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“
Tell
your
men
to
submit
,
”
Paul
commanded
.
He
waved
toward
the
lower
reaches
of
the
ridge
.
Gurney
turned
,
reluctant
to
take
his
eyes
off
Paul
.
He
saw
only
a
few
knots
of
struggle
.
Hooded
desert
men
seemed
to
be
everywhere
around
.
The
factory
crawler
lay
silent
with
Fremen
standing
atop
it
.
There
were
no
aircraft
overhead
.
“
Stop
the
fighting
,
”
Gurney
bellowed
.
He
took
a
deep
breath
,
cupped
his
hands
for
a
megaphone
.
“
This
is
Gurney
Halleck
!
Stop
the
fight
!
”
Slowly
,
warily
,
the
struggling
figures
separated
.
Eyes
turned
toward
him
,
questioning
.
“
These
are
friends
,
”
Gurney
called
.
“
Fine
friends
!
”
someone
shouted
back
.
“
Half
our
people
murdered
.
”
“
It
’
s
a
mistake
,
”
Gurney
said
.
“
Don
’
t
add
to
it
.
”
He
turned
back
to
Paul
,
stared
into
the
youth
’
s
blue
-
blue
Fremen
eyes
.
A
smile
touched
Paul
’
s
mouth
,
but
there
was
a
hardness
in
the
expression
that
reminded
Gurney
of
the
Old
Duke
,
Paul
’
s
grandfather
.
Gurney
saw
then
the
sinewy
harshness
in
Paul
that
had
never
before
been
seen
in
an
Atreides
—
a
leathery
look
to
the
skin
,
a
squint
to
the
eyes
and
calculation
in
the
glance
that
seemed
to
weigh
everything
in
sight
.
“
They
said
you
were
dead
,
”
Gurney
repeated
.
