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- Стр. 505/972
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His
hands
dug
feebly
into
the
sand
.
I
am
steward
of
this
sand
,
he
thought
.
He
realized
that
he
was
semi
-
delirious
,
that
he
should
dig
himself
into
the
sand
,
find
the
relatively
cool
underlayer
and
cover
himself
with
it
.
But
he
could
still
smell
the
rank
,
semisweet
esthers
of
a
pre
-
spice
pocket
somewhere
underneath
this
sand
.
He
knew
the
peril
within
this
fact
more
certainly
than
any
other
Fremen
.
If
he
could
smell
the
pre
-
spice
mass
,
that
meant
the
gasses
deep
under
the
sand
were
nearing
explosive
pressure
.
He
had
to
get
away
from
here
.
His
hands
made
weak
scrabbling
motions
along
the
dune
face
.
A
thought
spread
across
his
mind
—
clear
,
distinct
:
The
real
wealth
of
a
planet
is
in
its
landscape
,
how
we
take
part
in
that
basic
source
of
civilization
—
agriculture
.
And
he
thought
how
strange
it
was
that
the
mind
,
long
fixed
on
a
single
track
,
could
not
get
off
that
track
.
The
Harkonnen
troopers
had
left
him
here
without
water
or
stillsuit
,
thinking
a
worm
would
get
him
if
the
desert
didn
’
t
.
They
had
thought
it
amusing
to
leave
him
alive
to
die
by
inches
at
the
impersonal
hands
of
his
planet
.
The
Harkonnens
always
did
find
it
difficult
to
kill
Fremen
,
he
thought
.
We
don
’
t
die
easily
.
I
should
be
dead
now
.
.
.
I
will
be
dead
soon
.
.
.
but
I
can
’
t
stop
being
an
ecologist
.
“
The
highest
function
of
ecology
is
understanding
consequences
.
”
The
voice
shocked
him
because
he
recognized
it
and
knew
the
owner
of
it
was
dead
.
It
was
the
voice
of
his
father
who
had
been
planetologist
here
before
him
—
his
father
long
dead
,
killed
in
the
cave
-
in
at
Plaster
Basin
.
