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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
“There’s danger for everyone who touches you. Isn’t that your very nature?”
Danger even for Hwi. Dear, delectable, dear Hwi.
“Did you build high walls around you only to sit within them and indulge in self-pity?”
The walls were built because great forces have been unleashed in my Empire.
“You unleashed them. Will you now compromise with them?”
It’s Hwi’s doing. These feelings have never before been this powerful in me. It’s the damnable Ixians!
“How interesting that they should assault you with flesh rather than with a machine.”
Because they have discovered my secret.
“You know the antidote.”
Leto’s great body trembled through its entire length at this thought. He well knew the antidote which had always worked before: lose himself for a time in his own past. Not even the Bene Gesserit Sisters could take such safaris, striking inward along the axis of memories—back, back to the very limits of cellular awareness, or stopping by a wayside to revel in a sophisticated sensory delight. Once, after the death of a particularly superb Duncan, he had toured great musical performances preserved in his memories. Mozart had tired him quickly. Pretentious! But Bach . . . ahhh, Bach.
Leto remembered the joy of it.
I sat at the organ and let the music drench me.
Only three times in all memory had there been an equal to Bach. But even Licallo was not better, as good, but not better.
Would female intellectuals be the proper choice for this night? Grandmother Jessica had been one of the best. Experience told him that someone as close to him as Jessica would not be the proper antidote for his present tensions. The search would have to venture much farther.
He imagined then describing such a safari to some awestruck visitor, a totally imaginary visitor because none would dare question him about such a holy matter.
“I course backward down the flight of ancestors, hunting along the tributaries, darting into nooks and crannies. You would not recognize many of their names. Who has ever heard of Norma Cenva? I have lived her!”
“Lived her?” his imaginary visitor asked.
“Of course. Why else would one keep one’s ancestors around? You think a man designed the first Guild ship? Your history books told you it was Aurelius Venport? They lied. It was his mistress, Norma. She gave him the design, along with five children. He thought his ego would take no less. In the end, the knowledge that he had not really fulfilled his own image, that was what destroyed him.”
“You have lived him, too?”
“Naturally. And I have traversed the far wanderings of the Fremen. Through my father’s line and the others, I have gone right back to the House of Atreus.”
“Such an illustrious line!”
“With its fair share of fools.”
Distraction is what I need, he thought.
Would it be a tour through sexual dalliances and exploits, then?
“You have no idea what internal orgies are available to me! I am the ultimate voyeur—participant(s) and observer(s). Ignorance and misunderstandings about sexuality have caused so much distress. How abysmally narrow we have been—how miserly.”
Leto knew he could not make that choice, not this night, not with Hwi out there in his City.
Would he choose a review of warfare, then?
“Which Napoleon was the greater coward?” he asked his imaginary visitor. “I will not reveal it, but I know. Oh, yes, I know.”
Where can I go? With all of the past open to me, where can I go?
The brothels, the atrocities, the tyrants, the acrobats, nudists, surgeons, male whores, musicians, magicians, ungenciers, priests, artisans, priestesses . . .
“Are you aware,” he asked his imaginary visitor, “that the hula preserves an ancient sign language which once belonged only to males? You’ve never heard of the hula? Of course. Who dances it anymore? Dancers have preserved many things, though. The translations have been lost, but I know them.
“One whole night I was a series of caliphs moving eastward and westward with Islam—a traverse of centuries. I will not bore you with the details. Be gone now, visitor!”
How seductive it is, he thought, this call of the siren which would have me live only in the past.
And how useless that past now, thanks to the damnable Ixians. How boring the past when Hwi is here. She would come to me right now if I summoned her. But I cannot call for her . . . not now . . . not tonight.
The past continued to beckon.
I could make a pilgrimage into my past. It does not have to be a safari. I could go alone. Pilgrimage purifies. Safaris make me into a tourist. That’s the difference. I could go alone into my inner world.
And never return.
Leto felt the inevitability of it, that the dream-state would eventually trap him.
I create a special dream-state throughout my Empire. Within this dream, new myths form, new directions appear and new movements. New . . . new . . . new . . . The things emerge from my own dreams, out of my myths. Who more susceptible to them than I? The hunter is caught in his own net.
Leto knew then that he had encountered a condition for which no antidote existed—past, present or future. His great body trembled and shivered in the gloom of his audience chamber.
At the portal, one Fish Speaker guard whispered to another: “Is God troubled?”
And her companion replied: “The sins of this universe would trouble anyone.”
Leto heard them and wept silently.
When I set out to lead humankind along my Golden Path, I promised them a lesson their bones would remember. I know a profound pattern which humans deny with their words even while their actions affirm it. They say they seek security and quiet, the condition they call peace. Even as they speak, they create the seeds of turmoil and violence. If they find their quiet security, they squirm in it. How boring they find it. Look at them now. Look at what they do while I record these words. Hah! I give them enduring eons of enforced tranquility which plods on and on despite their every effort to escape into chaos. Believe me, the memory of Leto’s Peace shall abide with them forever. They will seek their quiet security thereafter only with extreme caution and steadfast preparation.
—THE STOLEN JOURNALS
Much against his will, Idaho found himself at dawn with Siona beside him being taken to “a safe place” in an Imperial ornithopter. It raced eastward toward the golden arc of sunlight which lifted over a landscape carved into rectangular green plantations.
The ’thopter was a big one, large enough to carry a small squad of Fish Speakers with their two guests. The pilot captain of the squad, a brawny woman with a face Idaho could believe had never smiled, had given her name as Inmeir. She sat in the pilot’s seat directly ahead of Idaho, two muscular Fish Speaker guards on either side of her. Five more guards sat behind Idaho and Siona.
“God has ordered me to take you away from the City,” Inmeir had said, coming up to him in the command post beneath the central plaza. “It is for your own safety. We will return by tomorrow morning for Siaynoq.”
Idaho, fatigued by a night of alarms, had sensed the futility of arguing against the orders of “God Himself.” Inmeir appeared quite capable of trundling him off under one of her thick arms. She had led him from the command post into a chilly night canopied with stars like stone-edged facets of shattered brilliants. It was only when they reached the ’thopter and Idaho recognized Siona waiting there that he had begun to question the purpose of this outing.