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- Фрэнк Герберт
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“
Paul
!
”
“
I
lost
the
pack
,
”
he
said
.
“
It
’
s
buried
under
a
hundred
tons
of
sand
.
.
.
at
least
.
”
“
Everything
?
”
“
The
spare
water
,
the
stilltent
—
everything
that
counts
.
”
He
touched
a
pocket
.
“
I
still
have
the
paracompass
.
”
He
fumbled
at
the
waist
sash
.
“
Knife
and
binoculars
.
We
can
get
a
good
look
around
the
place
where
we
’
ll
die
.
”
In
that
instant
,
the
sun
lifted
above
the
horizon
somewhere
to
the
left
beyond
the
end
of
the
fissure
.
Colors
blinked
in
the
sand
out
on
the
open
desert
.
A
chorus
of
birds
held
forth
their
songs
from
hidden
places
among
the
rocks
.
But
Jessica
had
eyes
only
for
the
despair
in
Paul
’
s
face
.
She
edged
her
voice
with
scorn
,
said
:
“
Is
this
the
way
you
were
taught
?
”
“
Don
’
t
you
understand
?
”
he
asked
.
“
Everything
we
need
to
survive
in
this
place
is
under
that
sand
.
”
“
You
found
me
,
”
she
said
,
and
now
her
voice
was
soft
,
reasonable
.
Paul
squatted
back
on
his
heels
.
