The morning sun of Arrakis was a blinding, white-hot disc, and the heat rising from the landing pad was enough to wilt a Caladan lily in seconds. But as Anastasia walked toward the waiting 'thopter, she seemed almost untouched by the harshness. She looked particularly petite, dressed in a specialized desert-cloak of pale, reflective silk, her small hand tucked firmly into the massive, calloused palm of Duke Leto.
On her other side, Paul walked with a rhythmic, predatory grace, his eyes hidden behind dark lenses. Behind them, like a wall of silent, murderous shadows, stood Jia and the twin maids, Lila and Mina.
"Is it safe, Papa?" Anastasia chirped, her "naive" voice barely audible over the high-pitched whine of the 'thopter's wings. "The dragon-fly looks very loud."
"It is a machine of war, my Pearl," Leto said, his voice dropping into a register of deep, protective kindness. He lifted her easily, as if she weighed no more than a bird, and settled her into the reinforced passenger seat. "But today, it is simply our carriage. We are going to see where the spice is gathered—the lifeblood of this world."
The View from the CloudsThe 'thopter took off with a violent lurch, its ornithopter wings beating the air into submission. Anastasia pressed her face against the thick plasteel window, her eyes wide with a radiant, innocent wonder as the city of Arrakeen shrank into a tiny patch of grey stone amidst an infinite sea of orange sand.
"Look, Paul! The dunes look like waves," she cried, pointing a petite finger at the horizon. "Do you think there are fish made of sand down there?"
Paul leaned over her, his arm resting on the back of her seat in a possessive, protective arc. He didn't look at the sand; he looked at the reflection of his sister's face in the glass. His yandere-like obsession was a cold, constant hum in his chest.
"There are no fish, 'Stasia," Paul whispered, his voice thick with a dark, brotherly devotion. "Only the Maker. And the spice. But as long as you are with me, the desert will never touch you."
The Field of GoldThey descended toward a massive spice-crawler—a gargantuan machine that looked like a moving fortress, kicking up clouds of glittering, cinnamon-scented dust.
Duke Leto stood by the open bay door, his hand gripping the safety rail as he looked out over his new fiefdom. But his attention snapped back the moment Anastasia stood up to join him.
"Stay back from the edge, Gem," Leto commanded, though his eyes softened instantly as she looked up at him with those "naive," trusting eyes.
"I want to see the people, Papa! They're working so hard," Anastasia said, her Influence radiating through the cramped cabin.
She leaned out just far enough to see the workers on the sand below—men scorched by the sun, their eyes deep blue from the spice. Despite the roar of the engines and the danger of the desert, Anastasia took off her silk glove and waved her petite hand at the crew below.
The Miracle on the SandThe effect was instantaneous. On the ground, the hardened spice-miners—men who had lived under the Harkonnen lash for decades—stopped in their tracks. They looked up at the 'thopter, at the tiny, golden-haired figure waving at them with such genuine kindness.
"The Water-Bringer!" the shout rose from the dunes, muffled by the wind but unmistakable.
Jia, standing in the back of the 'thopter, felt a surge of lethal jealousy. She hated that these common laborers could look upon her Goddess. She moved forward, her hand reaching out to pull Anastasia back into the shadows of the cabin.
"They have seen enough, Princess," Jia hissed, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of a worm-sign or a Harkonnen scout. "The dust is bad for your throat. Come away."
"But they look so tired, Jia," Anastasia whispered, turning back to her father. "Can we send them some extra water? They look like they haven't smiled in a very long time."
Duke Leto looked at his daughter, then at the fanatical devotion blooming on the faces of the men below. He realized then that Anastasia wasn't just his daughter; she was a political weapon of pure innocence.
"Give the order, Gurney," Leto said into his comms, his voice steady. "Double the water rations for this crew. In the name of the Princess Anastasia."
As the 'thopter wheeled away, leaving the cheering workers behind, Paul gripped his sister's hand. He knew the desert was a trap, and the spice was a curse. But looking at Anastasia's "naive," happy face, he knew he would burn every grain of sand on this planet to keep her smiling.