沙丘2

CHAPTER 7

With the Lady Jessica and Arrakis, the Bene Gesserit system of sowing implant- legends through the Missionaria Protectiva came to its full fruition.

The wisdom of seeding the known universe with a prophecy pattern for the protection of B.G. personnel has long been appreciated, but never have we seen a condition- ut-extremis with more ideal mating of person and preparation. The prophetic legends had taken on Arrakis even to the extent of adopted labels (including Reverend Mother, canto and respondu, and most of the Shari-a panoplia propheticus). And it is generally accepted now that the Lady Jessica’s latent abilities were grossly underestimated.

—from “Analysis: The Arrakeen Crisis”by the Princess Irulan

(private circulation: B.G.file number AR-81088587) ALL AROUND the Lady Jessica—piled in corners of the Arrakeen great hall, mounded in the open spaces—stood the packaged freight of their lives: boxes, trunks, cartons, cases—some partly unpacked. She could hear the cargo handlers from the Guild shuttle depositing another load in the entry.

Jessica stood in the center of the hall. She moved in a slow turn, looking up and around at shadowed carvings, crannies and deeply recessed windows. This giant anachronism of a room reminded her of the Sisters’ Hall at her Bene Gesserit school. But at the school the effect had been of warmth. Here, all was bleak stone.

Some architect had reached far back into history for these buttressed walls and dark hangings, she thought. The arched ceiling stood two stories above her with great crossbeams she felt sure had been shipped here to Arrakis across space at monstrous cost. No planet of this system grew trees to make such beams —unless the beams were imitation wood.

She thought not.

This had been the government mansion in the days of the Old Empire. Costs had been of less importance then. It had been before the Harkonnens and their new megalopolis of Carthag—a cheap and brassy place some two hundred kilometers northeast across the Broken Land. Leto had been wise to choose this place for his seat of government. The name, Arrakeen, had a good sound, filled with tradition. And this was a smaller city, easier to sterilize and defend.

Again there came the clatter of boxes being unloaded in the entry. Jessica sighed.

Against a carton to her right stood the painting of the Duke’s father.

Wrapping twine hung from it like a frayed decoration. A piece of the twine was still clutched in Jessica’s left hand. Beside the painting lay a black bull’s head mounted on a polished board. The head was a dark island in a sea of wadded paper. Its plaque lay flat on the floor, and the bull’s shiny muzzle pointed at the ceiling as though the beast were ready to bellow a challenge into this echoing room.

Jessica wondered what compulsion had brought her to uncover those two things first—the head and the painting. She knew there was something symbolic in the action. Not since the day when the Duke’s buyers had taken her from the school had she felt this frightened and unsure of herself.

The head and the picture.

They heightened her feelings of confusion. She shuddered, glanced at the slit windows high overhead. It was still early afternoon here, and in these latitudes the sky looked black and cold—so much darker than the warm blue of Caladan.

A pang of homesickness throbbed through her.

So far away, Caladan.

“Here we are!” The voice was Duke Leto’s.

She whirled, saw him striding from the arched passage to the dining hall. His black working uniform with red armorial hawk crest at the breast looked dusty and rumpled.

“I thought you might have lost yourself in this hideous place,”he said.

“It is a cold house,”she said. She looked at his tallness, at the dark skin that made her think of olive groves and golden sun on blue waters. There was woodsmoke in the gray of his eyes, but the face was predatory: thin, full of sharp angles and planes.

A sudden fear of him tightened her breast. He had become such a savage, driving person since the decision to bow to the Emperor’s command.

“The whole city feels cold,”she said.

“It’s a dirty, dusty little garrison town,”he agreed. “But we’ll change that.” He looked around the hall. “These are public rooms for state occasions. I’ve just glanced at some of the family apartments in the south wing. They’re much nicer.”He stepped closer, touched her arm, admiring her stateliness.

And again, he wondered at her unknown ancestry—a renegade House, perhaps? Some black-barred royalty? She looked more regal than the Emperor’s own blood.

Under the pressure of his stare, she turned half away, exposing her profile.

And he realized there was no single and precise thing that brought her beauty to focus. The face was oval under a cap of hair the color of polished bronze. Her eyes were set wide, as green and clear as the morning skies of Caladan. The nose was small, the mouth wide and generous. Her figure was good but scant: tall and with its curves gone to slimness.

He remembered that the lay sisters at the school had called her skinny, so his buyers had told him. But that description oversimplified. She had brought a regal beauty back into the Atreides line. He was glad that Paul favored her.

“Where’s Paul?”he asked.

“Someplace around the house taking his lessons with Yueh.”

“Probably in the south wing,”he said. “I thought I heard Yueh’s voice, but I couldn’t take time to look.”He glanced down at her, hesitating. “I came here only to hang the key of Caladan Castle in the dining hall.” She caught her breath, stopped the impulse to reach out to him. Hanging the key—there was finality in that action. But this was not the time or place for comforting. “I saw our banner over the house as we came in,”she said.

He glanced at the painting of his father. “Where were you going to hang that?”

“Somewhere in here.”

“No.”The word rang flat and final, telling her she could use trickery to persuade, but open argument was useless. Still, she had to try, even if the gesture served only to remind herself that she would not trick him.

“My Lord,”she said, “if you’d only….”

“The answer remains no. I indulge you shamefully in most things, not in this.

I’ve just come from the dining hall where there are—”

“My Lord! Please.”

“The choice is between your digestion and my ancestral dignity, my dear,” he said. “They will hang in the dining hall.” She sighed. “Yes, my Lord.”

“You may resume your custom of dining in your rooms whenever possible. I shall expect you at your proper position only on formal occasions.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“And don’t go all cold and formal on me! Be thankful that I never married you, my dear. Then it’d be your duty to join me at table for every meal.”

She held her face immobile, nodded.

“Hawat already has our own poison snooper over the dining table,”he said.

“There’s a portable in your room.”

“You anticipated this … disagreement,”she said.

“My dear, I think also of your comfort. I’ve engaged servants. They’re locals, but Hawat has cleared them—they’re Fremen all. They’ll do until our own people can be released from their other duties.”

“Can anyone from this place be truly safe?”

“Anyone who hates Harkonnens. You may even want to keep the head housekeeper: the Shadout Mapes.”

“Shadout,”Jessica said. “A Fremen title?”

“I’m told it means ‘well-dipper,’ a meaning with rather important overtones here. She may not strike you as a servant type, although Hawat speaks highly of her on the basis of Duncan’s report. They’re convinced she wants to serve— specifically that she wants to serve you.”

“Me?”

“The Fremen have learned that you’re Bene Gesserit,”he said. “There are legends here about the Bene Gesserit.” The Missionaria Protectiva, Jessica thought. No place escapes them.

“Does this mean Duncan was successful?”she asked. “Will the Fremen be our allies?”

“There’s nothing definite,”he said. “They wish to observe us for a while, Duncan believes. They did, however, promise to stop raiding our outlying villages during a truce period. That’s a more important gain than it might seem.

Hawat tells me the Fremen were a deep thorn in the Harkonnen side, that the extent of their ravages was a carefully guarded secret. It wouldn’t have helped for the Emperor to learn the ineffectiveness of the Harkonnen military.”

“A Fremen housekeeper,”Jessica mused, returning to the subject of the Shadout Mapes. “She’ll have the all-blue eyes.”

“Don’t let the appearance of these people deceive you,”he said. “There’s a deep strength and healthy vitality in them. I think they’ll be everything we need.”

“It’s a dangerous gamble,”she said.

“Let’s not go into that again,”he said.

She forced a smile. “We are committed, no doubt of that.”She went through the quick regimen of calmness—the two deep breaths, the ritual thought, then: “When I assign rooms, is there anything special I should reserve for you?”

“You must teach me someday how you do that,”he said, “the way you thrust your worries aside and turn to practical matters. It must be a Bene Gesserit thing.”

“It’s a female thing,”she said.

He smiled. “Well, assignment of rooms: make certain I have large office space next to my sleeping quarters. There’ll be more paper work here than on Caladan. A guard room, of course. That should cover it. Don’t worry about security of the house. Hawat’s men have been over it in depth.”

“I’m sure they have.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “And you might see that all our timepieces are adjusted for Arrakeen local. I’ve assigned a tech to take care of it. He’ll be along presently.”He brushed a strand of her hair back from her forehead. “I must return to the landing field now. The second shuttle’s due any minute with my staff reserves.”

“Couldn’t Hawat meet them, my Lord? You look so tired.”

“The good Thufir is even busier than I am. You know this planet’s infested with Harkonnen intrigues. Besides, I must try persuading some of the trained spice hunters against leaving. They have the option, you know, with the change of fief—and this planetologist the Emperor and the Landsraad installed as Judge of the Change cannot be bought. He’s allowing the opt. About eight hundred trained hands expect to go out on the spice shuttle and there’s a Guild cargo ship standing by.”

“My Lord….”She broke off, hesitating.

“Yes?” He will not be persuaded against trying to make this planet secure for us, she thought. And I cannot use my tricks on him.

“At what time will you be expecting dinner?”she asked.

That’s not what she was going to say, he thought Ah-h-h-h, my Jessica, would that we were somewhere else, anywhere away from this terrible place— alone, the two of us, without a care.

“I’ll eat in the officers’ mess at the field,”he said. “Don’t expect me until very late. And … ah, I’ll be sending a guardcar for Paul. I want him to attend our strategy conference.” He cleared his throat as though to say something else, then, without warning, turned and strode out, headed for the entry where she could hear more boxes being deposited. His voice sounded once from there, commanding and disdainful, the way he always spoke to servants when he was in a hurry: “The Lady Jessica’s in the Great Hall. Join her there immediately.” The outer door slammed.

