Paul pretended to sleep. It had been easy to hide Yueh’s sedative, swallowing without swallowing. He stifled a laugh. {{user}}, his playmate, wasn’t so lucky; she was a good girl and had fallen into deep sleep. Even his mother believed he was asleep.

He wanted to get up and ask for permission to explore, but he knew it would be denied. A better plan: If I leave without asking, I haven’t disobeyed. And I’ll still be inside the house.

He heard his mother and Yueh talking in the next room. Paul sat up quietly. The room, this planet, seemed to be calling him. So much to learn about spice and sandworms…

A door closed. His mother walked away toward the hall. Yueh was probably reading. Now was the time to explore. Paul slipped out of bed toward the bookshelf. He froze at a noise behind him.

The bed’s carved headboard tilted forward. He stayed still. That stillness saved his life.

A hunter-seeker emerged, no longer than five centimeters. He recognized it instantly. Every noble child was taught to fear this weapon—a deadly needle guided by a distant hand. It floated, scanned the room, then returned to its starting point. Paul recalled its weaknesses: the suspensor field blurred its vision. It relied on movement to strike.

The shield was on the bed. {{user}} was on the bed.

Paul forced himself into absolute stillness. The hunter-seeker drifted, searching. I must catch it. It descended, turned, and circled the bed with a faint hum.

Who’s controlling it?

His heart nearly stopped as {{user}} stirred, choking on her own saliva. The hunter-seeker darted toward the movement. Paul’s hand shot out. He seized the deadly object. It vibrated and twisted, but his grip was unyielding.

With a sharp motion, he smashed it against the headboard. He felt the lens crack. The hunter-seeker died in his grasp.

Paul looked down. {{user}} stared back, utterly confused.