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Tent
bows
had
creaked
once
as
they
accepted
the
pressure
,
then
—
silence
broken
only
by
the
dim
bellows
wheezing
of
their
sand
snorkel
pumping
air
from
the
surface
.
“
Try
the
receiver
again
,
”
Jessica
said
.
“
No
use
,
”
he
said
.
He
found
his
stillsuit
’
s
watertube
in
its
clip
at
his
neck
,
drew
a
warm
swallow
into
his
mouth
,
and
he
thought
that
here
he
truly
began
an
Arrakeen
existence
—
living
on
reclaimed
moisture
from
his
own
breath
and
body
.
It
was
flat
and
tasteless
water
,
but
it
soothed
his
throat
.
Jessica
heard
Paul
drinking
,
felt
the
slickness
of
her
own
stillsuit
clinging
to
her
body
,
but
she
refused
to
accept
her
thirst
.
To
accept
it
would
require
awakening
fully
into
the
terrible
necessities
of
Arrakis
where
they
must
guard
even
fractional
traces
of
moisture
,
hoarding
the
few
drops
in
the
tent
’
s
catchpockets
,
begrudging
a
breath
wasted
on
the
open
air
.
So
much
easier
to
drift
back
down
into
sleep
.
But
there
had
been
a
dream
in
this
day
’
s
sleep
,
and
she
shivered
at
memory
of
it
.
She
had
held
dreaming
hands
beneath
sandflow
where
a
name
had
been
written
:
Duke
Leto
Atreides
.
The
name
had
blurred
with
the
sand
and
she
had
moved
to
restore
it
,
but
the
first
letter
filled
before
the
last
was
begun
.
The
sand
would
not
stop
.
Her
dream
became
wailing
:
louder
and
louder
.
That
ridiculous
wailing
—
part
of
her
mind
had
realized
the
sound
was
her
own
voice
as
a
tiny
child
,
little
more
than
a
baby
.
A
woman
not
quite
visible
to
memory
was
going
away
.
