Hoskanners were likely planning further grand gestures. The unexpected storm and the satellite sabotage emphasized the danger of even everyday activities on Duneworld. Right now, he felt an overwhelming need to be back with Dorothy, to talk with her, hold her … .

“As soon as this storm passes, I’m going back to Carthage. English, I’d like you to come with me so we can review our spice operations, combine resources, and make the most of what we have.”

“It is not wise to rush a Coriolis storm, Nobleman,” Dr. Haynes said. “They are unpredictable and dangerous.”

Consumed with anger at Valdemar Hoskanner, Jesse felt his muscles tense like steel cables. “I can be unpredictable and dangerous, too.”

BECAUSE ONLY THREE of them were returning to Carthage, they took one of the research base’s ornijets instead of the larger transport shuttle. The dust-laden air was still fraught with capricious breezes, but the bulk of the storm had swung south.

English flew them north toward Carthage, more than fifteen hundred kilometers away. Below, the diamond-shaped oasis was already beginning to recover from the blowing sand, and within minutes all distinctive features were replaced by the monotony of nothingness. Ahead, a jagged line of black mountains jutted up like an atoll in the ocean of sand. From the cliffwalled pan he could see hundreds of blind canyons, cut not by water but by seismic action, ancient lava flows, and fierce desert winds. Over the next hour, even the intermittent backbones of rock developed a sameness to them.

The nobleman’s thoughts drifted, and he mulled over possible solutions. Barri leaned his head on his father’s shoulder and dozed.

As they cruised toward one barrier of mountains, English jerked the ornijet controls. “More storm readings ahead, sir.” He glanced over his shoulder. “By the deity, it’s a backstabber! The storm circled around!”

“Are we safe in the ornijet?”

“We should be able to fly over it.”

Jesse saw a low-rolling tsunami of sand and powder crawling up and over the peaks like a slow-moving wave of milk. English kept working the controls, but his movements took on a more intense quality.

“Why aren’t we going higher?” Jesse asked.

The wall of sand and dust grew larger, spreading to fill their field of view. The ornijet’s wings flapped furiously, trying to gain altitude.

“The wings can only take us so high. I’m trying to kick in the jets to leapfrog us over the storm.” English punched the controls again. “But the blasted craft isn’t shifting modes—and without jets we can’t make it!”

“Can we outrun the storm?”

“Not a chance. I may be able to bypass the switchover and tap into the jets directly. It might cause burnout in a hundred kilometers, but we might get away from the storm, where someone can rescue us.” His face showed a relieved smile. “Ah, there’s the bypass.”

A small muffled explosion reverberated in their engines, a shot bomb detonating in the ornijet’s rear components. “More sabotage!”

“Signal for help!”

The spice foreman fought with the controls to keep the aircraft from corkscrewing into the sand. “The bomb took out the comm, too. Must have been rigged that way.”

“Just get us down, English.” Wide awake now, Barri looked around in fear. Jesse grasped his son’s arm, sealed the boy’s bodysuit and his own, then put on their face masks.

The ornijet lost altitude, spiraling toward the dunes. Scanning ahead for shelter, English chose a small island of rocks, little more than a scramble of boulders poking up out of the dunes. Out of control, the craft thumped to the sand and spun around.

Before English could even shut off the engines, a towering wave of blown sand broke over them, utterly engulfing the ornijet and its occupants.

10

Adaptation is an art form, and it is the single-most important aspect of being human.

—EXCERPT FROM
THE SANDMINER’S MANUAL

A
fter the storm had washed past, leaving behind an endless ocean of pristine dunes, a slight movement stirred a pocket of sand. An indentation formed, then sank, and a small hand reached out while sand continued to stream into the buried ornijet’s trapdoor opening.

Coughing, young Barri scrambled into the air as his father pushed him up and out of the uncovered hatch. Inside the dim cockpit, Jesse choked on a mouthful of dust. He quickly sealed his face mask in place. “We were lucky to survive the storm.”

William English, his tattooed forehead bloody from a gash, stepped back until the sandfall dwindled to nothing. “A very small measure of luck, Nobleman.” He looked up from the open control panel. “Our emergency locator beacon has been intentionally ruined. No one will be able to find us.”

Jesse crouched inside the cramped cockpit, his voice muffled by the mask. “The Hoskanners are thorough. They know the value of redundancy.” He looked intensely at the spice foreman, lowering his voice. “But I’m not willing to give up yet. The three of us are still alive. We’ll just have to get out of this by ourselves.”

