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Dune [Frank Herbert's Dune Saga Collection: Books 1 - 6]
- Автор: Херберт Фрэнк
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: Penguin Publishing Group
- Жанр: Эпическое фэнтези
Электронная книга - «Dune [Frank Herbert's Dune Saga Collection: Books 1 - 6]». Краткое содержание книги:
*DUNE* IS SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE directed by Denis Villeneuve, starring Timothée Chalamet, Josh Brolin, Jason Momoa, Zendaya, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Javier Bardem, Dave Bautista, Stellan Skarsgård, and Charlotte Rampling.
In the far future, on a remote planet, an epic adventure awaits. Here are the first six novels of Frank Herbert’s magnificent Dune saga—a triumph of the imagination and one of the bestselling science fiction series of all time.
The Dune Saga begins on the desert planet Arrakis with the story of the boy Paul Atreides—who would become known as Muad’Dib—and of a great family’s ambition to bring to fruition humankind’s most ancient and unattainable dream....
Includes Books 1 - 6: DUNE • DUNE MESSIAH • CHILDREN OF DUNE • GOD EMPEROR OF DUNE • HERETICS OF DUNE • CHAPTERHOUSE: DUNE
Paul felt himself at the center, at the pivot where the whole structure turned, walking a thin wire of peace with a measure of happiness, Chani at his side. He could see it stretching ahead of him, a time of relative quiet in a hidden sietch, a moment of peace between periods of violence.
“There’s no other place for peace,” he said.
“Usul, you’re crying,” Chani murmured. “Usul, my strength, do you give moisture to the dead? To whose dead?”
“To ones not yet dead,” he said.
“Then let them have their time of life,” she said.
He sensed through the drug fog how right she was, pulled her against him with savage pressure. “Sihaya!” he said.
She put a palm against his cheek. “I’m no longer afraid, Usul. Look at me. I see what you see when you hold me thus.”
“What do you see?” he demanded.
“I see us giving love to each other in a time of quiet between storms. It’s what we were meant to do.”
The drug had him again and he thought: So many times you’ve given me comfort and forgetfulness. He felt anew the hyperillumination with its high-relief imagery of time, sensed his future becoming memories—the tender indignities of physical love, the sharing and communion of selves, the softness and the violence.
“You’re the strong one, Chani,” he muttered. “Stay with me.”
“Always,” she said, and kissed his cheek.
BOOK THREE
THE PROPHET
No woman, no man, no child ever was deeply intimate with my father. The closest anyone ever came to casual cameraderie with the Padishah Emperor was the relationship offered by Count Hasimir Fenring, a companion from childhood. The measure of Count Fenring’s friendship may be seen first in a positive thing: he allayed the Landsraad’s suspicions after the Arrakis Affair. It cost more than a billion solaris in spice bribes, so my mother said, and there were other gifts as welclass="underline" slave women, royal honors, and tokens of rank. The second major evidence of the Count’s friendship was negative. He refused to kill a man even though it was within his capabilities and my father commanded it. I will relate this presently.
—FROM “COUNT FENRING: A PROFILE”
BY THE PRINCESS IRULAN
The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen raged down the corridor from his private apartments, flitting through patches of late afternoon sunlight that poured down from high windows. He bobbed and twisted in his suspensors with violent movements.
Past the private kitchen he stormed—past the library, past the small reception room and into the servants’ antechamber where the evening relaxation already had set in.
The guard captain, Iakin Nefud, squatted on a divan across the chamber, the stupor of semuta dullness in his flat face, the eerie wailing of semuta music around him. His own court sat near to do his bidding.
“Nefud!” the Baron roared.
Men scrambled.
Nefud stood, his face composed by the narcotic but with an overlay of paleness that told of his fear. The semuta music had stopped.
“My Lord Baron,” Nefud said. Only the drug kept the trembling out of his voice.
The Baron scanned the faces around him, seeing the looks of frantic quiet in them. He returned his attention to Nefud, and spoke in a silken tone:
“How long have you been my guard captain, Nefud?”
Nefud swallowed. “Since Arrakis, my Lord. Almost two years.”
