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“
It
’
s
more
than
I
’
ll
do
.
.
.
can
do
.
”
“
Don
’
t
you
mourn
him
?
”
“
In
the
time
of
mourning
,
I
’
ll
mourn
him
.
”
They
passed
an
arched
opening
.
Paul
looked
through
it
at
men
and
women
working
with
stand
-
mounted
machinery
in
a
large
,
bright
chamber
.
There
seemed
an
extra
tempo
of
urgency
to
them
.
“
What
’
re
they
doing
in
there
?
”
Paul
asked
.
She
glanced
back
as
they
passed
beyond
the
arch
,
said
:
“
They
hurry
to
finish
the
quota
in
the
plastics
shop
before
we
flee
.
We
need
many
dew
collectors
for
the
planting
.
”
“
Flee
?
”
“
Until
the
butchers
stop
hunting
us
or
are
driven
from
our
land
.
”
Paul
caught
himself
in
a
stumble
,
sensing
an
arrested
instant
of
time
,
remembering
a
fragment
,
a
visual
projection
of
prescience
—
but
it
was
displaced
,
like
a
montage
in
motion
.
The
bits
of
his
prescient
memory
were
not
quite
as
he
remembered
them
.
“
The
Sardaukar
hunt
us
,
”
he
said
.
“
They
’
ll
not
find
much
excepting
an
empty
sietch
or
two
,
”
she
said
.
“
And
