Safe inside the ancient botanical testing station that had been his sanctuary for months, Selim hunkered down while another ferocious sandstorm blew across the desert. The weather was the only thing that ever changed here.

The tempest lasted six days and nights, whipping up dust and sand, thickening the air so that the sun turned into murky twilight. He could hear the howling rattle against the sturdy walls of the prefabricated structures.

He was not at all afraid. He was safe and protected . . . though a bit bored.

For the first time in his life, Selim was self-sufficient, no longer captive to the whims of villagers who ordered him around because he was of unknown parentage. He could hardly grasp the wealth at his disposal, and he hadn’t even begun to uncover all the strange technological objects from the Old Empire.

He remembered when he and his turncoat friend Ebrahim had scavenged the desert with other Zensunni, including Naib Dhartha and his young son Mahmad. Once, Selim had found a melted knob of fused circuitry, obviously from an exploded ship. It had been sand-scoured into an unusual, colorful conglomerate. He had wanted to give the trinket to Glyffa, the old woman who had sometimes taken care of him. But Ebrahim had grabbed the fused component and rushed off to show it to Naib Dhartha, asking if he could keep it as a treasure. Instead, the Naib had taken it from him and tossed it into a pile sold to a scrap merchant. No one had given a thought for Selim. . . .

Still, as the time in this place drifted into weeks he discovered aspects and dimensions of loneliness. Day after day he sat in front of the scratched windows, watching the storms fade, bringing bloodred sunsets splashed with colorful hues. He looked out at the clean dunes undulating toward the endless horizon. The immense mounds had metamorphosed like living creatures, yet in essence they always remained the same.

Across such an expanse, it seemed impossible that he would ever see another human being again. But Buddallah would give him a sign of what he was expected to do. He just hoped it came soon.

Much of the time Selim occupied himself inside the empty station with solitary games he’d learned to play when he was younger. In the village, he had been ostracized by others who traced their paternity back a dozen generations or more, even before the wanderers’arrival on Arrakis.

From the time he’d been a toddler, Selim had been raised by different Zensunni, none of whom had adopted him as part of their family. He had always been an impulsive and energetic lad. Any real mother would have been patient with his mischievous misbehavior, but Selim had no real mother. On Arrakis, where survival balanced on a razor’s edge, few would expend effort for a young man who seemed intent on making nothing of himself.

Once, he had accidentally spilled water— an entire day’s ration— while working in a storage alcove. As punishment, Naib Dhartha had denied him any fluids for two days, insisting that he must learn his lesson if he was to be a part of the tribe. But Selim had never seen such a punishment inflicted on any others who had committed comparable mistakes.

When he’d been only eight Standard Years old, he had gone exploring out on the cliffs and rocks, hunting lizards, searching for hardy weeds with edible roots. While he was out there a sandstorm had caught him by surprise, hurling dust and grit against the mountains, forcing him into shelter. Selim remembered how frightened he had been, hiding alone for two days. When he’d finally made his way back to the cliff city, expecting to be greeted with relief, he saw that none of the Zensunnis had even noticed his disappearance.

Conversely, Ebrahim, the son of a respected tribal father, had too many siblings for anyone to pay attention to him. Perhaps to compensate, Ebrahim got into a lot of trouble himself, constantly testing the limits of the Naib’s restrictions while cleverly making sure the worthless waif Selim was around, just in case someone needed to be blamed.

As an unwanted scamp, Selim never experienced the parameters of true comradeship. He had always accepted Ebrahim’s manipulations at face value, without considering the possibility that the other boy might be taking advantage of him. Selim had been slow to learn his lesson, and did so only after paying the price of exile into the desert, where he was expected to die.

But he had lived. He had ridden Shaitan, and Buddallah had guided him to this hidden place. . . .

While the long storms made him restless, Selim became more determined in exploring the research station. He studied the banks of sophisticated instruments and records but did not understand the antique technology. He knew vaguely what the systems were meant to do, but did not comprehend how to work the machines that had been installed by Old Empire scientists. Since this station had remained intact for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, it should be able to withstand a bit of tinkering from a curious young man. . . .

Some of the power cells were still active, barely, and he was able to switch systems on, make panels glow. Finally he stumbled upon a way to activate a log entry, a holorecording of a tall man with strange facial features, large eyes, and pale skin. The bones of his face had an unusual set, as if he came from a different race of humans. The Imperial scientist wore bright garments, some metallic, others bearing unusual designs. He and other researchers had been stationed here to test the resources of Arrakis and assess its suitability for colonization. But they had found little of interest.

“This will be our last recording,” said the chief scientist in an obscure Galach dialect that Selim found barely comprehensible. He played the log entry five times before he understood the full message.

“Although our assignment is not yet complete, a new transport ship has arrived at the local spaceport. The captain brought an urgent message of turmoil and chaos in the Empire. A junta of tyrants has seized control of our servile thinking machines and used them to take over the galactic government. Our civilization is lost!” Behind him, his scientist companions whispered uneasily to one another.

“The captain of the transport ship must leave in a matter of days. We cannot finish our survey work in that time, but if we do not depart now, the continuing turmoil may disrupt travel across the Empire.”

Selim looked at the gathered researchers, with their troubled expressions and distant, glazed-over eyes.

“It may take some time for the political leaders to resolve this dispute and return our lives to normal. None of us wish to be stranded in this awful place, so we will leave with the transport after sealing all systems in our testing stations. Little remains to be discovered in this Arrakis wasteland anyway, but if we ever return, we have made certain that the stations will remain intact and operational, even if the hiatus lasts for a few years.”

As the recording ended, Selim chuckled. “It has been more than a few years!”

But the images of the long-dead Empire scientists did not respond, and only seemed to stare into the uncharted future. Selim wanted to share his delight with someone, but could not. The desert still held him prisoner.

Nonetheless, he would find a way to escape.