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The
craft
and
its
companions
settled
into
the
basin
like
a
covey
of
birds
coming
to
nest
.
Idaho
was
out
of
his
’
thopter
and
running
toward
them
before
the
dust
settled
.
Two
figures
in
Fremen
robes
followed
him
.
Paul
recognized
one
:
the
tall
,
sandy
-
bearded
Kynes
.
“
This
way
!
”
Kynes
called
and
he
veered
left
.
Behind
Kynes
,
other
Fremen
were
throwing
fabric
covers
over
their
ornithopters
.
The
craft
became
a
row
of
shallow
dunes
.
Idaho
skidded
to
a
stop
in
front
of
Paul
,
saluted
.
“
M
’
Lord
,
the
Fremen
have
a
temporary
hiding
place
nearby
where
we
—
”
“
What
about
that
back
there
?
”
Paul
pointed
to
the
violence
above
the
distant
cliff
—
the
jetflares
,
the
purple
beams
of
lasguns
lacing
the
desert
.
A
rare
smile
touched
Idaho
’
s
round
,
placid
face
.
“
M
’
Lord
.
.
.
Sire
,
I
’
ve
left
them
a
little
sur
—
”
Glaring
white
light
filled
the
desert
—
bright
as
a
sun
,
etching
their
shadows
onto
the
rock
floor
of
the
ledge
.
In
one
sweeping
motion
,
Idaho
had
Paul
’
s
arm
in
one
hand
,
Jessica
’
s
shoulder
in
the
other
,
hurling
them
down
off
the
ledge
into
the
basin
.
They
sprawled
together
in
the
sand
as
the
roar
of
an
explosion
thundered
over
them
.
Its
shock
wave
tumbled
chips
off
the
rock
ledge
they
had
vacated
.
Idaho
sat
up
,
brushed
sand
from
himself
.
