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And
he
paused
,
shaken
by
the
remembered
high
relief
imagery
of
a
prescient
vision
he
had
experienced
on
Caladan
.
He
had
seen
this
desert
.
But
the
set
of
the
vision
had
been
subtly
different
,
like
an
optical
image
that
had
disappeared
into
his
consciousness
,
been
absorbed
by
memory
,
and
now
failed
of
perfect
registry
when
projected
onto
the
real
scene
.
The
vision
appeared
to
have
shifted
and
approached
him
from
a
different
angle
while
he
remained
motionless
.
Idaho
was
with
us
in
the
vision
,
he
remembered
.
But
now
Idaho
is
dead
.
“
Do
you
see
a
way
to
go
?
”
Jessica
asked
,
mistaking
his
hesitation
.
“
No
,
”
he
said
,
“
But
we
’
ll
go
anyway
.
”
He
settled
his
shoulders
more
firmly
in
the
pack
,
struck
out
up
a
sand
-
carved
channel
in
the
rock
.
The
channel
opened
onto
a
moonlit
floor
of
rock
with
benched
ledges
climbing
away
to
the
south
.
Paul
headed
for
the
first
ledge
,
clambered
onto
it
.
Jessica
followed
.
She
noted
presently
how
their
passage
became
a
matter
of
the
immediate
and
particular
—
the
sand
pockets
between
rocks
where
their
steps
were
slowed
,
the
wind
-
carved
ridge
that
cut
their
hands
,
the
obstruction
that
forced
a
choice
:
Go
over
or
go
around
?
The
terrain
enforced
its
own
rhythms
.
They
spoke
only
when
necessary
and
then
with
the
hoarse
voices
of
their
exertion
.
“
Careful
here
—
this
ledge
is
slippery
with
sand
.
”
“
Watch
you
don
’
t
hit
your
head
against
this
overhang
.
”
