Concealed with his men in the cool crevices of a rock formation, Liet-Kynes watched a flat salt pan through binoculars. Heat and bright light rippled off the powdery gypsum, creating mirages. He handed the binoculars to the Fremen beside him, then peered into the distance with his bare eyes.
At precisely the appointed time, a black ornithopter swooped out of the sky, flying so high they could not hear the whir of articulated wings until the last moment. The vessel landed in a cloud of stirred dust and sand. This time the vehicle had no egregious sandworm painted on the front.
Liet smiled tightly. Ailric has decided the Guild will play no more games. At least, not the obvious ones.
The ‘thopter engines whined to a stop, and Liet’s sharp eyes detected nothing out of the ordinary. He glanced at the desert men with him, and they all nodded.
After the front of the ‘thopter folded open and the ramp thumped onto the hard ground, Liet led his men out of concealment. They strode forward, brushing dust from their stillsuits and straightening their camouflaged robes. As before, four Fremen carried a heavy litter of spice, melange that had been processed and condensed from the ghanima, or spoils of war, captured during the raid on the Harkonnen stockpile at Bilar Camp.
They had met the Guild’s outrageous demands.
This time when the wheeled vehicle rolled down the ramp, the deformed representative wore a modified stillsuit— one that was of poor workmanship and not well fitted. The bottom of Ailric’s slick gray suit was loose, wrapped around his fused mass of lower-body flesh.
The Guildsman didn’t realize how ludicrous he looked in the outfit. Rolling closer to the Fremen, he acted as if he were an experienced man of the desert. Opening his face mask with a flourish, Ailric remarked in his synthesized voice, “I have been ordered to remain here on Arrakis for a time, since Heighliner travel has become increasingly… uncertain.”
Liet did not respond; Fremen tended to avoid pointless banter. Ailric shifted to a stiffer, more formal position. “I did not expect to see you again, half-Fremen. I thought you would choose a pureblood desert man to act as intermediary from now on.”
Liet smiled. “Perhaps I should take your water for my tribe, and let the Guild send another representative. One who does not tire me with insults.”
The Guildsman’s alien gaze focused on the litter, which the Fremen bearers set down on the sand near the ornithopter. “You have it all?”
“Every gram you specified.”
Ailric rolled his vehicle closer. “Tell me, half-Fremen, how is it that simple desert people can afford so much?”
Liet-Kynes would never tell an off-worlder that the Fremen harvested melange themselves and also stole from the Harkonnen overlords. “Call it a blessing from Shai-Hulud.”
The Guildsman’s laugh was a tinny reverberation from the voice box. These Fremen must possess hidden resources that we have never suspected. “And how will you come up with the payment next time?”
“Shai-Hulud will provide. He always does.” Knowing the Guild didn’t want to lose his lucrative business, he pushed back a little. “Be warned that we will tolerate no further increases in the bribe.”
“We are satisfied with the current arrangement, half-Fremen.”
Liet rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Good. Then I will tell you something of great importance to the Spacing Guild, and it will cost you nothing. You may use the information as you wish.”
The rectangular pupils in the Guildsman’s eyes glistened with curiosity and anticipation.
Liet paused to build suspense. In a misguided attempt to harm the Fremen, Beast Rabban had obliterated three squalid villages on the fringe of the Shield Wall. Though Fremen often looked with disdain upon the peoples of the pan and graben, men of honor could not tolerate such outrages. The victims had not been Fremen, but they were innocents. Liet-Kynes, Abu Naib of all the desert tribes, would set in motion a particular revenge against the Baron.
With the assistance of the Spacing Guild.
Knowing how Ailric would react, he announced, “The Harkonnens have amassed several large spice stockpiles on Arrakis. The Emperor knows nothing of them, nor does the Guild.”
Ailric took a quick, hissing breath. “That is interesting. And how does the Baron obtain this spice? We monitor his exports closely. We know precisely how much melange the Harkonnen crews harvest, and how much is shipped off-planet. CHOAM has reported no discrepancies.”
Kynes gave him a taunting smile. “Then the Harkonnens must be smarter than the Guild or CHOAM.”
Ailric snapped, “And where are these stockpiles? We must report them immediately.”
“The Harkonnens move the locations frequently, to confuse searchers. Nevertheless, such stockpiles could be found with a little effort.”
Under the pounding desert sun, the Guildsman considered this for a long moment. All spice came from Arrakis. What if the Harkonnens were the source of the contamination that had caused two Heighliner accidents and poisoned several Guildsmen on Junction? “We shall look into the matter.”
Though he had never been pleasant, Ailric was even edgier than usual. He watched his men load the rich spice payment into the black ornithopter, knowing that the sheer value of this treasure made even extreme risks acceptable. He would test this melange carefully, certify its purity. Ailric’s commission from handling the enormous Fremen bribe was worth the unpleasantness of staying in a hellish place such as this.
Liet-Kynes did not bother with further conversation. Abruptly, he turned and left. His men flowed over the sand behind him.