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- Фрэнк Герберт
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Recalling
the
experience
,
he
recognized
his
own
terrible
purpose
—
the
pressure
of
his
life
spreading
outward
like
an
expanding
bubble
.
.
.
time
retreating
before
it
.
.
.
.
Jessica
found
the
tent
’
s
glowtab
control
,
activated
it
.
Dim
green
light
drove
back
the
shadows
,
easing
her
fear
.
She
looked
at
Paul
’
s
face
,
his
eyes
—
the
inward
stare
.
And
she
knew
where
she
had
seen
such
a
look
before
:
pictured
in
records
of
disasters
—
on
the
faces
of
children
who
experienced
starvation
or
terrible
injury
.
The
eyes
were
like
pits
,
mouth
a
straight
line
,
cheeks
indrawn
.
It
’
s
the
look
of
terrible
awareness
,
she
thought
,
of
someone
forced
to
the
knowledge
of
his
own
mortality
.
He
was
,
indeed
,
no
longer
a
child
.
The
underlying
import
of
his
words
began
to
take
over
in
her
mind
,
pushing
all
else
aside
.
Paul
could
see
ahead
,
a
way
of
escape
for
them
.
“
There
’
s
a
way
to
evade
the
Harkonnens
,
”
she
said
.
“
The
Harkonnens
!
”
he
sneered
.
“
Put
those
twisted
humans
out
of
your
mind
.
”
He
stared
at
his
mother
,
studying
the
lines
of
her
face
in
the
light
of
the
glowtab
.
The
lines
betrayed
her
.
She
said
:
“
You
shouldn
’
t
refer
to
people
as
humans
without
—
”
“
Don
’
t
be
so
sure
you
know
where
to
draw
the
line
,
”
he
said
.
“
We
carry
our
past
with
us
.
And
,
mother
mine
,
there
’
s
a
thing
you
don
’
t
know
and
should
—
we
are
Harkonnens
.
”
