bh.houseatreides-第39部分

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　shirt；　as　the　wild　gaze　hound　had　done。
　Duncan　decided　to　make　his　way　to　the　mysterious　signaler　and　hope　for　the　best。　He　couldn't　imagine　finding　anyone　to　help　him；　but　he　had　not　given　up　hope。　Maybe　he　could　find　a　means　of　escape；　perhaps　as　a　stowaway。
　First；　though；　he　would　lay　another　trap　for　the　hunters。　He　had　an　idea；　something　that　would　surprise　them；　and　it　seemed　simple　enough。　If　he　could　kill　a　few　more　of　the　enemy；　he'd　have　a　better　chance　of　getting　away。
　After　studying　the　rocks；　the　patches　of　snow；　the　trees；　Duncan　selected　the　best　point　for　his　second　ambush。　He　switched　on　his　handlight　and　directed　the　beam　at　the　ground　so　that　no　sensitive　eyes　would　spot　a　telltale　gleam　in　the　distance。
　The　pursuers　weren't　far　behind　him。　Occasionally；　he　heard　a　muffled　shout　in　the　deep　silence；　saw　the　hunting　party's　firefly　glowglobes　illuminating　their　way　through　the　forest；　as　the　trackers　tried　to　anticipate　the　path　their　quarry　would　take。
　Right　then　Duncan　wanted　them　to　anticipate　where　he　would　go。。。but　they　would　never　guess　what　he　meant　to　do。　Kneeling　beside　a　particularly　light　and　fluffy　snowdrift；　he　inserted　the　handlight　into　the　snow　and　pushed　it　down　through　the　cold　iciness　as　far　as　he　could。　Then　he　withdrew　his　hand。
　The　glow　reflected　from　the　white　snow　like　water　diffusing　into　a　sponge。　Tiny　crystals　of　ice　refracted　the　light；　magnifying　it；　the　drift　itself　shone　like　a　phosphorescent　island　in　the　dark　clearing。
　Slinging　the　lasgun　in　front　of　him；　ready　to　fire；　he　trotted　back　to　the　sheltering　trees。　He　lay　on　a　cushion　of　pine　needles　flat　against　the　ground；　careful　to　present　no　visible　target；　then　rested　the　barrel　of　the　lasgun　on　a　small　rock；　propping　it　in　position。
　Waiting。
　The　hunters　came；　predictably；　and　Duncan　felt　that　their　roles　had　reversed：　Now　he　was　the　hunter；　and　they　were　his　game。　He　aimed　the　weapon；　fingers　tense　on　the　firing　stud。　At　last　the　group　entered　the　clearing。　Startled　to　find　the　shining　snowdrift；　they　milled　about；　trying　to　figure　out　what　it　was；　what　their　prey　had　done。
　Two　of　the　trackers　faced　outward；　suspicious　of　an　attack　from　the　forest。　Others　stood　silhouetted　in　the　ghostly　light；　perfect　targets　　exactly　as　Duncan　had　hoped。
　At　the　rear　of　the　party；　he　recognized　one　burly　man　with　a　manding　presence。　Rabban！　Duncan　thought　of　how　his　parents　had　fallen；　remembered　the　smell　of　their　burning　flesh　　and　squeezed　the　firing　stud。
　But　at　that　moment；　one　of　the　scouts　stepped　in　front　of　Rabban　to　give　a　report。　The　beam　scored　through　his　armor；　burning　and　smoking。　The　man　flung　out　his　arms　and　gave　a　wild　shriek。
　Reacting　with　lightning　speed　for　his　burly　body；　Rabban　hurled　himself　to　one　side　as　the　beam　melted　all　the　way　through　the　hunter's　padded　chest　and　sizzled　into　the　snowdrift。　Duncan　cut　loose　another　blast；　shooting　a　second　tracker　who　stood　outlined　against　the　glowing　snow。　Then　the　remaining　guards　began　firing　wildly　into　the　trees；　into　the　darkness。
　Duncan　next　targeted　the　drifting　glowglobes。　Bursting　one　after　another；　he　left　his　hapless　pursuers　alone　in　flame…haunted　darkness。　He　picked　off　two　more　men；　while　the　rest　of　the　party　scrambled　for　cover。
　With　the　charge　in　his　lasgun　running　low；　the　boy　scrabbled　back　behind　the　ridge　where　he　had　set　up　his　attack；　and　then　he　headed　out　at　top　speed　toward　the　blinking　signal　light　he　had　seen。　Whatever　the　beacon　might　be；　it　was　his　best　chance。
　The　Harkonnens　would　be　startled　and　disorganized　for　a　few　moments；　and　overly　suspicious　for　much　longer　than　that。　Knowing　he　had　one　last　opportunity；　Duncan　threw　caution　to　the　wind。　He　ran；　slipping；　down　the　hillside；　smashing　against　rocks；　but　taking　no　time　to　feel　the　pain　of　scrapes　or　bruises。　He　could　not　cover　his　tracks　in　time；　did　not　attempt　to　hide。
　Somewhere　behind　him；　as　he　increased　the　distance；　he　heard　muffled　growls　and　snarls；　and　shouts　from　the　hunters。　A　pack　of　the　wild　gaze　hounds　had　converged　on　them；　seeking　wounded　prey。　Duncan　hid　a　smile　and　continued　toward　the　intermittently　blinking　light。　He　saw　it　now；　up　ahead　near　the　edge　of　the　forest　preserve。
