This landscape reminded him of Caladan’s lush gardens and made him wonder what had become of the verdant planet where the Atreides had lived for so many generations before coming to Dune. He could identify narrow roads, market roads with a scattered traffic of vehicles drawn by six-legged animals which he guessed were horses. Moneo had said that horses tailored to the needs of such a landscape were the main work beasts not only here but throughout the Empire.

“A population which walks is easier to control.”

Moneo’s words rang in Idaho’s memory as he peered downwards. Pastureland appeared ahead of the ’thopter, softly rolling green hills cut into irregular patterns by black stone walls. Idaho recognized sheep and several kinds of large cattle. The ’thopter passed over a narrow valley still in gloom and with only a hint of the water coursing down its depths. A single light and a blue plume of smoke lifting out of the valley’s shadows spoke of human occupation.

Siona suddenly stirred and tapped their pilot on the shoulder, pointing off to the right ahead of them.

“Isn’t that Goygoa over there?” Siona asked.

“Yes.” Inmeir spoke without turning, her voice clipped and touched by some emotion which Idaho could not identify.

“Is that not a safe place?” Siona asked.

“It is safe.”

Siona looked at Idaho. “Order her to take us to Goygoa.”

Without knowing why he complied, Idaho said: “Take us to that place.”

Inmeir turned then and her features, which Idaho had thought a square block of non-emotion during the night, revealed the clear evidence of some deep feeling. Her mouth was drawn down into a scowl. A nerve twitched at the corner of her right eye.

“Not Goygoa, Commander,” Inmeir said. “There are better…”

“Did the God Emperor tell you to take us to a specific place?” Siona demanded.

Inmeir glared her anger at this interruption, but did not look directly at Siona. “No, but He…”

“Then take us to this Goygoa,” Idaho said.

Inmeir jerked her attention back to the ’thopter’s controls and Idaho was thrown against Siona as the craft banked sharply and flew toward a round pocket nestled in the green hills.

Idaho peered over Inmeir’s shoulder to look at their destination. At the very centre of the pocket lay a village built of the same black stones as the surrounding fences. Idaho saw orchards on some of the slopes above the village, terraced gardens rising in steps toward a small saddle where hawks could be seen gliding on the day’s first updrafts.

Looking at Siona, Idaho asked: “What is this Goygoa?”

“You will see.”

Inmeir set the ’thopter into a shallow glide which brought them to a gentle landing on a flat stretch of grass at the edge of the village. One of the Fish Speakers opened the door on the village side. Idaho’s nostrils were immediately assaulted by a heady mixture of aromas—crushed grass, animal droppings, the acridity of cooking fires. He slipped out of the ’thopter and looked up a village street where people were emerging from their houses to stare at the visitors. Idaho saw an older woman in a long green dress bend over and whisper something to a child who immediately turned and went dashing away up the street.