Jessica turned away, faced the painting of Leto’s father. It had been done by the famed artist, Albe, during the Old Duke’s middle years. He was portrayed in matador costume with a magenta cape flung over his left arm. The face looked young, hardly older than Leto’s now, and with the same hawk features, the same gray stare. She clenched her fists at her sides, glared at the painting.

“Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!”she whispered.

“What are your orders, Noble Born?” It was a woman’s voice, thin and stringy.

Jessica whirled, stared down at a knobby, gray-haired woman in a shapeless sack dress of bondsman brown. The woman looked as wrinkled and desiccated as any member of the mob that had greeted them along the way from the landing field that morning. Every native she had seen on this planet, Jessica thought, looked prune dry and undernourished. Yet, Leto had said they were strong and vital. And there were the eyes, of course—that wash of deepest, darkest blue without any white—secretive, mysterious. Jessica forced herself not to stare.

The woman gave a stiff-necked nod, said: “I am called the Shadout Mapes, Noble Born. What are your orders?”

“You may refer to me as ‘my Lady,’ ”Jessica said. “I’m not noble born. I’m the bound concubine of the Duke Leto.” Again that strange nod, and the woman peered upward at Jessica with a sly questioning. “There’s a wife, then?”

“There is not, nor has there ever been. I am the Duke’s only … companion, the mother of his heir-designate.” Even as she spoke, Jessica laughed inwardly at the pride behind her words.

What was it St. Augustine said? she asked herself. “The mind commands the body and it obeys. The mind orders itself and meets resistance. ”Yes—I am meeting more resistance lately. I could use a quiet retreat by myself.

A weird cry sounded from the road outside the house. It was repeated: “Soosoo-Sook! Soo-soo-Sook!”Then: “Ikhut-eigh! Ikhut-eigh!”And again: “Soosoo-Sook!”

“What is that?”Jessica asked. “I heard it several times as we drove through the streets this morning.”

“Only a water-seller, my Lady. But you’ve no need to interest yourself in such as they. The cistern here holds fifty thousand liters and it’s always kept full.”She glanced down at her dress. “Why, you know, my Lady, I don’t even have to wear my stillsuit here?”She cackled. “And me not even dead!” Jessica hesitated, wanting to question this Fremen woman, needing data to guide her. But bringing order of the confusion in the castle was more imperative.

Still, she found the thought unsettling that water was a major mark of wealth here.

“My husband told me of your title, Shadout,”Jessica said. “I recognized the word. It’s a very ancient word.”

“You know the ancient tongues then?”Mapes asked, and she waited with an odd intensity.

“Tongues are the Bene Gesserit’s first learning,”Jessica said. “I know the Bhotani Jib and the Chakobsa, all the hunting languages.” Mapes nodded. “Just as the legend says.” And Jessica wondered: Why do Iplayout this sham? But the Bene Gesserit ways were devious and compelling.

“I know the Dark Things and the ways of the Great Mother,”Jessica said.

She read the more obvious signs in Mapes’ actions and appearance, the petit betrayals. “Miseces prejia,”she said in the Chakobsa tongue. “Andral t’re pera! Trada cik buscakri miseces perakri—” Mapes took a backward step, appeared poised to flee.

“I know many things,”Jessica said. “I know that you have borne children, that you have lost loved ones, that you have hidden in fear and that you have done violence and will yet do more violence. I know many things.” In a low voice, Mapes said: “I meant no offense, my Lady.”

“You speak of the legend and seek answers,”Jessica said. “Beware the answers you may find. I know you came prepared for violence with a weapon in your bodice.”

“My Lady, I….”

“There’s a remote possibility you could draw my life’s blood,”Jessica said, “but in so doing you’d bring down more ruin than your wildest fears could imagine. There are worse things than dying, you know—even for an entire people.”

“My Lady!”Mapes pleaded. She appeared about to fall to her knees. “The weapon was sent as a gift to you should you prove to be the One.”

“And as the means of my death should I prove otherwise,”Jessica said. She waited in the seeming relaxation that made the Bene Gesserit-trained so terrifying in combat.

Now we see which way the decision tips, she thought.

Slowly, Mapes reached into the neck of her dress, brought out a dark sheath.

A black handle with deep finger ridges protruded from it. She took sheath in one hand and handle in the other, withdrew a milk-white blade, held it up. The blade seemed to shine and glitter with a light of its own. It was double-edged like a kindjal and the blade was perhaps twenty centimeters long.

“Do you know this, my Lady?”Mapes asked.

It could only be one thing, Jessica knew, the fabled crysknife of Arrakis, the blade that had never been taken off the planet, and was known only by rumor and wild gossip.

“It’s a crysknife,”she said.

“Say it not lightly,”Mapes said. “Do you know its meaning?” And Jessica thought: There was an edge to that question. Here’s the reason this Fremen has taken service with me, to ask that one question. My answer could precipitate violence or … what? She seeks an answer from me: the meaning of a knife. She’s called the Shadout in the Chakobsa tongue. Knife, that’s “Death Maker”in Chakobsa. She’s getting restive. I must answer now.

Delay is as dangerous as the wrong answer.

Jessica said: “It’s a maker—”

“Eighe-e-e-e-e-e!”Mapes wailed. It was a sound of both grief and elation.

She trembled so hard the knife blade sent glittering shards of reflection shooting around the room.

Jessica waited, poised. She had intended to say the knife was a maker of death and then add the ancient word, but every sense warned her now, all the deep training of alertness that exposed meaning in the most casual muscle twitch.

The key word was … maker.

Maker? Maker.

Still, Mapes held the knife as though ready to use it.

Jessica said: “Did you think that I, knowing the mysteries of the Great Mother, would not know the Maker?” Mapes lowered the knife. “My Lady, when one has lived with prophecy for so long, the moment of revelation is a shock.” Jessica thought about the prophecy—the Shari-a and all the panoplia propheticus, a Bene Gesserit of the Missionaria Protectiva dropped here long centuries ago—long dead, no doubt, but her purpose accomplished: the protective legends implanted in these people against the day of a Bene Gesserit’s need.

Well, that day had come.

Mapes returned knife to sheath, said: “This is an unfixed blade, my Lady.

Keep it near you. More than a week away from flesh and it begins to disintegrate. It’s yours, a tooth of shai-hulud, for as long as you live.” Jessica reached out her right hand, risked a gamble: “Mapes, you’ve sheathed that blade unblooded.” With a gasp, Mapes dropped the sheathed knife into Jessica’s hand, tore open the brown bodice, wailing: “Take the water of my life!” Jessica withdrew the blade from its sheath. How it glittered! She directed the point toward Mapes, saw a fear greater than death-panic come over the woman.

Poison in the point? Jessica wondered. She tipped up the point, drew a delicate scratch with the blade’s edge above Mapes’ left breast. There was a thick welling of blood that stopped almost immediately. Ultrafast coagulation, Jessica thought. A moisture-conserving mutation? She sheathed the blade, said: “Button your dress, Mapes.” Mapes obeyed, trembling. The eyes without whites stared at Jessica. “You are ours,”she muttered. “You are the One.” There came another sound of unloading in the entry. Swiftly, Mapes grabbed the sheathed knife, concealed it in Jessica’s bodice. “Who sees that knife must be cleansed or slain!”she snarled. “You know that, my Lady!” I know it now, Jessica thought.

The cargo handlers left without intruding on the Great Hall.

Mapes composed herself, said: “The uncleansed who have seen a crysknife may not leave Arrakis alive. Never forget that, my Lady. You’ve been entrusted with a crysknife.”She took a deep breath. “Now the thing must take its course. It cannot be hurried.”She glanced at the stacked boxes and piled goods around them. “And there’s work aplenty to while the time for us here.” Jessica hesitated. “The thing must take its course.”That was a specific catchphrase from the Missionaria Protectiva’s stock of incantations—The coming of the Reverend Mother to free you.

But I’m not a Reverend Mother, Jessica thought. And then: Great Mother! They planted that one here! This must be a hideous place! In matter-of-fact tones, Mapes said: “What’ll you be wanting me to do first, my Lady?” Instinct warned Jessica to match that casual tone. She said: “The painting of the Old Duke over there, it must be hung on one side of the dining hall. The bull’s head must go on the wall opposite the painting.” Mapes crossed to the bull’s head. “What a great beast it must have been to carry such a head,”she said. She stooped. “I’ll have to be cleaning this first, won’t I, my Lady?”

“No.”

“But there’s dirt caked on its horns.”

“That’s not dirt, Mapes. That’s the blood of our Duke’s father. Those horns were sprayed with a transparent fixative within hours after this beast killed the Old Duke.” Mapes stood up. “Ah, now!”she said.

“It’s just blood,”Jessica said. “Old blood at that. Get some help hanging these now. The beastly things are heavy.”

“Did you think the blood bothered me?”Mapes asked. “I’m of the desert and I’ve seen blood aplenty.”

“I … see that you have,”Jessica said.

“And some of it my own,”Mapes said. “More’n you drew with your puny scratch.”

“You’d rather I’d cut deeper?”

“Ah, no! The body’s water is scant enough ‘thout gushing a wasteful lot of it into the air. You did the thing right.” And Jessica, noting the words and manner, caught the deeper implications in the phrase, “the body’s water.”Again she felt a sense of oppression at the importance of water on Arrakis.

