Chapter 13: The Thirst Around Him
The walk back to Arrakeen took most of the day. My legs remembered how to function—barely. The exhaustion from claiming 1.2 km² of territory in one run had hollowed me out. Each step was negotiation between willpower and collapse.
But I made it. The city's outer buildings appeared as the second sun touched the horizon. Guards at the gate barely glanced at my papers. Just another smuggler returning from the waste.
I made my way to headquarters through familiar passages. The main chamber hummed with evening activity—counting, sorting, the eternal work of survival and profit.
Jorik looked up from his corner. "You're back. Thought you might stay out another day."
"Route took longer than expected." I dropped into a seat across from him. My water flask was empty. I reached for the communal supply.
"Help yourself." He pushed a container toward me. "Good run?"
"Profitable enough." I drank. The water tasted flat, recycled, beautiful. "Anything happen here?"
"Quiet. Venn's been in a mood. Turok had him running errands for the Harkonnens—some kind of audit. Came back looking murderous."
Interesting. The false information had reached someone. Whether it had affected anything remained to be seen.
I sat with Jorik for a while, letting my body remember what rest felt like. Other smugglers came and went—Mala nodded a greeting, Torren avoided eye contact. Normal evening at the syndicate.
Then Jorik reached for water. Again. Third time in an hour.
"Damn, my throat's dry tonight." He poured another cup. "Is the air system broken? Feels like the recyclers aren't working."
I felt it then. The Drought Whisper. Active. Pulling moisture from the air, from surfaces, from—
From people.
Jorik drained his cup. Refilled it. "Seriously, what's wrong with the air?"
Mala appeared. "Is it just me or is it harder to breathe in here?" She grabbed water without sitting. Drank standing. "Maybe the vents are clogged."
Others were drinking more too. Small sips. Frequent reaches for flasks. The ten-meter aura around me was pulling moisture from everything.
I stood. "I'm going to rest. Long day."
"Yeah." Jorik waved. "See you tomorrow."
I made my way to my quarters. Closed the door. Leaned against it.
The Drought Whisper hummed. Constant. Hungry. I could feel it now that I was paying attention—an invisible sphere pulling water toward me. The air in my quarters was already drier than it should be.
This was a problem. A big problem. If people started noticing patterns—that they only got thirsty when I was around—they'd ask questions. Questions led to suspicion. Suspicion led to Venn's kind of attention.
I needed control.
I sat on my cot. Focused inward. The System interface responded.
[DROUGHT WHISPER: ACTIVE]
[RANGE: 10 METERS]
[EFFECT: CONTINUOUS ENVIRONMENTAL DEHYDRATION]
[CONTROL: MINIMAL]
Can I suppress it?
[NEGATIVE: ABILITY IS PASSIVE]
[ALTERNATIVE: FOCAL CONTROL POSSIBLE]
[REQUIRES: CONCENTRATION]
Show me how.
The System guided me. Not with words—with sensation. I felt the aura like a muscle I'd never known existed. It wanted to expand, pull, consume. But muscles could be flexed. Controlled.
I pulled it inward. Tight around myself. The sphere collapsed from ten meters to five, to three, to barely beyond my skin.
The effort was constant. Like holding my breath. The moment I relaxed concentration, the aura expanded again.
I practiced. Pull tight. Hold. Breathe. Pull tight. Hold. Breathe.
After an hour, I found the balance. The aura compressed to maybe two meters. Close enough that casual proximity wouldn't dehydrate people. Far enough that I had breathing room.
The cost: eternal vigilance. A background hum of mental effort. All day. Every day. Forever.
Worth it to avoid exposure.
I tested it in the quarters. Sat still. Let the concentration become habit. The aura pressed against my control—patient, hungry, waiting for the moment I slipped.
When I rejoined the common area, Jorik was still there. Working on equipment repairs.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just needed to decompress." I sat across from him. Aura held tight.
We talked. Normal conversation. Routes, weather, the eternal complaints about stillsuit maintenance. An hour passed. Jorik drank once. Normal amount.
It worked.
But the moment my attention wavered—thinking about tomorrow's plans—the aura expanded a fraction. Jorik's hand moved toward his water flask unconsciously.
I clamped down. Pulled it tight again. He didn't complete the reach.
This would be my life now. Every conversation, every gathering, every moment around people required active management of an ability that wanted to drain them dry.
The System had given me power. The price was isolation by effort.
"Hey," Jorik said. "You good? You look tired."
"Long run. Still recovering."
"Yeah." He set down his tools. Looked at me. Really looked. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"I was a water merchant. Before this. Had a shop in the upper levels. Nothing fancy—just enough to survive." He leaned back. "Harkonnens decided my taxes weren't sufficient. Quadrupled them overnight. When I couldn't pay, they took the shop. Took everything. Left me with debt I'd never clear."
He paused. Drank water—normal sip, not the desperate pulls from earlier.
"Turok offered me a way out. Run spice, work off the debt. Said it'd take a year." He laughed. Bitter. "That was ten years ago. I'm still here. Still running. Still in debt—just to Turok now instead of the Harkonnens."
"Why tell me this?"
"Because you're new. Because you survived longer than most. Because..." He shrugged. "Because we're all just trying to not die here, you know? And sometimes it helps to remember we're people, not just assets."
I thought about that. About the HR stat at 96%. About friendship being worth actual System rewards. About Jorik being the first person in this universe who'd shown genuine care without calculation behind it.
"I appreciate that," I said. And meant it.
We sat in comfortable silence. The kind that only happens between people who understand each other's exhaustion.
Later, when he went to sleep, I stayed awake. Practicing aura control until it became background habit. Pull tight. Hold. Maintain.
The desert inside me wanted to spread. I'd promised it could—through territory, through power, through transformation. But not here. Not now. Not at the cost of the few genuine connections I had.
Control was power. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd gained the ability to drain moisture from everything around me, and my first action was learning how to not use it.
The System chimed softly.
[DROUGHT WHISPER: FOCAL CONTROL ACHIEVED]
[MAINTENANCE COST: CONSTANT CONCENTRATION]
[BENEFIT: SOCIAL INTERACTION VIABLE]
[WARNING: EXTENDED USE WILL INCREASE MENTAL FATIGUE]
[RECOMMENDATION: LIMIT PROLONGED SOCIAL EXPOSURE]
So even suppressed, the ability had costs. I'd need to balance time around people with time alone. Another layer of isolation. Another step toward the inhuman.
But Jorik's story echoed. We're all just trying not to die here.
I could do that. Manage the aura. Build genuine connections. Maintain enough humanity to remember why surviving mattered.
The alternative was becoming a walking drought that pushed away everyone who might care. That path led to the Worm God transformation. Pure power. Total isolation.
Not yet. Not while I had a choice.
I settled onto my cot. Let exhaustion pull at me. The aura hummed against my restraint—hungry desert waiting for permission to expand.
Tomorrow I'd continue building position. Playing the game. But tonight I'd proven something important: the System's powers could be controlled, not just wielded.
That mattered more than any territory claim.
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