Outside the crashed ornijet, Barri lifted his mask and shouted down to them, “I don’t see anything up here—just a huge sandbox of dunes and dunes and dunes!” He brushed dust from his freckled nose. “At least the storm’s gone.”

“We’ll be up there in a minute. Be careful where you wander! The sand can be dangerous.”

English dug out a small first-aid kit and applied clotting salve and a gauze patch to his forehead. “Bear in mind, Nobleman, that surviving on Duneworld is a challenge even with the best equipment and technology. It’s not a stroll through one of your rain forests on Catalan.”

Jesse nodded. “We do have control over one thing, English: We can react to our situation with hope, or with despair. I prefer the former.”

He climbed out of the buried ornijet to stand on a nearly pristine dune slope, with the exception of Barri’s small footprints that trailed up to a high point on a newly sculpted hill, from which he had surveyed the landscape. Jesse felt very proud of his son. Other children, even many adults, might have panicked, but Barri seemed to have complete faith that they would get out of this trap.

“I hope you’re geared up for a tough time, Barri. I need your strength.”

“We’ll be rescued, Father. General Tuek will know where to find us. He’ll send out men.”

The completely buried ornijet would be invisible to aerial searchers. Jesse considered spending a day or two digging it out, as a marker for rescuers to see. But that would take a lot of valuable energy, and the loose, settling sand and restless winds would probably erase each day’s efforts.

English tossed a pack up onto the sand and climbed out of the buried ship to stand with the other two. The spice foreman squinted in the sunlight, then connected his face mask. “I know approximately where we are, at least a hundred kilometers from one of the old Imperial survey outposts.”

“One of the stations Gurney just raided for live-rubber shielding?”

“Yes, and Dr. Haynes still uses them from time to time. Even if Halleck stripped the nearest station, there’s still a solar generator I can use to send a signal. But it’s going to be a long journey, even if the weather holds.”

Jesse pressed his lips together. “You think that’s our best chance?”

“The only one I can think of—other than waiting here and doing nothing.” English shrugged. “I believe it’s the best option.”

“Then that’s the one we’ll choose. How soon can we set off?”

“Not until we’re prepared.” The spice foreman removed two handheld devices from his pack. “There’s a paracompass in the survival kit, and I pried another from the ornijet’s controls. We’ll each take one. I’ve locked in the coordinates for the nearest survey outpost.”

“So all we have to do is walk,” Barri said. “A long ways.”

English gave the boy a weary smile. “It’ll be a trek like none of us has ever made before, young Master.”

“I’m not afraid.” Barri lifted his chin. “If that’s what we’ve got to do, then I’m ready.”

Jesse felt another swell of pride for the boy. “Barri’s right. We’ll do what we have to—even if it’s impossible.”

ENGLISH INSISTED ON performing a second and third check of the crashed ornijet to make sure they scavenged every item of any possible use. Jesse left a scrawled note inside the buried cockpit with the coordinates they were trying to reach, just in case a search party found the wreck.

They had sufficient food to keep their metabolisms running—energy rations and packets of concentrated spice—but both Jesse and English knew that their water supplies wouldn’t last for the number of days required to reach the outpost, even moving at their best pace in sealed bodysuits.

Before emerging from the cockpit for the last time, Barri peeled off several pieces of a reflective metal sheet. “Look, signal mirrors if somebody flies over us. They’ve got to see us, out here in the open desert.”

“Excellent thinking, boy,” English said.

It was late afternoon when the three began their long walk. Each step was plodding and difficult, and they sank in up to their ankles. Loose sand held them back, caressing their legs and encouraging them to stay, to stop walking, to sit down and welcome hot, desiccating death … .

“Will we see worms out here?” Barri seemed interested, but not fearful.

“Oh, they’re out here, young Master. The mining vibrations of our spice harvesters attract them, but we’re too small to get their attention, like pebbles tossed across the dunes.”

“Even so,” Jesse said, “keep your eyes peeled for rippling sand.”

It was a balancing act to maintain a fast enough pace to cover distance before their supplies ran out without exhausting themselves to the point of collapse. Although they were weary by the time night fell, they rested only briefly before continuing their long journey in the cool darkness, when they would perspire less.

IN CARTHAGE, THE headquarters mansion was in turmoil. Static discharge from the dust had played havoc with comm systems across the planet, but General Tuek had transmitted a message as soon as the storm cleared. He’d been forced to shout his dire news twice before Dorothy could understand him.

“The search parties have found no sign of them?” She tried to be as strong and stony as one of the blocky statues the Hoskanners had left behind. “Has their whole flight path been checked?”