“And have you always anticipated dangers to my person?”
“Such has been my only desire, my Lord.”
“Then where is Feyd-Rautha?” the Baron roared.
Nefud recoiled. “M’Lord?”
“You do not consider Feyd-Rautha a danger to my person?” Again, the voice was silken.
Nefud wet his lips with his tongue. Some of the semuta dullness left his eyes. “Feyd-Rautha’s in the slave quarters, my Lord.”
“With the women again, eh?” The Baron trembled with the effort of suppressing anger.
“Sire, it could be he’s—”
“Silence!”
The Baron advanced another step into the antechamber, noting how the men moved back, clearing a subtle space around Nefud, dissociating themselves from the object of wrath.
“Did I not command you to know precisely where the na-Baron was at all times?” the Baron asked. He moved a step closer. “Did I not say to you that you were to know precisely what the na-Baron was saying at all times—and to whom?” Another step. “Did I not say to you that you were to tell me whenever he went into the quarters of the slave women?”
Nefud swallowed. Perspiration stood out on his forehead.
The Baron held his voice flat, almost devoid of emphasis: “Did I not say these things to you?”
Nefud nodded.
“And did I not say that you were to check all slave boys sent to me and that you were to do this yourself…personally?”
Again, Nefud nodded.
“Did you, perchance, not see the blemish on the thigh of the one sent me this evening?” the Baron asked. “Is it possible you—”
“Uncle.”
The Baron whirled, stared at Feyd-Rautha standing in the doorway. The presence of his nephew here, now—the look of hurry that the young man could not quite conceal—all revealed much. Feyd-Rautha had his own spy system focused on the Baron.
“There is a body in my chambers that I wish removed,” the Baron said, and he kept his hand at the projectile weapon beneath his robes, thankful that his shield was the best.
Feyd-Rautha glanced at two guardsmen against the right wall, nodded. The two detached themselves, scurried out the door and down the hall toward the Baron’s apartments.
Those two, eh? the Baron thought. Ah, this young monster has much to learn yet about conspiracy!
“I presume you left matters peaceful in the slave quarters, Feyd,” the Baron said.
“I’ve been playing cheops with the slavemaster,” Feyd-Rautha said, and he thought: What has gone wrong? The boy we sent to my uncle has obviously been killed. But he was perfect for the job. Even Hawat couldn’t have made a better choice. The boy was perfect!
“Playing pyramid chess,” the Baron said. “How nice. Did you win?”
“I…ah, yes, Uncle.” And Feyd-Rautha strove to contain his disquiet.
The Baron snapped his fingers. “Nefud, you wish to be restored to my good graces?”
“Sire, what have I done?” Nefud quavered.
“That’s unimportant now,” the Baron said. “Feyd has beaten the slavemaster at cheops. Did you hear that?”
“Yes…Sire.”
“I wish you to take three men and go to the slavemaster,” the Baron said. “Garrote the slavemaster. Bring his body to me when you’ve finished that I may see it was done properly. We cannot have such inept chess players in our employ.”
Feyd-Rautha went pale, took a step forward. “But, Uncle, I—”
“Later, Feyd,” the Baron said, and waved a hand. “Later.”
The two guards who had gone to the Baron’s quarters for the slave boy’s body staggered past the antechamber door with their load sagging between them, arms trailing. The Baron watched until they were out of sight.
Nefud stepped up beside the Baron. “You wish me to kill the slavemaster, now, my Lord?”
“Now,” the Baron said. “And when you’ve finished, add those two who just passed to your list. I don’t like the way they carried that body. One should do such things neatly. I’ll wish to see their carcasses, too.”
Nefud said, “My Lord, is it anything that I’ve—”
“Do as your master has ordered,” Feyd-Rautha said. And he thought: All I can hope for now is to save my own skin.
Good! the Baron thought. He yet knows how to cut his losses. And the Baron smiled inwardly at himself, thinking: The lad knows, too, what will please me and be most apt to stay my wrath from falling on him. He knows I must preserve him. Who else do I have who could take the reins I must leave someday? I have no other as capable. But he must learn! And I must preserve myself while he’s learning.