“On which side of the dining hall shall I hang which one of these pretties, my Lady?”Mapes asked.

Ever the practical one, this Mapes, Jessica thought. She said: “Use your own judgment, Mapes. It makes no real difference.”

“As you say, my Lady.”Mapes stooped, began clearing wrappings and twine from the head. “Killed an old duke, did you?”she crooned.

“Shall I summon a handler to help you?”Jessica asked.

“I’ll manage, my Lady.” Yes, she’ll manage, Jessica thought. There’s that about this Fremen creature: the drive to manage.

Jessica felt the cold sheath of the crysknife beneath her bodice, thought of the long chain of Bene Gesserit scheming that had forged another link here.

Because of that scheming, she had survived a deadly crisis. “It cannot be hurried,”Mapes had said. Yet there was a tempo of headlong rushing to this place that filled Jessica with foreboding. And not all the preparations of the Missionaria Protectiva nor Hawat’s suspicious inspection of this castellated pile of rocks could dispel the feeling.

“When you’ve finished hanging those, start unpacking the boxes,”Jessica said. “One of the cargo men at the entry has all the keys and knows where things should go. Get the keys and the list from him. If there are any questions I’ll be in the south wing.”

“As you will, my Lady,”Mapes said.

Jessica turned away, thinking: Hawat may have passed this residency as safe, but there’s something wrong about the place. I can feel it.

An urgent need to see her son gripped Jessica. She began walking toward the arched doorway that led into the passage to the dining hall and the family wings.

Faster and faster she walked until she was almost running.

Behind her, Mapes paused in clearing the wrappings from the bull’s head, looked at the retreating back. “She’s the One all right,”she muttered. “Poor thing.”

To the people whose labors go beyond ideas into the realm of “real materials” —to the dry-land ecologists, wherever they may be, in whatever time they work, this effort at prediction is dedicated in humility and admiration.

Frank Herbert

1965

Book One: DUNE

CHAPTER 1

A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. This every sister of the Bene Gesserit knows. To begin your study of the life of Muad‘Dib, then, take care that you first place him in his time: born in the 57th year of the Padishah Emperor, Shaddam IV. And take the most special care that you locate Muad’Dib in his place: the planet Arrakis. Do not be deceived by the fact that he was bom on Caladan and lived his first fifteen years there. Arrakis, the planet known as Dune, is forever his place.

-from “Manual of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan

IN THE week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.

It was a warm night at Castle Caladan, and the ancient pile of stone that had served the Atreides family as home for twenty-six generations bore that cooledsweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather.

The old woman was let in by the side door down the vaulted passage by Paul’s room and she was allowed a moment to peer in at him where he lay in his bed.

By the half-light of a suspensor lamp, dimmed and hanging near the floor, the awakened boy could see a bulky female shape at his door, standing one step ahead of his mother. The old woman was a witch shadow—hair like matted spiderwebs, hooded ’round darkness of features, eyes like glittering jewels.

“Is he not small for his age, Jessica?” the old woman asked. Her voice wheezed and twanged like an untuned baliset.

Paul’s mother answered in her soft contralto: “The Atreides are known to start late getting their growth, Your Reverence.”

“So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard,” wheezed the old woman. “Yet he’s already fifteen.”

“Yes, Your Reverence.”

“He’s awake and listening to us,” said the old woman. “Sly little rascal.” She chuckled. “But royalty has need of slyness. And if he’s really the Kwisatz Haderach … well….” Within the shadows of his bed, Paul held his eyes open to mere slits. Two bird-bright ovals—the eyes of the old woman—seemed to expand and glow as they stared into his.

“Sleep well, you sly little rascal,” said the old woman. “Tomorrow you’ll need all your faculties to meet my gom jabbar.” And she was gone, pushing his mother out, closing the door with a solid thump.

Paul lay awake wondering: What’s a gom jabbar? In all the upset during this time of change, the old woman was the strangest thing he had seen.

Your Reverence.

And the way she called his mother Jessica like a common serving wench instead of what she was—a Bene Gesserit Lady, a duke’s concubine and mother of the ducal heir.

Is a gom jabbar something of Arrakis I must know before we go there? he wondered.

He mouthed her strange words: Gomjabbar… Kwisatz Haderach.

There had been so many things to learn. Arrakis would be a place so different from Caladan that Paul’s mind whirled with the new knowledge.

Arrakis—Dune—Desert Planet.

Thufir Hawat, his father’s Master of Assassins, had explained it: their mortal enemies, the Harkonnens, had been on Arrakis eighty years, holding the planet in quasi-fief under a CHOAM Company contract to mine the geriatric spice, melange. Now the Harkonnens were leaving to be replaced by the House of Atreides in fief-complete-an apparent victory for the Duke Leto. Yet, Hawat had said, this appearance contained the deadliest peril, for the Duke Leto was popular among the Great Houses of the Landsraad.

“A popular man arouses the jealousy of the powerful,” Hawat had said.

Arrakis—Dune—Desert Planet.

Paul fell asleep to dream of an Arrakeen cavern, silent people all around him moving in the dim light of glowglobes. It was solemn there and like a cathedral as he listened to a faint sound—the drip-drip-drip of water. Even while he remained in the dream, Paul knew he would remember it upon awakening. He always remembered the dreams that were predictions.

The dream faded.

Paul awoke to feel himself in the warmth of his bed—thinking … thinking.

This world of Castle Caladan, without play or companions his own age, perhaps did not deserve sadness in farewell. Dr. Yueh, his teacher, had hinted that the faufreluches class system was not rigidly guarded on Arrakis. The planet sheltered people who lived at the desert edge without caid or bashar to command them: will-o’-the-sand people called Fremen, marked down on no census of the Imperial Regate.

Arrakis-Dune-Desert Planet.

Paul sensed his own tensions, decided to practice one of the mind-body lessons his mother had taught him. Three quick breaths triggered the responses: he fell into the floating awareness … focusing the consciousness … aortal dilation … avoiding the unfocused mechanism of consciousness … to be conscious by choice … blood enriched and swift-flooding the overload regions … one does not obtain food-safety-freedom by instinct alone … animal consciousness does not extend beyond the given moment nor into the idea that its victims may become extinct … the animal destroys and does not produce … animal pleasures remain close to sensation levels and avoid the perceptual … the human requires a background grid through which to see his universe … focused consciousness by choice, this forms your grid … bodily integrity follows nerveblood flow according to the deepest awareness of cell needs … all things/cells/beings are impermanent … strive for flow-permanence within….

Over and over and over within Paul’s floating awareness the lesson rolled.

When dawn touched Paul’s window sill with yellow light, he sensed it through closed eyelids, opened them, hearing then the renewed bustle and hurry in the castle, seeing the familiar patterned beams of his bedroom ceiling.

The hall door opened and his mother peered in, hair like shaded bronze held with black ribbon at the crown, her oval face emotionless and green eyes staring solemnly.

“You’re awake,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” He studied the tallness of her, saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing for him from the closet racks. Another might have missed the tension, but she had trained him in the Bene Gesserit Way—in the minutiae of observation. She turned, holding a semiformal jacket for him. It carried the red Atreides hawk crest above the breast pocket.

“Hurry and dress,” she said. “Reverend Mother is waiting.”

“I dreamed of her once,” Paul said. “Who is she?”

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school. Now, she’s the Emperor’s Truthsayer. And Paul….” She hesitated. “You must tell her about your dreams.”

“I will. Is she the reason we got Arrakis?”

“We did not get Arrakis.” Jessica flicked dust from a pair of trousers, hung them with the jacket on the dressing stand beside his bed. “Don’t keep Reverend Mother waiting.” Paul sat up, hugged his knees. “What’s a gom jabbar?” Again, the training she had given him exposed her almost invisible hesitation, a nervous betrayal he felt as fear.

Jessica crossed to the window, flung wide the draperies, stared across the river orchards toward Mount Syubi. “You’ll learn about … the gom jabbar soon enough,” she said.

He heard the fear in her voice and wondered at it.

Jessica spoke without turning. “Reverend Mother is waiting in my morning room. Please hurry.” The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam sat in a tapestried chair watching mother and son approach. Windows on each side of her overlooked the curving southern bend of the river and the green farmlands of the Atreides family holding, but the Reverend Mother ignored the view. She was feeling her age this morning, more than a little petulant. She blamed it on space travel and association with that abominable Spacing Guild and its secretive ways. But here was a mission that required personal attention from a Bene Gesserit-with-theSight. Even the Padishah Emperor’s Truthsayer couldn’t evade that responsibility when the duty call came.

Damn that Jessica! the Reverend Mother thought. If only she’d borne us a girl as she was ordered to do! Jessica stopped three paces from the chair, dropped a small curtsy, a gentle flick of left hand along the line of her skirt. Paul gave the short bow his dancing master had taught—the one used “when in doubt of another’s station.” The nuances of Paul’s greeting were not lost on the Reverend Mother. She said: “He’s a cautious one, Jessica.” Jessica’s hand went to Paul’s shoulder, tightened there. For a heartbeat, fear pulsed through her palm. Then she had herself under control. “Thus he has been taught, Your Reverence.” What does she fear? Paul wondered.

The old woman studied Paul in one gestalten flicker: face oval like Jessica’s, but strong bones … hair: the Duke’s black-black but with browline of the maternal grandfather who cannot be named, and that thin, disdainful nose; shape of directly staring green eyes: like the old Duke, the paternal grandfather who is dead.

