Paul studied the yellow cloud belching from the crawler's pipe vents, looked out over the desert at the approaching worm track.
"Shouldn't we be hearing them call in the carryall?" Halleck asked.
"They usually have the wing on a different frequency," Kynes said.
"Shouldn't they have two carryalls standing by for every crawler?" the Duke asked. "There should be twenty-six men on that machine down there, not to mention cost of equipment."
Kynes said: "You don't have enough ex - "
He broke off as the speaker erupted with an angry voice: "Any of you see the wing? He isn't answering."
A garble of noise crackled from the speaker, drowned in an abrupt override signal, then silence and the first voice: "Report by the numbers! Over."
"This is Spotter Control. Last I saw, the wing was pretty high and circling off northwest. I don't see him now. Over."
"Spotter one: negative. Over."
"Spotter two: negative. Over."
"Spotter three: negative. Over."
Silence.
The Duke looked down. His own craft's shadow was just passing over the crawler. "Only four spotters, is that right?"
"Correct," Kynes said.
"There are five in our party," the Duke said. "Our ships are larger. We can crowd in three extra each. Their spotters ought to be able to lift off two each."
Paul did the mental arithmetic, said: "That's three short."
"Why don't they have two carryalls to each crawler?" barked the Duke.
"You don't have enough extra equipment," Kynes said.
"All the more reason we should protect what we have!"
"Where could that carryall go?" Halleck asked.
"Could've been forced down somewhere out of sight," Kynes said.
The Duke grabbed the microphone, hesitated with thumb poised over its switch. "How could they lose sight of a carryall?"
"They keep their attention on the ground looking for wormsign," Kynes said.
The Duke thumbed the switch, spoke into the microphone. "This is your Duke. We are coming down to take off Delta Ajax niner's crew. All spotters are ordered to comply. Spotters will land on the east side. We will take the west. Over." He reached down, punched out his own command frequency, repeated the order for his own air cover, handed the microphone back to Kynes.
Kynes returned to the working frequency and a voice blasted from the speaker: " . . . almost a full load of spice! We have almost a full load! We can't leave that for a damned worm! Over."
"Damn the spice!" the Duke barked. He grabbed back the microphone, said: "We can always get more spice. There are seats in our ships for all but three of you. Draw straws or decide any way you like who's to go. But you're going, and that's an order!" He slammed the microphone back into Kynes' hands, muttered: "Sorry," as Kynes shook an injured finger.
"How much time?" Paul asked.
"Nine minutes," Kynes said.
The Duke said: "This ship has more power than the others. If we took off under jet with three-quarter wings, we could crowd in an additional man."
"That sand's soft," Kynes said.
"With four extra men aboard on a jet takeoff, we could snap the wings, Sire," Halleck said.
"Not on this ship," the Duke said. He hauled back on the controls as the 'thopter glided in beside the crawler. The wings tipped up, braked the 'thopter to a skidding stop within twenty meters of the factory.
The crawler was silent now, no sand spouting from its vents. Only a faint mechanical rumble issued from it, becoming more audible as the Duke opened his door.
Immediately, their nostrils were assailed by the odor of cinnamon - heavy and pungent.
With a loud flapping, the spotter aircraft glided down to the sand on the other side of the crawler. The Duke's own escort swooped in to land in line with him.
Paul, looking out at the factory, saw how all the 'thopters were dwarfed by it - gnats beside a warrior beetle.
"Gurney, you and Paul toss out that rear seat," the Duke said. He manually cranked the wings out to three-quarters, set their angle, checked the jet pod controls. "Why the devil aren't they coming out of that machine?"
"They're hoping the carryall will show up," Kynes said. "They still have a few minutes." He glanced off to the east.
All turned to look the same direction, seeing no sign of the worm, but there was a heavy, charged feeling of anxiety in the air.
The Duke took the microphone, punched for his command frequency, said: "Two of you toss out your shield generators. By the numbers. You can carry one more man that way. We're not leaving any men for that monster." He keyed back to the working frequency, barked: "All right, you in Delta Ajax niner! Out! Now! This is a command from your Duke! On the double or I'll cut that crawler apart with a lasgun!"
A hatch snapped open near the front of the factory, another at the rear, another at the top. Men came tumbling out, sliding and scrambling down to the sand. A tall man in a patched working robe was the last to emerge. He jumped down to a track and then to the sand.
The Duke hung the microphone on the panel, swung out onto the wing step, shouted: "Two men each into your spotters."
The man in the patched robe began lolling off pairs of his crew, pushing them toward the craft waiting on the other side.
"Four over here!" the Duke shouted. "Four into that ship back there!" He jabbed a finger at an escort 'thopter directly behind him. The guards were just wrestling the shield generator out of it. "And four into that ship over there!" He pointed to the other escort that had shed its shield generator. "Three each into the others! Run, you sand dogs!"