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- Фрэнк Герберт
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“
Your
desert
boots
are
fitted
slip
-
fashion
at
the
ankles
.
Who
told
you
to
do
that
?
”
“
It
.
.
.
seemed
the
right
way
.
”
“
That
it
most
certainly
is
.
”
And
Kynes
rubbed
his
cheek
,
thinking
of
the
legend
:
“
He
shall
know
your
ways
as
though
born
to
them
.
”
“
We
waste
time
,
”
the
Duke
said
.
He
gestured
to
the
waiting
‘
thopter
,
led
the
way
,
accepting
the
guard
’
s
salute
with
a
nod
.
He
climbed
in
,
fastened
his
safety
harness
,
checked
controls
and
instruments
.
The
craft
creaked
as
the
others
clambered
aboard
.
Kynes
fastened
his
harness
,
focused
on
the
padded
comfort
of
the
aircraft
—
soft
luxury
of
gray
-
green
upholstery
,
gleaming
instruments
,
the
sensation
of
filtered
and
washed
air
in
his
lungs
as
doors
slammed
and
vent
fans
whirred
alive
.
So
soft
!
he
thought
.
“
All
secure
,
Sire
,
”
Halleck
said
.
Leto
fed
power
to
the
wings
,
felt
them
cup
and
dip
—
once
,
twice
.
They
were
airborne
in
ten
meters
,
wings
feathered
tightly
and
afterjets
thrusting
them
upward
in
a
steep
,
hissing
climb
.
“
Southeast
over
the
Shield
Wall
,
”
Kynes
said
.
“
That
’
s
where
I
told
your
sandmaster
to
concentrate
his
equipment
.
”
