We chased them into a Coriolis storm. Winds at eight hundred kilometers an hour. Nothing survives such a storm. They're dead. It's a certainty.
So it's done, finally. Send word to Giedi Prime to begin selling our spice reserves... but slowly. We don't want the price to fall. You have no idea how much it cost me to bring such a force to bear here. Now I have only one requirement: Income. So squeeze, Rabban. Squeeze hard.
Yes, Uncle. And the Fremen?
Kill them all.