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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
“Don’t jeopardize our foothold with the Fremen.”
“Of course not, Sire.”
“And what about Paul?”
“Perhaps we could alert Dr. Yueh.”
Leto turned his back on Hawat. “I leave it in your hands.”
“I shall use discretion, my Lord.”
At least I can count on that, Leto thought. And he said: “I will take a walk. If you need me, I’ll be within the perimeter. The guard can—”
“My Lord, before you go, I’ve a filmclip you should read. It’s a first-approximation analysis on the Fremen religion. You’ll recall you asked me to report on it.”
The Duke paused, spoke without turning. “Will it not wait?”
“Of course, my Lord. You asked what they were shouting, though. It was ‘Mahdi!’ They directed the term at the young master. When they—”
“At Paul?”
“Yes, my Lord. They’ve a legend here, a prophecy, that a leader will come to them, child of a Bene Gesserit, to lead them to true freedom. It follows the familiar messiah pattern.”
“They think Paul is this…this….”
“They only hope, my Lord.” Hawat extended a filmclip capsule.
The Duke accepted it, thrust it into a pocket. “I’ll look at it later.”
“Certainly, my Lord.”
“Right now, I need time to…think.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The Duke took a deep sighing breath, strode out the door. He turned to his right down the hall, began walking, hands behind his back, paying little attention to where he was. There were corridors and stairs and balconies and halls…people who saluted and stood aside for him.
In time he came back to the conference room, found it dark and Paul asleep on the table with a guard’s robe thrown over him and a ditty pack for a pillow. The Duke walked softly down the length of the room and onto the balcony overlooking the landing field. A guard at the corner of the balcony, recognizing the Duke by the dim reflection of lights from the field, snapped to attention.
“At ease,” the Duke murmured. He leaned against the cold metal of the balcony rail.
A predawn hush had come over the desert basin. He looked up. Straight overhead, the stars were a sequin shawl flung over blue-black. Low on the southern horizon, the night’s second moon peered through a thin dust haze—an unbelieving moon that looked at him with a cynical light.
As the Duke watched, the moon dipped beneath the Shield Wall cliffs, frosting them, and in the sudden intensity of darkness, he experienced a chill. He shivered.
Anger shot through him.
The Harkonnens have hindered and hounded and hunted me for the last time, he thought. They are dung heaps with village provost minds! Here I make my stand! And he thought with a touch of sadness: I must rule with eye and claw—as the hawk among lesser birds. Unconsciously, his hand brushed the hawk emblem on his tunic.
To the east, the night grew a faggot of luminous gray, then seashell opalescence that dimmed the stars. There came the long, bell-tolling movement of dawn striking across a broken horizon.
It was a scene of such beauty it caught all his attention.
Some things beggar likeness, he thought.
He had never imagined anything here could be as beautiful as that shattered red horizon and the purple and ochre cliffs. Beyond the landing field where the night’s faint dew had touched life into the hurried seeds of Arrakis, he saw great puddles of red blooms and, running through them, an articulate tread of violet…like giant footsteps.
“It’s a beautiful morning, Sire,” the guard said.
“Yes, it is.”
The Duke nodded, thinking: Perhaps this planet could grow on one. Perhaps it could become a good home for my son.
Then he saw the human figures moving into the flower fields, sweeping them with strange scythelike devices—dew gatherers. Water so precious here that even the dew must be collected.
And it could be a hideous place, the Duke thought.
There is probably no more terrible instant of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man—with human flesh.
—FROM “COLLECTED SAYINGS OF MUAD’DIB”
BY THE PRINCESS IRULAN
The Duke said: “Paul, I’m doing a hateful thing, but I must.” He stood beside the portable poison snooper that had been brought into the conference room for their breakfast. The thing’s sensor arms hung limply over the table, reminding Paul of some weird insect newly dead.
The Duke’s attention was directed out the windows at the landing field and its roiling of dust against the morning sky.
Paul had a viewer in front of him containing a short filmclip on Fremen religious practices. The clip had been compiled by one of Hawat’s experts and Paul found himself disturbed by the references to himself.
“Mahdi!”
“Lisan al-Gaib!”
He could close his eyes and recall the shouts of the crowds. So that is what they hope, he thought. And he remembered what the old Reverend Mother had said: Kwisatz Haderach. The memories touched his feelings of terrible purpose, shading this strange world with sensations of familiarity that he could not understand.
“A hateful thing,” the Duke said.
“What do you mean, sir?”
Leto turned, looked down at his son. “Because the Harkonnens think to trick me by making me distrust your mother. They don’t know that I’d sooner distrust myself.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
Again, Leto looked out the windows. The white sun was well up into its morning quadrant. Milky light picked out a boiling of dust clouds that spilled over into the blind canyons interfingering the Shield Wall.
Slowly, speaking in a slow voice to contain his anger, the Duke explained to Paul about the mysterious note.
“You might just as well mistrust me,” Paul said.
“They have to think they’ve succeeded,” the Duke said. “They must think me this much of a fool. It must look real. Even your mother may not know the sham.”
“But, sir! Why?”
“Your mother’s response must not be an act. Oh, she’s capable of a supreme act…but too much rides on this. I hope to smoke out a traitor. It must seem that I’ve been completely cozened. She must be hurt this way that she does not suffer greater hurt.”
“Why do you tell me, Father? Maybe I’ll give it away.”
“They’ll not watch you in this thing,” the Duke said. “You’ll keep the secret. You must.” He walked to the windows, spoke without turning. “This way, if anything should happen to me, you can tell her the truth—that I never doubted her, not for the smallest instant. I should want her to know this.”
Paul recognized the death thoughts in his father’s words, spoke quickly: “Nothing’s going to happen to you, sir. The—”
“Be silent, Son.”
Paul stared at his father’s back, seeing the fatigue in the angle of the neck, in the line of the shoulders, in the slow movements.
“You’re just tired, Father.”
“I am tired,” the Duke agreed. “I’m morally tired. The melancholy degeneration of the Great Houses has afflicted me at last, perhaps. And we were such strong people once.”
Paul spoke in quick anger: “Our House hasn’t degenerated!”
“Hasn’t it?”
The Duke turned, faced his son, revealing dark circles beneath hard eyes, a cynical twist of mouth. “I should wed your mother, make her my Duchess. Yet…my unwedded state gives some Houses hope they may yet ally with me through their marriageable daughters.” He shrugged. “So, I….”
“Mother has explained this to me.”
“Nothing wins more loyalty for a leader than an air of bravura,” the Duke said. “I, therefore, cultivate an air of bravura.”