Now, there was a man who appreciated the power ofbravura—even in death, the Reverend Mother thought.

“Teaching is one thing,” she said, “the basic ingredient is another. We shall see.” The old eyes darted a hard glance at Jessica. “Leave us. I enjoin you to practice the meditation of peace.” Jessica took her hand from Paul’s shoulder. “Your Reverence, I—”

“Jessica, you know it must be done.” Paul looked up at his mother, puzzled.

Jessica straightened. “Yes … of course.” Paul looked back at the Reverend Mother. Politeness and his mother’s obvious awe of this old woman argued caution. Yet he felt an angry apprehension at the fear he sensed radiating from his mother.

“Paul….” Jessica took a deep breath. “… this test you’re about to receive … it’s important to me.”

“Test?” He looked up at her.

“Remember that you’re a duke’s son,” Jessica said. She whirled and strode from the room in a dry swishing of skirt. The door closed solidly behind her.

Paul faced the old woman, holding anger in check. “Does one dismiss the Lady Jessica as though she were a serving wench?” A smile flicked the corners of the wrinkled old mouth. “The Lady Jessica was my serving wench, lad, for fourteen years at school.” She nodded. “And a good one, too. Now, you come here!” The command whipped out at him. Paul found himself obeying before he could think about it. Using the Voice on me, he thought. He stopped at her gesture, standing beside her knees.

“See this?” she asked. From the folds of her gown, she lifted a green metal cube about fifteen centimeters on a side. She turned it and Paul saw that one side was open—black and oddly frightening. No light penetrated that open blackness.

“Put your right hand in the box,” she said.

Fear shot through Paul. He started to back away, but the old woman said: “Is this how you obey your mother?” He looked up into bird-bright eyes.

Slowly, feeling the compulsions and unable to inhibit them, Paul put his hand into the box. He felt first a sense of cold as the blackness closed around his hand, then slick metal against his fingers and a prickling as though his hand were asleep.

A predatory look filled the old woman’s features. She lifted her right hand away from the box and poised the hand close to the side of Paul’s neck. He saw a glint of metal there and started to turn toward it.

“Stop!” she snapped.

Using the Voice again! He swung his attention back to her face.

“I hold at your neck the gom jabbar,” she said. “The gom jabbar, the highhanded enemy. It’s a needle with a drop of poison on its tip. Ah-ah! Don’t pull away or you’ll feel that poison.” Paul tried to swallow in a dry throat. He could not take his attention from the seamed old face, the glistening eyes, the pale gums around silvery metal teeth that flashed as she spoke.

“A duke’s son must know about poisons,” she said. “It’s the way of our times, eh? Musky, to be poisoned in your drink. Aumas, to be poisoned in your food. The quick ones and the slow ones and the ones in between. Here’s a new one for you: the gom jabbar. It kills only animals.” Pride overcame Paul’s fear. “You dare suggest a duke’s son is an animal?” he demanded.

“Let us say I suggest you may be human,” she said. “Steady! I warn you not to try jerking away. I am old, but my hand can drive this needle into your neck before you escape me.”

“Who are you?” he whispered. “How did you trick my mother into leaving me alone with you? Are you from the Harkonnens?”

“The Harkonnens? Bless us, no! Now, be silent.” A dry finger touched his neck and he stilled the involuntary urge to leap away.

“Good,” she said. “You pass the first test. Now, here’s the way of the rest of it: If you withdraw your hand from the box you die. This is the only rule. Keep your hand in the box and live. Withdraw it and die.” Paul took a deep breath to still his trembling. “If I call out there’ll be servants on you in seconds and you’ll die.”

“Servants will not pass your mother who stands guard outside that door.

Depend on it. Your mother survived this test. Now it’s your turn. Be honored.

We seldom administer this to men-children.” Curiosity reduced Paul’s fear to a manageable level. He heard truth in the old woman’s voice, no denying it. If his mother stood guard out there … if this were truly a test…. And whatever it was, he knew himself caught in it, trapped by that hand at his neck: the gom jabbar. He recalled the response from the Litany against Fear as his mother had taught him out of the Bene Gesserit rite.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ” He felt calmness return, said: “Get on with it, old woman.”

“Old woman!” she snapped. “You’ve courage, and that can’t be denied.

Well, we shall see, sirra.” She bent close, lowered her voice almost to a whisper.

“You will feel pain in this hand within the box. Pain. But! Withdraw the hand and I’ll touch your neck with my gom jabbar—the death so swift it’s like the fall of the headsman’s axe. Withdraw your hand and the gom jabbar takes you.

Understand?”

“What’s in the box?”

“Pain.” He felt increased tingling in his hand, pressed his lips tightly together. How could this be a test? he wondered. The tingling became an itch.

The old woman said: “You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.” The itch became the faintest burning. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

“To determine if you’re human. Be silent.” Paul clenched his left hand into a fist as the burning sensation increased in the other hand. It mounted slowly: heat upon heat upon heat … upon heat. He felt the fingernails of his free hand biting the palm. He tried to flex the fingers of the burning hand, but couldn’t move them.

“It burns,” he whispered.

“Silence!” Pain throbbed up his arm. Sweat stood out on his forehead. Every fiber cried out to withdraw the hand from that burning pit… but … the gom jabbar. Without turning his head, he tried to move his eyes to see that terrible needle poised beside his neck. He sensed that he was breathing in gasps, tried to slow his breaths and couldn’t.

Pain! His world emptied of everything except that hand immersed in agony, the ancient face inches away staring at him.

His lips were so dry he had difficulty separating them.

The burning! The burning! He thought he could feel skin curling black on that agonized hand, the flesh crisping and dropping away until only charred bones remained.

It stopped! As though a switch had been turned off, the pain stopped.

Paul felt his right arm trembling, felt sweat bathing his body.

“Enough,” the old woman muttered. “Kull wahad! No woman-child ever withstood that much. I must’ve wanted you to fail.” She leaned back, withdrawing the gom jabbar from the side of his neck. “Take your hand from the box, young human, and look at it.” He fought down an aching shiver, stared at the lightless void where his hand seemed to remain of its own volition. Memory of pain inhibited every movement. Reason told him he would withdraw a blackened stump from that box.

“Do it!” she snapped.

He jerked his hand from the box, stared at it astonished. Not a mark. No sign of agony on the flesh. He held up the hand, turned it, flexed the fingers.

“Pain by nerve induction,” she said. “Can’t go around maiming potential humans. There’re those who’d give a pretty for the secret of this box, though.” She slipped it into the folds of her gown.

“But the pain—” he said.

“Pain,” she sniffed. “A human can override any nerve in the body.” Paul felt his left hand aching, uncurled the clenched fingers, looked at four bloody marks where fingernails had bitten his palm. He dropped the hand to his side, looked at the old woman. “You did that to my mother once?”

“Ever sift sand through a screen?” she asked.

The tangential slash of her question shocked his mind into a higher awareness: Sand through a screen. He nodded.

“We Bene Gesserit sift people to find the humans.” He lifted his right hand, willing the memory of the pain. “And that’s all there is to it—pain?”

“I observed you in pain, lad. Pain’s merely the axis of the test. Your mother’s told you about our ways of observing. I see the signs of her teaching in you. Our test is crisis and observation.” He heard the confirmation in her voice, said: “It’s truth!” She stared at him. He senses truth! Could he be the one? Could he truly be the one? She extinguished the excitement, reminding herself: “Hope clouds observation.”

“You know when people believe what they say,” she said.

“I know it.” The harmonics of ability confirmed by repeated test were in his voice. She heard them, said: “Perhaps you are the Kwisatz Haderach. Sit down, little brother, here at my feet.”

“I prefer to stand.”

“Your mother sat at my feet once.”

“I’m not my mother.”

“You hate us a little, eh?” She looked toward the door, called out: “Jessica!” The door flew open and Jessica stood there staring hard-eyed into the room.

Hardness melted from her as she saw Paul. She managed a faint smile.

“Jessica, have you ever stopped hating me?” the old woman asked.

“I both love and hate you,” Jessica said. “The hate—that’s from pains I must never forget. The love—that’s….”

“Just the basic fact,” the old woman said, but her voice was gentle. “You may come in now, but remain silent. Close that door and mind it that no one interrupts us.” Jessica stepped into the room, closed the door and stood with her back to it.

My son lives, she thought. My son lives and is… human. I knew he was … but … he lives. Now, I can go on living. The door felt hard and real against her back.

Everything in the room was immediate and pressing against her senses.

My son lives.

Paul looked at his mother. She told the truth. He wanted to get away alone and think this experience through, but knew he could not leave until he was dismissed. The old woman had gained a power over him. They spoke truth. His mother had undergone this test. There must be terrible purpose in it … the pain and fear had been terrible. He understood terrible purposes. They drove against all odds. They were their own necessity. Paul felt that he had been infected with terrible purpose. He did not know yet what the terrible purpose was.

“Some day, lad,” the old woman said, “you, too, may have to stand outside a door like that. It takes a measure of doing.” Paul looked down at the hand that had known pain, then up to the Reverend Mother. The sound of her voice had contained a difference then from any other voice in his experience. The words were outlined in brilliance. There was an edge to them. He felt that any question he might ask her would bring an answer that could lift him out of his flesh-world into something greater.

“Why do you test for humans?” he asked.

“To set you free.”

“Free?”

“Once men turned their thinking over to machines in the hope that this would set them free. But that only permitted other men with machines to enslave them.”

“ ‘Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a man’s mind,’ ” Paul quoted.