　He　finally　approached；　treading　lightly　toward　a　shallow　clearing。　He　came　upon　a　silent　flitter　'thopter；　a　high…speed　aircraft　that　could　take　several　passengers。　The　flashing　beacon　signaled　from　the　top　of　the　craft　　but　Duncan　saw　no　one。
　He　waited　in　silence　for　a　few　moments；　then　cautiously　left　the　shadows　of　the　trees　and　moved　forward。　Was　the　craft　abandoned？　Left　there　for　him？　Some　kind　of　trap　the　Harkonnens　had　laid？　But　why　would　they　do　that？　They　were　already　hunting　him。
　Or　did　he　have　a　mysterious　rescuer？
　Duncan　Idaho　had　acplished　much　this　evening　and　was　already　exhausted；　stunned　at　how　much　had　changed　in　his　life。　But　he　was　only　eight　years　old　and　could　never　pilot　this　flitter；　even　if　it　was　his　only　way　to　escape。　Still；　he　might　find　supplies　inside；　more　food；　another　weapon　。。。。
　He　leaned　against　the　hull；　surveying　the　area；　making　no　sound。　The　hatch　stood　open　like　an　invitation；　but　the　mysterious　flitter　was　dark　inside。　Wishing　he　still　had　his　handlight；　he　moved　forward　cautiously　and　probed　the　shadows　ahead　of　him　with　the　barrel　of　the　lasgun。
　Then　hands　snatched　out　from　the　shadows　of　the　craft　to　yank　the　gun　from　his　grip　before　he　could　even　flinch。　Fingers　stinging；　flesh　torn；　Duncan　staggered　backward；　biting　back　an　outcry。
　The　person　inside　the　flitter　tossed　the　lasgun　with　a　clatter　onto　the　deckplates　and　lunged　out　to　grab　hold　of　the　boy's　arms。　Rough　hands　squeezed　the　wound　in　his　shoulder　and　made　him　gasp　in　pain。
　Duncan　kicked　and　struggled；　then　looked　up　to　see　a　wiry；　bitter…faced　woman　with　chocolate…colored　hair　and　dusky　skin。　He　recognized　her　instantly：　Janess　Milam；　who　had　stood　next　to　him　during　the　yard　games。。。just　before　Harkonnen　troops　had　captured　his　parents　and　sent　his　entire　family　to　the　prison　city　of　Barony。
　This　woman　had　betrayed　him　to　the　Harkonnens。
　Janess　pressed　a　hand　over　his　mouth　before　he　could　cry　out　and　clamped　his　head　in　a　firm　arm　lock。　He　couldn't　escape。
　〃Got　you；〃　she　said；　her　voice　a　harsh　whisper。
　She　had　betrayed　him　again。
　We　consider　the　various　worlds　as　gene　pools；　sources　of　teachings　and　teachers；　sources　of　the　possible。
　…Bene　Gesserit　Analysis；
　Wallach　IX　Archives
　Baron　Vladimir　Harkonnen　was　no　stranger　to　despicable　acts。　Still；　being　coerced　into　this　encounter　disturbed　him　more　than　any　vile　situation　he　had　ever　been　in。　It　threw　him　pletely　off…balance。
　And　throughout　it　all；　why　did　this　damned　Reverend　Mother　have　to　be　so　calm；　so　smug？
　Embarrassed；　he　sent　away　his　guards　and　officials；　purging　all　possible　eavesdroppers　from　the　brooding　Harkonnen　citadel。　Where　is　Rabban　when　I　need　him？　Off　on　a　hunt！　He　sulked　back　to　his　private　chambers；　as　ready　as　he　would　ever　be。　His　stomach　churned。
　Nervous　sweat　glistened　on　his　forehead　as　he　stepped　through　the　ornate　arched　doorway；　then　flicked　on　the　privacy　curtains。　Perhaps　if　he　extinguished　the　glowglobes　and　pretended　he　was　doing　something　else。。。。
　When　he　entered；　the　Baron　was　relieved　to　see　that　the　witch　had　not　taken　off　her　clothes；　had　not　reclined　seductively　on　the　mussed　bedcoverings　in　anticipation　of　his　return。　Instead；　she　sat　fully　robed；　a　prim　Bene　Gesserit　Sister；　just　waiting　for　him。　But　a　maddeningly　superior　smile　curved　her　lips。
　The　Baron　wanted　to　slash　that　smile　away　with　a　sharp　instrument。　He　took　a　deep　breath；　appalled　that　this　witch　could　make　him　feel　so　helpless。
　〃The　best　I　can　offer　you　is　a　vial　of　my　sperm；〃　he　said；　trying　to　be　gruff　and　in　control。　〃Impregnate　yourself。　That　should　be　sufficient　for　your　purposes。〃　He　lifted　his　firm　chin。　〃You　Bene　Gesserit　will　just　have　to　accept　that。〃
　〃But　it's　not　acceptable；　Baron；〃　the　Reverend　Mother　said；　sitting　up　straighter　on　the　divan。　〃You　know　the　strictures。　We're　not　Tleilaxu　growing　offspring　in　tanks。　We　Bene　Gesserit　must　have　birth　through　natural　processes；　with　no　artificial　meddling；　for　reasons