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- Фрэнк Герберт
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- Стр. 203/972
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And
the
Duke
thought
:
“
.
.
.
my
climate
!
”
“
Come
around
two
degrees
more
southerly
,
my
Lord
,
”
Kynes
said
.
“
There
’
s
a
blow
coming
up
from
the
west
.
”
The
Duke
nodded
.
He
had
seen
the
billowing
of
tan
dust
there
.
He
banked
the
‘
thopter
around
,
noting
the
way
the
escort
’
s
wings
reflected
milky
orange
from
the
dust
-
refracted
light
as
they
turned
to
keep
pace
with
him
.
“
This
should
clear
the
storm
’
s
edge
,
”
Kynes
said
.
“
That
sand
must
be
dangerous
if
you
fly
into
it
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
Will
it
really
cut
the
strongest
metals
?
”
“
At
this
altitude
,
it
’
s
not
sand
but
dust
,
”
Kynes
said
.
“
The
danger
is
lack
of
visibility
,
turbulence
,
clogged
intakes
.
”
“
We
’
ll
see
actual
spice
mining
today
?
”
Paul
asked
.
“
Very
likely
,
”
Kynes
said
.
Paul
sat
back
.
He
had
used
the
questions
and
hyperawareness
to
do
what
his
mother
called
“
registering
”
the
person
.
He
had
Kynes
now
—
tone
of
voice
,
each
detail
of
face
and
gesture
.
An
unnatural
folding
of
the
left
sleeve
on
the
man
’
s
robe
told
of
a
knife
in
an
arm
sheath
.
The
waist
bulged
strangely
.
It
was
said
that
desert
men
wore
a
belted
sash
into
which
they
tucked
small
necessities
.
Perhaps
the
bulges
came
from
such
a
sash
—
certainly
not
from
a
concealed
shield
belt
.
A
copper
pin
engraved
with
the
likeness
of
a
hare
clasped
the
neck
of
Kynes
’
robe
.
