"Frank Herbert - Dune 4 - God Emporer of Dune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

because of his analytical ability, his way of seeing a whole from only a few
parts. It had been Ulot who, taking the inevitable magnifier from his kit, had
examined the two strange volumes they had found in with the Citadel's plans.
"I think it's a cipher," Ulot had said.
And Radi, poor Radi who had been the first of their team to die .... Radi had
said, "We can't afford the extra weight. Throw them away."
Ulot had objected: "Unimportant things aren't concealed this way."
Kwuteg had joined Radi. "We came for the Citadel plans and we have them. Those
things are too heavy."
But Siona had agreed with Ulot. "I will carry them."
That had ended the argument.
Poor Ulot.
They had all known him as the worst runner in the team. Ulot was slow in most
things, but the clarity of his mind could not be denied.
He is trustworthy.
Ulot had been trustworthy.
Siona mastered her anger and used its energy to increase her pace. Trees whipped
past her in the moonlight. She had entered that timeless void of the running
when there was nothing else but her own movements, her own body doing what it
had been conditioned to do.
Men thought her beautiful when she ran. Siona knew this. Her long dark hair was
tied tightly to keep it from whipping in the wind of her passage. She had
accused Kwuteg of foolishness when he had refused to copy her style.
Where is Kwuteg?
Her hair was not like Kwuteg's. It was that deep brown which is sometimes
confused with black, but is not truly black, not like Kwuteg's at all.
In the way genes occasionally do, her features copied those of a long dead
ancestor: gently oval and with a generous mouth, eyes of alert awareness above a
small nose. Her body had grown lanky from years of running, but it sent strong
sexual signals to the males around her.
Where is Kwuteg?
The wolf pack had fallen silent and this filled her with alarm. They had done
that before bringing down Radi. It had been the same when they got Setuse.
She told herself the silence could mean other things. Kwuteg, too, was silent .
. . and strong. The injury had not appeared to bother him too much.
Siona began to feel pain in her chest, the gasping-to-come which she knew well
from the long kilometers of training. Perspiration still poured down her body
under the thin, black running garment. The kit, with its precious contents
sealed against the river passage ahead, rode high on her back. She thought about
the Citadel charts folded there.
Where does Leto hide his hoard of spice?
It had to be somewhere within the Citadel. It had to be. Somewhere in the charts
there would be a clue. The mщlange spice for which the Bene Gesserit, the Guild
and all the others hungered . . . that was a prize worth this risk.
And those two cryptic volumes. Kwuteg had been right in one thing. Ridulian
crystal paper was heavy. But she shared Ulot's excitement. Something important
was concealed in those lines of cipher.
Once more the eager chase-yelps of the wolves sounded in the forest behind her.
Run, Kwuteg! Run!
Now, just ahead of her through the trees, she could see the wide cleared strip