“Right out of the Butlerian Jihad and the Orange Catholic Bible,” she said.

“But what the O.C. Bible should’ve said is: ‘Thou shalt not make a machine to counterfeit a human mind.’ Have you studied the Mentat in your service?”

“I’ve studied with Thufir Hawat.”

“The Great Revolt took away a crutch,” she said. “It forced human minds to develop. Schools were started to train human talents.”

“Bene Gesserit schools?” She nodded. “We have two chief survivors of those ancient schools: the Bene Gesserit and the Spacing Guild. The Guild, so we think, emphasizes almost pure mathematics. Bene Gesserit performs another function.”

“Politics,” he said.

“Kull wahad!” the old woman said. She sent a hard glance at Jessica.

“I’ve not told him, Your Reverence,” Jessica said.

The Reverend Mother returned her attention to Paul. “You did that on remarkably few clues,” she said. “Politics indeed. The original Bene Gesserit school was directed by those who saw the need of a thread of continuity in human affairs. They saw there could be no such continuity without separating human stock from animal stock—for breeding purposes.” The old woman’s words abruptly lost their special sharpness for Paul. He felt an offense against what his mother called his instinct for rightness. It wasn’t that Reverend Mother lied to him. She obviously believed what she said. It was something deeper, something tied to his terrible purpose.

He said: “But my mother tells me many Bene Gesserit of the schools don’t know their ancestry.”

“The genetic lines are always in our records,” she said. “Your mother knows that either she’s of Bene Gesserit descent or her stock was acceptable in itself.”

“Then why couldn’t she know who her parents are?”

“Some do…. Many don’t. We might, for example, have wanted to breed her to a close relative to set up a dominant in some genetic trait. We have many reasons.” Again, Paul felt the offense against rightness. He said: “You take a lot on yourselves.” The Reverend Mother stared at him, wondering: Did I hear criticism in his voice? “We carry a heavy burden,” she said.

Paul felt himself coming more and more out of the shock of the test. He leveled a measuring stare at her, said: “You say maybe I’m the … Kwisatz Haderach. What’s that, a human gom jabbar?”

“Paul,” Jessica said. “You mustn’t take that tone with—”

“I’ll handle this, Jessica,” the old woman said. “Now, lad, do you know about the Truthsayer drug?”

“You take it to improve your ability to detect falsehood,” he said. “My mother’s told me.”

“Have you ever seen truthtrance?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“The drug’s dangerous,” she said, “but it gives insight. When a Truthsayer’s gifted by the drug, she can look many places in her memory—in her body’s memory. We look down so many avenues of the past … but only feminine avenues.” Her voice took on a note of sadness. “Yet, there’s a place where no Truthsayer can see. We are repelled by it, terrorized. It is said a man will come one day and find in the gift of the drug his inward eye. He will look where we cannot—into both feminine and masculine pasts.”

“Your Kwisatz Haderach?”

“Yes, the one who can be many places at once: the Kwisatz Haderach. Many men have tried the drug … so many, but none has succeeded.”

“They tried and failed, all of them?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “They tried and died.”

大家好，我是甜茶，

之前经历了美军入侵（拉灯二代反攻美帝国本土的故事上），我们少数民族蛰伏了很长时间，终于等到了美帝大统领视察伊拉克……

经过我们少数民族老一辈的生活经验，还有我们科学的测算，最终在美帝联合军队到达的时候，

就是我们的超级沙尘暴气象武器出场的时候，

好了，可以上核弹了，什么，没有nuclear weapon？？？

快去联系我老家那边，打这份电报（纸老虎！纸老虎！纸老虎！），放心，那边的人绝对懂我们的意思……

几封DF快递收货，打完收工……

既然美帝大统领落到我的手里面了，

美帝皇位归我了，

大统领你闺女也归我了，

从此就是我们伊拉克反攻美国，把绿旗插遍整个美帝本土的故事了……

YO！今年我最期待的电影之一《沙丘2》...的预告！终于来了！

这支充满艺术视觉的预告到底透露了多少细节信息，今天这期我们就来好好聊聊！

在解析这支预告过程中，我会穿插第一部《沙丘》和小说沙丘的故事，嗯，会有第二部的剧透，尽量不涉及关键，其实嘛就算剧透也应该对大家到时看《沙丘2》影响不大，维伦纽瓦的片子，视听享受看个电影感氛围才是最重要的。

那废话不多说，咱们开挖！

预告第一个画面，当然是厄拉科斯星球，也就是我们熟知的沙丘星球的画面。

厄崔迪家族现任公爵保罗，在和厄拉科斯的弗雷曼人契妮坐在沙漠上拍拖，小两口看着一望无际的沙子和其中夹杂的香料你侬我侬。

这时保罗说到，把眼前的沙想象成水，若你潜进去，根本深不见底。

保罗说这叫游泳，严谨来说应该叫潜水或浮潜吧，契妮听了觉得这也太鬼扯了吧，毕竟契妮根本无法想象沙子变成海洋的场景。

保罗这么说，其实是描绘了他的家乡卡拉丹星球，在前作我们就能看到卡拉丹是从不缺水的海洋之星，厄崔迪家族一直都在该星球繁衍生息。

就连他们的飞船也直接安置在海洋里，保罗对于水的了解，远比对沙子要懂得多。

随着厄崔迪家族日渐强大，被宇宙统治者帕迪沙皇帝心生嫉妒和担忧，于是便派遣厄崔迪家族一个棘手的任务，那就是从恶毒的哈克南家族手里，接管充满香料的厄拉科斯星球，由此挑起两家族的对战，皇帝暗中帮助哈克南家族，灭掉厄崔迪家族。

厄崔迪家族的公爵莱托，就在这场设下的陷阱中走向死亡，由保罗继承了公爵之名，之后保罗和他母亲杰西卡被流放到沙漠，保罗在前作通过械斗...不是，通过决斗，从而被弗雷曼人所接受，弗雷曼人开始相信保罗或许就是他们眼中的那位魁萨茨·哈德拉克，翻译就是秋森万救世主。

当然这段想象沙子变成水的对白，也预示了厄拉科斯星之后出现的“神迹”，如果影片到时也这么处理的话。

接下来就是弗雷曼人“八抬大轿”一个奇特的轿子，轿子里面坐着杰西卡女士。

先看这轿子的材质，显然是就地取材，材质像是沙虫脱落的皮屑组织，或者其他某种生物的皮或排泄物复合而成，造型采用流线型设计，看来弗雷曼人是懂风阻系数的，而且因为风沙很大，这轿子窗户部分开口很小，符合当地环境。

杰西卡坐在里面，可以看到她的妆容已经是弗雷曼人的圣母形象，眼睛是蓝色，这是常年在厄拉科斯星生活，呼吸进香料所导致，不过杰西卡的蓝眼睛有更特别的解释，后面会提到。

杰西卡脸上还有刺青，这个形象和前作保罗预见母亲未来的幻象是一致的。

这里为大白观众简单捋一捋，在沙丘宇宙，厄拉科斯星的香料相当于现实中的石油，人们想要进行遥远的星际远航，领航员必须吸食香料才能精准预判航道。

此外香料的功用还有很多就不展开了，总之就是神丹妙药，服用延年益寿，样子也变得和以前大不同呢，变样后异形都会爱上。

《沙丘》中有一句最经典的话：“谁掌握香料，谁就能掌握宇宙！”

另外沙丘宇宙还有一个神秘组织，就是杰西卡所属的贝尼·杰瑟里特姐妹会，该组织经过多年的发展，已经渗入到了帝国政治的核心圈，同样几乎每个大家族的领导层，都会有姐妹会的成员出没。

姐妹会的最终目标是某成员生下救世主，带来繁荣，不过还没算好之前，大家都只能生女儿，杰西卡则违背了教条生下保罗，因为她觉得保罗就是那位秋森万。

我们接着看预告，旁白说着“厄拉科斯星藏着很多秘密，而最阴暗的秘密仍在进行，厄崔迪家族的结束”。

这句话由弗洛伦斯·皮尤，也就是白寡妇饰演伊如兰公主，对着录音笔念的，这句话其实就是告诉了观众前作发生的故事，厄拉科斯最阴暗的秘密，就是皇帝和哈克南家族联手干掉了厄崔迪家族。

伊如兰公主是皇帝的女儿，她是一位很重要的角色，伊如兰和保罗的关系匪浅，在这就不太多剧透了。

在小说中，每一个章节的文献引子，就是由伊如兰公主撰写的，她是整个沙丘故事的叙述者。伊如兰公主也是姐妹会的成员。

期间画面还放到一个士兵在焚烧堆成小山的尸体，这些尸体是厄崔迪的兵，在前作全被斩首，焚烧士兵的制服黑色系为主，是哈克南家族的人，仔细看头部还有个小风扇，带火兵种解暑用的吗。

当然制服还有一个作用，可能就是回收身体水分。

这个景象同样也被保罗在上一部预见到。

接着就是莱托公爵的画像被烧，预示着厄崔迪家族就此陨落。

但他们不知道，保罗正在崛起。

接着就是杰西卡对保罗说，你爸不希望冤冤相报。

反向我们知道保罗想要联和弗雷曼人，一起反抗哈克南家族，对抗皇帝。

这里杰西卡脸上没有纹身，眼睛也没有呈现蓝色，说明这应该是影片开始不久，杰西卡还没成为圣母前。

之后是一个看不清身影的人，结合后面保罗披着灰黑色披风，这人就是保罗。

能证实此人是保罗还有伊如兰公主后面说的，如果保罗还活着呢。

仔细看伊如兰旁边有个身着黑色衣服的人在跟着，和伊如兰平行走，所以此人不会是随从或仆人，黑色应该就是哈克南家族那边的，看这身高，可能是哈克南男爵，他们应该和伊如兰在谈论厄崔迪家族的事。

