The line between life and death is sharp and quick in the desert.
— Admonition to Spice Prospectors
On the crest of a windblown dune, Adrien Venport stood apart from the mechanics, watching them repair a spice harvester while others scouted for any sign of an approaching sandworm. He did not know the detailed operation of the machine, but he knew that under his intense supervision, the men worked faster and harder.
Out here in the sun-drenched desert of Arrakis, time seemed to stand still. The ocean of sand was endless, the heat intense, the aridity severe enough to crack exposed skin. He felt utterly vulnerable, with an eerie prickling sensation that someone unseen and powerful was watching him.
How can any man not be in awe of this planet?
One of the small melange-sifting machines had broken down, and VenKee was losing money for every hour it remained inoperative. Adrien had other gatherers and distributors waiting for the shipment in Arrakis City. Farther out in the golden basin, two spice-excavation behemoths worked an orange patch of spice sand. A jumbo carrier hovered low nearby, while daredevils worked with power shovels to scoop up rust-colored melange deposits, filling cargo boxes and loading them onto the aircraft for processing.
Over the staticky comline, a man shouted, “Wormsign!”
The mercenary crew ran for the carrier, while the mechanics near Adrien froze in fear. “What are we going to do? We can’t fly this thing out of here!” One of the dusty men looked helplessly at the engine parts strewn on plastic tarpaulins on the sand.
“You should have worked faster!” one of the other spice prospectors cried.
“Stop your tinkering and make no sound,” Adrien said, keeping his feet planted in the sand. “Stand perfectly still.” He nodded in the direction of the other two big excavators. “They’re making far more noise than we are. There’s no reason for that worm to pay any attention to us.”
Across the basin, the second and third crews had scrambled aboard the heavy lifter that snatched up as much of the cargo as could fit. Moments later the lifter rose from the ground, abandoning the shell of the harvesting machines— very expensive equipment, Adrien thought.
The gargantuan worm plowed straight through the sand toward its quarry. The abandoned machinery rested silently on the ground, but the lifting engines of the escape vessel roared and pounded, the vibrations stimulating the worm’s hunting instinct. Like a launched artillery shell, the sandworm emerged from the covering of sand and stretched itself into the air, higher and higher. The heavy lifter strained, its engines thumping to heave it out of danger, and the huge maw of the great worm opened wide, spewing gouts of sand like furious saliva.
The worm reached its apex, yearned and stretched, just missing the heavy lifter. Its chomping motion stirred the air and made the lifter waver, rising and falling as the sandworm collapsed back down to the dunes, crushing the abandoned machinery beneath it. Then the pilot regained control and continued his ascent, heading at full speed toward the sharp demarcation of a cliff line.
The stranded workers with Adrien muttered with relief to see their comrades escape, but they kept themselves still. Rescue ships could not come back for them until the worm had gone.
The worm thrashed in the wide basin, devouring the harvesting machinery, then dug itself into the desert again. Adrien watched, holding his breath, as the worm’s wake rippled the sands, passing toward the horizon in the opposite direction.
The dirty prospectors seemed pleased and relieved at having out-smarted the desert demon. Laughing quietly in a backwash of fear, they congratulated themselves. Adrien turned to watch the heavy lifter as it continued to lumber toward the black cliffs. On the opposite side of the ridge, in a sheltered gorge protected from the open sands and the worms, another VenKee station would provide beds and a place for them to rest. They would send back a pickup crew for Adrien and the others.
He didn’t like how the sky had changed to a murky greenish color in the vessel’s path behind the line of rock. “Do you men know what that is? A storm brewing?” He had heard of the incredible sand hurricanes on Arrakis, but had never encountered one himself.
The mechanic looked up from his array of tools; two of the spice prospectors pointed. “A sandstorm, all right. Small one, a burst event, not nearly as bad as a Coriolis storm.”
“The lifter is flying right into it.”
“Then that’s very bad.”
As Adrien watched, the lifter began to shake. Emergency blips accompanied the pilot’s shouts over the comline. Soft-looking tendrils of sand and dust folded around the heavy lifter like a lover’s embrace. The flyer jerked erratically, spinning out of control, until it slammed into the black cliffs, leaving only a small burst of orange flame and black smoke that quickly disappeared in the whirlwind.
The damned worms always get their spice back, Adrien thought. One way or another.
It was an unfortunate truth of risky business ventures: No matter what precautions were taken, unexpected disasters always awaited the unprepared. “You men finish your repairs as soon as possible,” he said in a soft but firm voice, “so we can get out of here and back to Arrakis City.”
* * *
LATER, WHEN HE stood in a souk marketplace in Arrakis City surrounded by spice prospectors, Adrien addressed the men, many of whom continually tried to cheat VenKee Enterprises. It was their way, and he was savvy enough to prevent them from getting away with it.
“You’re raising your prices too much.” Without wavering in his stance, Adrien stared down a stocky, bearded prospector who was almost twice his size. Like the other natives, the prospector wore a desert-camouflage cloak, and dusty tools ringed a thick belt at his waist. “VenKee cannot tolerate it.”
“Getting the spice is dangerous,” the bearded man responded. “We must be fairly compensated.”
A second prospector said, “Many crews have been lost without a trace.”
“It is not my fault when men take too many chances. I don’t like to be cheated.” Adrien stepped closer to the intimidating men, because it was the opposite of what they would expect. He had to appear strong and formidable. “VenKee has given you a large contract. You are secure in your jobs. Be happy enough with that. Old women do not complain as much as you.”
The desert men stiffened at the insult. The bearded leader put a hand at his side as if to grab a weapon. “Do you want to keep your water, offworlder?”
Without hesitation, Adrien planted both palms on the prospector’s dusty chest and shoved him abruptly and forcefully, making the man stumble backward. The fallen man’s desert companions drew their knives while others helped him to his feet, furious.
Adrien crossed his arms over his chest, giving them a maddeningly confident smile. “And do you want to keep your business with VenKee? You think there are no other Zensunnis waiting to grab at what I offer? You have wasted my time bringing me here to Arrakis, and you waste my time with your childish whining. If you are honorable men, you will fulfill the terms to which we all agreed. If you are not honorable, then I refuse to do further business with you.”
Though he remained casual, he knew he was not bluffing at all. The desert tribes had grown accustomed to gathering and selling their spice. VenKee was the only regular customer, and Adrien was VenKee. If he should decide to blacklist these men, they would have to go back to scraping out a living from what the deserts of Arrakis could provide… and many Zensunnis had forgotten how to do that.
They stared at each other in the heat and the stink of the crowded souk. In the end, he offered them a token increase for their product, a cost he would pass on to the users of melange, many of whom were wealthy. His customers would be willing to pay, probably wouldn’t even notice the difference, as melange was so rare and expensive. The desert men marched off, only half satisfied.
When they were gone, Adrien shook his head. “Some perverse genie fouled up this planet as much as possible… and put spice right in the middle of it.”