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pessimism; it’s the reality of mathematics, and this hellhole. Unless we find a way to dramatically increase spice production with the equipment we have, House Linkam won’t stand a chance. In two years, the Hoskanners will return in force—and I’ll be put to death.” English looked strangely at his two passengers. “Nobleman Hoskanner does not look kindly on a man whose loyalties can be bought.”
    “Sweet affection!” It was Tuek’s favorite saying. “Then why did you agree to the position, man?”
    “Because you offered me an increase in pay. If I starve myself and earn maximum bonuses, there’s a slim chance I can afford to buy passage off Duneworld before the Hoskanners return.”
    English tapped a control, and long, telescoping whiskers extended from the nose of the ornijet to pick up sensor readings from the surface below. “Where there’s one vein of spice, there are likely to be others. These probes take readings to help us determine a good place to come back another time.”
    “What about all those little ships?” Gurney asked.
    “Scouts spot good sand by surface markers, dune irregularities, and indications of worm activity.”
    “Worm activity?” Tuek asked.
    Airborne lifters swooped down to the flurry of activity while smaller ships flew nearby in wide arcs. English gazed down at the operations. “Ah, looks like we’re wrapping up for today. The crews can only hit each vein for an hour or so before we have to evacuate. See, that spice harvester is ready to be hauled to safety.”
    Below, while men sprinted to their main vehicles, a heavy carryall linked to a boxy hulk of machinery in a valley of dunes, then heaved it into the air.
    “Hauled to safety? From what?” Tuek asked.
    “Didn’t the Hoskanners tell you anything about spice operations?”
    “Nothing.”
    Below, only moments after the carryall lifted the spice harvester from the sand, an enormous writhing shape bucked through the dunes. A serpentine beast with a cavernous mouth launched itself toward the rising spice harvester, but the straining carryall climbed higher and higher, out of reach. With a crash of sand, the great worm thundered back to the dunes and thrashed around.
    “Gods, what a monster!” Gurney said. “‘And I saw the beast rise from the sea, with ten horns and seven heads.’”
    “Harvesting vibrations summon a sandworm to defend its treasure—just like a mythical dragon,” English explained. “Under the Hoskanners, I crewed on seven spice harvesters that were lost.”
    “Did everyone get away down there?” Tuek peered through the ornijet’s window, searching the ransacked dunes for casualties.
    English listened to the staccato reports. “Everyone checked in except for one scout flyer caught in a downdraft in the wake of a sand geyser.”
    “Sand geysers? Giant worms?” Gurney cried. “Does Duneworld breed strangeness?”
    “In a dozen years, even I have yet to see all of its mysteries.”

    BEFORE RETURNING TO the mountains around Carthage, English landed at a small encampment where twenty workers in sealed bodysuits spread out, planting long flexible poles in the soft sand. The line of poles stuck out like quills from the back of a spiny beast.
    The three men climbed out of the ornijet, breathing hot air through face filters. Around them on high dunes, Tuek saw a whirl of wind devils. Even active crews were spread across the sheltered valley, a great emptiness that was like a hungry mouth gulping every sound. Standing in the immense silence, he thought he could almost hear the desert breathing.
    Gurney plodded through the soft sands to reach one of the flexible poles the crew had recently planted. He wobbled it like an antenna. “And what’s this?”
    “They are poling the sand to help determine the weather.”
    “Don’t we have satellites in orbit? I was sure the Hoskanners left them.”
    “Those provide only a large-scale picture, and the terrain is a mosaic of microclimates. With