之后是哥尼·哈莱克拿着望远镜在看，哥尼是厄崔迪家族的将军，在那晚的偷袭中他没有大意，逃过一劫。

此时的哥尼看起来更忧桑，似笑非笑……

哥尼在小说中幸存后，也不知道保罗是死是活，于是在沙漠中成为类似于沙丘海盗的角色，做起了香料走私的生意，没办法，人活着总得混口饭吃。

接下来画面更艺术了，变成了黑白色，光头似乎是哈克南家族的优良基因，他叫菲德·罗萨·哈克南，是哈克南男爵的侄子，由出演过《猫王》的奥斯汀·巴特勒饰演。

菲德也是沙丘宇宙中的重要角色，为人疯疯癫癫，之前的作品他是这样的。

这里的菲德更增加了几分阴郁和捉摸不透的凶残，不过个人觉得《疯狂麦克斯4》的尼古拉斯·霍尔特那造型，放在菲德上也没有太多违和感。

结合后面的画面，这里的菲德在参加一个类似斗兽场的打斗中，他很喜欢这种一对一单挑带来的快感。

那么问题来了，菲德这风批为何第一部没有出现呢，小说中他应该一直跟着哈克南男爵的，这当然是怕出场角色太多，怕大家脸盲。

菲德所在的场景为何是黑白，我这里有几种猜测，第一就是菲德是在自家的星球GIEDI PRIME。

在前作我们有窥探到这颗星球夜晚的一些场景，是有颜色的，或许在白天，因为这颗星球中有某种成分，过滤掉了光线的色彩，导致呈现黑白。

可能该星球因为污染严重，高度工业化，所以空气中光线的折射变得没有颜色。

或许正是菲德喜欢待着自己星球，和他人进行决斗完虐他人，所以才懒得去和叔叔跑到厄拉科斯灭厄崔迪家族。

但因为哈克南男爵后来发现保罗没死，所以才让菲德来帮忙。

在小说中，菲德其实更效忠于皇帝，而非哈克南男爵，他也更喜欢在自己星球玩决斗。

那黑白场景另一个猜想，就是这是一个闪回，所以用了黑白处理，当然这样做就有点...不高级。毕竟前作保罗产生幻象时，都只是加强了颜色饱和度去区分，并没有用更多视觉处理手法。

最后还有一个猜想，就是此时场景就是在厄拉科斯星，预告中有呈现厄拉科斯星上空，出现的星象，或许某个时间点，光线的色彩被宇宙辐射吸收掉。

这里有个细节，就是和菲德决斗的男人，很像第一部中，同公爵和保罗他们一起开会，一起视察香料工厂的光头男。

如果这是同一个人，那么又会有两种脑洞，他是哈克南家族那边派去的卧底，毕竟他也是光头嘛，他已经混进到厄崔迪家族的核心管理层，厄崔迪家族被灭后，此人陪菲德在练习。

另外一个脑洞是他成了俘虏，在斗兽场和菲德决斗，我们能看到菲德两只手都握着武器，而他只有一个手有武器，处于劣势。

接下来是几个快切画面，保罗和契妮似乎在做一个秘密任务，引起了哈克南那边的武器响应，后面还有和小兵打斗画面。

之后又一个新角色登场，害我感觉这预告我光介绍角色就好了。

这新角色由007嫂雷娅·赛杜饰演玛戈夫人，玛戈夫人又是何许人也，她也是姐妹会成员，高冷范十足。

在小说中，玛戈夫人其实看在和杰西卡都是姐妹会成员面子上，有暗中给杰西卡通风报信，告诉她哈克南家族会暗算厄崔迪家族。

不过在影片中省略了，而是用了更隐晦的方式，让杰西卡自己悟到了可能这是一个陷阱，但她却没有阻止也无法阻止。

玛戈夫人的丈夫叫哈希米尔·芬宁伯爵，是一位门泰特，效忠于皇室。预告中没有出现他，也没有出现皇帝，不过第二部都会有，相信之后新预告就会出现了。

门泰特是啥，门泰特这个职业主要是拥有计算机运算能力的人类，心智被锻炼出极速的认知和分析能力，一般门泰特都是作为一个家族或首领军师的角色存在，用于分析敌方的情况并出谋划策。

第一部《沙丘》中由斯蒂芬·亨德森饰演的杜菲·哈瓦特，效忠于厄崔迪家族，他就拥有门泰特的能力，还是一名刺客大师。他看起来不像刺客对吧，我也觉得。

我们接着看预告，一只手放进一个四孔装置，这让人联想到第一部姐妹会测试保罗用的盒子，不过分析下来，更像是一个开门装置。

下一个镜头就是保罗他们准备进入一个圆形通道，从他们的装束来看，应该是保罗和杰西卡跟随契妮他们，第一次进入到弗雷曼人的地下之城。

再下一个画面，是一个黑衣祭祀一样的人，拿着一瓶精致装饰的水，这瓶子下端的设计，用了沙漠的沙丘造型。

这就是沙丘宇宙著名的生命之水。

水在厄拉科斯星是最宝贵的硬通货，精确到以滴来计量单位，除了香料没有什么比水更重要。

这里的生命之水并不是普通的水，而是沙虫流出的液体，沙虫很怕水，当沙虫遇到超量的水后，就会排出致命的液体，这种液体就是现在聊的生命之水。

人喝了这个生命之水，要么升仙，要么升天。贝尼·杰瑟里特姐妹会中，喝生命之水是一种考验，喝下后能存活就能升级成为圣母，并且和此前的圣母意识相联结，通晓更多宇宙奥秘。

预告有一个画面是杰西卡表情痛苦，就是她喝下生命之水的仪式过程，我们也知道最后杰西卡通过了考验，成为了弗雷曼人的圣母，坐上八抬大轿，有了一双特别蓝的眼睛。

这里多提一句，第一部我们知道杰西卡怀孕了，所以杰西卡喝下生命之水，胎中的宝宝直接升级，生下来就有着超能力，这里就不先展开了。

之后是预告的后半段，基本就是保罗如何成为沙虫骑士（骑手）的场景。

斯第尔格有再三强调告诉保罗，不要耍帅，不需要喊什么泰裤辣，要认真对待骑沙虫这件事情，保罗也谨听教诲。

训练保罗的人，应该就是预告中被哈克南士兵围堵的那位女弗雷曼人，她名字叫希沙克勒，在小说和以前作品中是男的，在这变成了女性中和了一下。

第一部也有类似的角色性别置换。

希沙克勒是弗雷曼人的沙虫骑手，应该就是由她来负责训练保罗，骑沙虫和驯化沙虫，是弗雷曼人并不陌生的作战方式了，当然，也并不是说有弗雷曼人都能成为骑手。

保罗这次挑战成为沙虫骑士，是他想要成为弗雷曼人领导者，让弗雷曼人坚信他是救世主重要的标志。

我们能看到保罗拿着震动器吸引沙虫，一旁的契妮很是担心，而且保罗当时眼睛还没有变成蓝色，说明骑沙虫应该是比较早发生的事情。

当保罗成功骑上沙虫后，众人欢呼，斯第尔格更是惊讶的说不出话来，或许在那一刻，他觉得弗雷曼人和厄拉科斯星有救了。

我们再聊下那位希沙克勒，她被哈克南士兵包围凶多吉少，旁边还有一只死掉的飞鸟，或许飞鸟是弗雷曼人通风报信的原始工具，但被哈克南人识破。

另外还想提一嘴契妮头上那一抹蓝色的头巾，很是枪眼，弗雷曼人的服装一般都以实用和素色为主，或者接近于沙丘黄色头巾布料。

这里契妮用了蓝色头巾，当然是凸显她为女主之一的重要，此外我觉得还有蓝色也是弗雷曼人很珍贵的颜色，蓝色代表了水源，也代表了神秘，他们常年吸食空气中的香料眼睛呈现蓝色，和蓝色头巾相呼应，只能说《沙丘》每个细节都很用心。

之后是好多家蜻蜓战机飞向沙漠，或许是哈克南的人去找寻保罗下落。

还有一个画面是弗雷曼人里，有好几个包裹严实的宗教角色，他们可能是准备给杰西卡做生命之水的仪式，也有可能是杰西卡已经成为圣母的正式穿着。

接下来契妮和保罗在沙漠中拥吻，证实两人恋情，这和开头的场景是同一场，或许这也是保罗准备第一次尝试骑沙虫前，两人的对话。

还有一个画面是菲德和玛戈夫人靠的很近，感觉两人下一秒就要亲上，但我觉得应该可能性不大，毕竟玛戈夫人名花有主，或许就是他们喜欢讲话方式靠很近，弄得很吊的感觉。

之后是杰西卡圣母说，我们带来了希望。而保罗反驳，这不是希望。

甜茶演技确实可以，生气暴怒起来的情绪很到位，第一部保罗当时对杰西卡生气，也是突然暴怒，吓了我一跳。

我们从预告可以看到，保罗似乎还会对杰西卡和她的姐妹会，把他变成“怪胎”耿耿于怀。

这里需要提一下的是，姐妹会确实想要培养救世主，但是是为了姐妹会，而不是为了弗雷曼人或厄拉科斯星。

但保罗现在是想要为父亲复仇，为争取弗雷曼人自由而奋斗，这里或许和杰西卡的姐妹会有些许理念冲突。

总之后来我们能看到，保罗高举起晶牙匕，万万弗雷曼人一呼百应，准备向哈克南家族和皇帝宣战。

这应该也是第二部的决战高潮戏份，在第一部保罗幻象中，就有呈现这样的景象。

所以如果觉得第一部决战像村口械斗的话，那么第二部大决战的惨烈和宏大，应该会比第一部要更具史诗和饱享视听盛宴了。

之后还有一个画面，是保罗和菲德单挑决斗，保罗说了句“愿你刀毁人亡”。这是弗雷曼人决斗的用语。

在第一部保罗和詹米决斗时，詹米就说过。

如果是按照仪式走的话，那么保罗说这句话，这场和菲德决斗应该是保罗提出的，而且这样的决斗，必须其中一方死掉。

那么这场决斗到底谁赢了呢？卖个关子留到影院去看吧！

那么《沙丘2》第一支预告解析就先聊那么多！你对《沙丘2》有什么期待？欢迎在留言区与我分享！

CHAPTER 8

“Yueh! Yueh! Yueh!”goes the refrain. “A million deaths were not enough for Yueh!” —from“A Child’s History of Muad’Dib”by the Princess Irulan

