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As
PAUL
fought
the
‘
thopter
’
s
controls
,
he
grew
aware
that
he
was
sorting
out
the
interwoven
storm
forces
,
his
more
than
Mentat
awareness
computing
on
the
basis
of
fractional
minutiae
.
He
felt
dust
fronts
,
billowings
,
mixings
of
turbulence
,
an
occasional
vortex
.
The
cabin
interior
was
an
angry
box
lighted
by
the
green
radiance
of
instrument
dials
.
The
tan
flow
of
dust
outside
appeared
featureless
,
but
his
inner
sense
began
to
see
through
the
curtain
.
I
must
find
the
right
vortex
,
he
thought
.
For
a
long
time
now
he
had
sensed
the
storm
’
s
power
diminishing
,
but
still
it
shook
them
.
He
waited
out
another
turbulence
.
The
vortex
began
as
an
abrupt
billowing
that
rattled
the
entire
ship
.
Paul
defied
all
fear
to
bank
the
’
thopter
left
.
Jessica
saw
the
maneuver
on
the
attitude
globe
.
“
Paul
!
”
she
screamed
.
The
vortex
turned
them
,
twisting
,
tipping
.
It
lifted
the
’
thopter
like
a
chip
on
a
geyser
,
spewed
them
up
and
out
—
a
winged
speck
within
a
core
of
winding
dust
lighted
by
the
second
moon
.
Paul
looked
down
,
saw
the
dust
-
defined
pillar
of
hot
wind
that
had
disgorged
them
,
saw
the
dying
storm
trailing
away
like
a
dry
river
into
the
desert
-
moon
-
gray
motion
growing
smaller
and
smaller
below
as
they
rode
the
updraft
.
“
We
’
re
out
of
it
,
”
Jessica
whispered
.