THE DOOR stood ajar, and Jessica stepped through it into a room with yellow walls. To her left stretched a low settee of black hide and two empty bookcases, a hanging waterflask with dust on its bulging sides. To her right, bracketing another door, stood more empty bookcases, a desk from Caladan and three chairs. At the windows directly ahead of her stood Dr. Yueh, his back to her, his attention fixed upon the outside world.

Jessica took another silent step into the room.

She saw that Yueh’s coat was wrinkled, a white smudge near the left elbow as though he had leaned against chalk. He looked, from behind, like a fleshless stick figure in overlarge black clothing, a caricature poised for stringy movement at the direction of a puppet master. Only the squarish block of head with long ebony hair caught in its silver Suk School ring at the shoulder seemed alive— turning slightly to follow some movement outside.

Again, she glanced around the room, seeing no sign of her son, but the closed door on her right, she knew, let into a small bedroom for which Paul had expressed a liking.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Yueh,”she said. “Where’s Paul?” He nodded as though to something out the window, spoke in an absent manner without turning: “Your son grew tired, Jessica. I sent him into the next room to rest.” Abruptly, he stiffened, whirled with mustache flopping over his purpled lips.

“Forgive me, my Lady! My thoughts were far away … I … did not mean to be familiar.” She smiled, held out her right hand. For a moment, she was afraid he might kneel. “Wellington, please.”

“To use your name like that … I….”

“We’ve known each other six years,”she said. “It’s long past time formalities should’ve been dropped between us—in private.” Yueh ventured a thin smile, thinking: I believe it has worked. Now, she’ll think anything unusual in my manner is due to embarrassment. She’ll not look for deeper reasons when she believes she already knows the answer.

“I’m afraid I was woolgathering,”he said. “Whenever I … feel especially sorry for you, I’m afraid I think of you as … well, Jessica.”

“Sorry for me? Whatever for?” Yueh shrugged. Long ago, he had realized Jessica was not gifted with the full Truthsay as his Wanna had been. Still, he always used the truth with Jessica whenever possible. It was safest.

“You’ve seen this place, my … Jessica.”He stumbled over the name, plunged ahead: “So barren after Caladan. And the people! Those townswomen we passed on the way here wailing beneath their veils. The way they looked at us.” She folded her arms across her breast, hugging herself, feeling the crysknife there, a blade ground from a sandworm’s tooth, if the reports were right. “It’s just that we’re strange to them—different people, different customs. They’ve known only the Harkonnens.”She looked past him out the windows. “What were you staring at out there?” He turned back to the window. “The people.” Jessica crossed to his side, looked to the left toward the front of the house where Yueh’s attention was focused. A line of twenty palm trees grew there, the ground beneath them swept clean, barren. A screen fence separated them from the road upon which robed people were passing. Jessica detected a faint shimmering in the air between her and the people—a house shield—and went on to study the passing throng, wondering why Yueh found them so absorbing.

The pattern emerged and she put a hand to her cheek. The way the passing people looked at the palm trees! She saw envy, some hate … even a sense of hope. Each person raked those trees with a fixity of expression.

“Do you know what they’re thinking?”Yueh asked.

“You profess to read minds?”she asked.

“Those minds,”he said. “They look at those trees and they think: ‘There are one hundred of us.’ That’s what they think.” She turned a puzzled frown on him. “Why?”

“Those are date palms,”he said. “One date palm requires forty liters of water a day. A man requires but eight liters. A palm, then, equals five men. There are twenty palms out there—one hundred men.”

“But some of those people look at the trees hopefully.”

“They but hope some dates will fall, except it’s the wrong season.”

“We look at this place with too critical an eye,”she said. “There’s hope as well as danger here. The spice could make us rich. With a fat treasury, we can make this world into whatever we wish.” And she laughed silently at herself: Who am I trying to convince? The laugh broke through her restraints, emerging brittle, without humor. “But you can’t buy security,”she said.

Yueh turned away to hide his face from her. If only it were possible to hate these people instead of love them! In her manner, in many ways, Jessica was like his Wanna. Yet that thought carried its own rigors, hardening him to his purpose.

The ways of the Harkonnen cruelty were devious. Wanna might not be dead. He had to be certain.

“Do not worry for us, Wellington,”Jessica said. “The problem’s ours, not yours.” She thinks I worry for her! He blinked back tears. And I do, of course. But I must stand before that black Baron with his deed accomplished, and take my one chance to strike him where he is weakest—in his gloating moment! He sighed.

“Would it disturb Paul if I looked in on him?”she asked.

“Not at all. I gave him a sedative.”

“He’s taking the change well?”she asked.

“Except for getting a bit overtired. He’s excited, but what fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be under these circumstances?”He crossed to the door, opened it.

“He’s in here.” Jessica followed, peered into a shadowy room.

Paul lay on a narrow cot, one arm beneath a light cover, the other thrown back over his head. Slatted blinds at a window beside the bed wove a loom of shadows across face and blanket.

Jessica stared at her son, seeing the oval shape of face so like her own. But the hair was the Duke’s—coal-colored and tousled. Long lashes concealed the lime-toned eyes. Jessica smiled, feeling her fears retreat. She was suddenly caught by the idea of genetic traces in her son’s features—her lines in eyes and facial outline, but sharp touches of the father peering through that outline like maturity emerging from childhood.

She thought of the boy’s features as an exquisite distillation out of random patterns—endless queues of happenstance meeting at this nexus. The thought made her want to kneel beside the bed and take her son in her arms, but she was inhibited by Yueh’s presence. She stepped back, closed the door softly.

Yueh had returned to the window, unable to bear watching the way Jessica stared at her son. Why did Wanna never give me children? he asked himself. I know as a doctor there was no physical reason against it. Was there some Bene Gesserit reason? Was she, perhaps, instructed to serve a different purpose?

What could it have been? She loved me, certainly.

For the first time, he was caught up in the thought that he might be part of a pattern more involuted and complicated than his mind could grasp.

Jessica stopped beside him, said: “What delicious abandon in the sleep of a child.” He spoke mechanically: “If only adults could relax like that.”

“Yes.”

“Where do we lose it?”he murmured.

She glanced at him, catching the odd tone, but her mind was still on Paul, thinking of the new rigors in his training here, thinking of the differences in his life now—so very different from the life they once had planned for him.

“We do, indeed, lose something,”she said.

She glanced out to the right at a slope humped with a wind-troubled graygreen of bushes—dusty leaves and dry claw branches. The too-dark sky hung over the slope like a blot, and the milky light of the Arrakeen sun gave the scene a silver cast—light like the crysknife concealed in her bodice.

“The sky’s so dark,”she said.

“That’s partly the lack of moisture,”he said.

“Water!”she snapped. “Everywhere you turn here, you’re involved with the lack of water!”

“It’s the precious mystery of Arrakis,”he said.

“Why is there so little of it? There’s volcanic rock here. There’re a dozen power sources I could name. There’s polar ice. They say you can’t drill in the desert—storms and sandtides destroy equipment faster than it can be installed, if the worms don’t get you first. They’ve never found water traces there, anyway.

But the mystery, Wellington, the real mystery is the wells that’ve been drilled up here in the sinks and basins. Have you read about those?”

“First a trickle, then nothing,”he said.

“But, Wellington, that’s the mystery. The water was there. It dries up. And never again is there water. Yet another hole nearby produces the same result: a trickle that stops. Has no one ever been curious about this?”

“It is curious,”he said. “You suspect some living agency? Wouldn’t that have shown in core samples?”

“What would have shown? Alien plant matter … or animal? Who could recognize it?”She turned back to the slope. “The water is stopped. Something plugs it. That’s my suspicion.”

“Perhaps the reason’s known,”he said. “The Harkonnens sealed off many sources of information about Arrakis. Perhaps there was reason to suppress this.”

“What reason?”she asked. “And then there’s the atmospheric moisture.

Little enough of it, certainly, but there’s some. It’s the major source of water here, caught in windtraps and precipitators. Where does that come from?”

“The polar caps?”

“Cold air takes up little moisture, Wellington. There are things here behind the Harkonnen veil that bear close investigation, and not all of those things are directly involved with the spice.”

“We are indeed behind the Harkonnen veil,”he said. “Perhaps we’ll….”He broke off, noting the sudden intense way she was looking at him. “Is something wrong?”

“The way you say ‘Harkonnen,’ ”she said. “Even my Duke’s voice doesn’t carry that weight of venom when he uses the hated name. I didn’t know you had personal reasons to hate them, Wellington.” Great Mother! he thought. I’ve aroused her suspicions! Now I must use every trick my Wanna taught me. There’s only one solution: tell the truth as far as I can.

He said: “You didn’t know that my wife, my Wanna….”He shrugged, unable to speak past a sudden constriction in his throat. Then: “They….”The words would not come out. He felt panic, closed his eyes tightly, experiencing the agony in his chest and little else until a hand touched his arm gently.

“Forgive me,”Jessica said. “I did not mean to open an old wound.”And she thought: Those animals! His wife was Bene Gesserit —the signs are all over him. And it’s obvious the Harkonnens killed her. Here’s another poor victim bound to the Atreides by a cherem of hate.

“I am sorry,”he said. “I’m unable to talk about it.”He opened his eyes, giving himself up to the internal awareness of grief. That, at least, was truth.

Jessica studied him, seeing the up-angled cheeks, the dark sequins of almond eyes, the butter complexion, and stringy mustache hanging like a curved frame around purpled lips and narrow chin. The creases of his cheeks and forehead, she saw, were as much lines of sorrow as of age. A deep affection for him came over her.

“Wellington, I’m sorry we brought you into this dangerous place,”she said.

“I came willingly,”he said. And that, too, was true.

“But this whole planet’s a Harkonnen trap. You must know that.”

“It will take more than a trap to catch the Duke Leto,”he said. And that, too, was true.

“Perhaps I should be more confident of him,”she said. “He is a brilliant tactician.”

“We’ve been uprooted,”he said. “That’s why we’re uneasy.”

“And how easy it is to kill the uprooted plant,”she said. “Especially when you put it down in hostile soil.”

“Are we certain the soil’s hostile?”

“There were water riots when it was learned how many people the Duke was adding to the population,”she said. “They stopped only when the people learned we were installing new windtraps and condensers to take care of the load.”

“There is only so much water to support human life here,”he said. “The people know if more come to drink a limited amount of water, the price goes up and the very poor die. But the Duke has solved this. It doesn’t follow that the riots mean permanent hostility toward him.”

“And guards,”she said. “Guards everywhere. And shields. You see the blurring of them everywhere you look. We did not live this way on Caladan.”

“Give this planet a chance,”he said.

But Jessica continued to stare hard-eyed out the window. “I can smell death in this place,”she said. “Hawat sent advance agents in here by the battalion.

Those guards outside are his men. The cargo handlers are his men. There’ve been unexplained withdrawals of large sums from the treasury. The amounts mean only one thing: bribes in high places.”She shook her head. “Where Thufir Hawat goes, death and deceit follow.”

“You malign him.”

“Malign? I praise him. Death and deceit are our only hopes now. I just do not fool myself about Thufir’s methods.”

“You should … keep busy,”he said. “Give yourself no time for such morbid —”

“Busy! What is it that takes most of my time, Wellington? I am the Duke’s secretary—so busy that each day I learn new things to fear … things even he doesn’t suspect I know.”She compressed her lips, spoke thinly: “Sometimes I wonder how much my Bene Gesserit business training figured in his choice of me.”

“What do you mean?”He found himself caught by the cynical tone, the bitterness that he had never seen her expose.

“Don’t you think, Wellington,”she asked, “that a secretary bound to one by love is so much safer?”

“That is not a worthy thought, Jessica.” The rebuke came naturally to his lips. There was no doubt how the Duke felt about his concubine. One had only to watch him as he followed her with his eyes.

She sighed. “You’re right. It’s not worthy.” Again, she hugged herself, pressing the sheathed crysknife against her flesh and thinking of the unfinished business it represented.

“There’ll be much bloodshed soon,”she said. “The Harkonnens won’t rest until they’re dead or my Duke destroyed. The Baron cannot forget that Leto is a cousin of the royal blood—no matter what the distance—while the Harkonnen titles came out of the CHOAM pocketbook. But the poison in him, deep in his mind, is the knowledge that an Atreides had a Harkonnen banished for cowardice after the Battle of Corrin.”

“The old feud,”Yueh muttered. And for a moment he felt an acid touch of hate. The old feud had trapped him in its web, killed his Wanna or—worse—left her for Harkonnen tortures until her husband did their bidding. The old feud had trapped him and these people were part of that poisonous thing. The irony was that such deadliness should come to flower here on Arrakis, the one source in the universe of melange, the prolonger of life, the giver of health.

“What are you thinking?”she asked.

“I am thinking that the spice brings six hundred and twenty thousand solaris the decagram on the open market right now. That is wealth to buy many things.”

“Does greed touch even you, Wellington?”

“Not greed.”

“What then?” He shrugged. “Futility.”He glanced at her. “Can you remember your first taste of spice?”

“It tasted like cinnamon.”

“But never twice the same,”he said. “It’s like life—it presents a different face each time you take it. Some hold that the spice produces a learned-flavor reaction. The body, learning a thing is good for it, interprets the flavor as pleasurable—slightly euphoric. And, like life, never to be truly synthesized.”

“I think it would’ve been wiser for us to go renegade, to take ourselves beyond the Imperial reach,”she said.

He saw that she hadn’t been listening to him, focused on her words, wondering: Yes—why didn’t she make him do this? She could make him do virtually anything.

He spoke quickly because here was truth and a change of subject: “Would you think it bold of me … Jessica, if I asked a personal question?” She pressed against the window ledge in an unexplainable pang of disquiet.

“Of course not. You’re … my friend.”

“Why haven’t you made the Duke marry you?” She whirled, head up, glaring. “Made him marry me? But—”

“I should not have asked,”he said.

“No.”She shrugged. “There’s good political reason—as long as my Duke remains unmarried some of the Great Houses can still hope for alliance. And….” She sighed. “… motivating people, forcing them to your will, gives you a cynical attitude toward humanity. It degrades everything it touches. If I made him do … this, then it would not be his doing.”

“It’s a thing my Wanna might have said,”he murmured. And this, too, was truth. He put a hand to his mouth, swallowing convulsively. He had never been closer to speaking out, confessing his secret role.

Jessica spoke, shattering the moment. “Besides, Wellington, the Duke is really two men. One of them I love very much. He’s charming, witty, considerate … tender—everything a woman could desire. But the other man is … cold, callous, demanding, selfish—as harsh and cruel as a winter wind. That’s the man shaped by the father.”Her face contorted. “If only that old man had died when my Duke was born!” In the silence that came between them, a breeze from a ventilator could be heard fingering the blinds.

Presently, she took a deep breath, said, “Leto’s right—these rooms are nicer than the ones in the other sections of the house.”She turned, sweeping the room with her gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, Wellington, I want another look through this wing before I assign quarters.” He nodded. “Of course.”And he thought: If only there were some way not to do this thing that I must do.

Jessica dropped her arms, crossed to the hall door and stood there a moment, hesitating, then let herself out. All the time we talked he was hiding something, holding something back, she thought. To save my feelings, no doubt. He’s a good man. Again, she hesitated, almost turned back to confront Yueh and drag the hidden thing from him. But that would only shame him, frighten him to learn he’s so easily read. I should place more trust in my friends.

文/丹尼斯·维伦纽瓦

沙漠能在人心中激发出一种深沉的孤独感。它能唤起吴可儿逃避的自省。像显微镜一样，沙漠能放大我们的生存恐惧。我们从一切社会结构中剥离出来，被赤裸裸地扔在那里，迎头撞上无限的空间和时间所带来的眩晕。沙漠如同催眠一般，将我们带回人类资深存在的先决条件。它引发出快乐、谦逊、由于，有时甚至是一种荒凉的恐怖。正是这种与世隔绝的感觉点燃了《沙丘》制作设计灵感。

我立即想到，艺术指导帕特里斯·弗米特将是执行这项任务的完美人选。他对探索新的创造性领域的巨大热情，使他成为理所当然的选择。我需要他狂野的想象力和狂热的激情，但也需要他绝佳的感知力。我相信，帕特里斯会理解我的目标是什么。我还知道，他在艺术上足够疯狂，他能找到一种方法，触碰到这场海市蜃楼的边缘。

1965年创作《沙丘》时，弗拉克·赫伯特正在遥远未来的未知风暴中。几十年后，帕特里斯不得不重走此路，从而用视觉形象呈现出作者在小说中想象出的一切。我知道帕特里斯将帮助我创造我们从未见过的世界，并将我们在阅读这部著作时脑海中所呈现出的画面带到大银幕上。

对我来说，重要的是沙丘迷们认可这是弗兰克·赫伯特对这个宇宙的描绘，或者至少，让他们感受到电影与这本书的精神有着深刻联系。我们试图尽可能地忠实于它，但有时候，由于对原著纯粹的热爱，我们也可能逸出小说的边界。将一个故事搬上大银幕需要改变其形态。这是一种必要之举。为了忠实地改编他人作品的诗意和精髓，你有时需要在某些方面背离它，然后，心平气和地接受了这一决定，从而创造性地走出困境。一旦开始穿越沙漠，你就不能停下。你必须向前走。

设计和拍摄这部电影过程中，我一直津贴弗兰克·赫伯特的文字。如果没有他的文字，我将永远无法找到自己的路，去穿越这些焦灼的幻象。

请欣赏帕特里斯和所有与我们合作的艺术家的作品。