沙丘2

文/布莱恩·赫伯特 凯文·J·安德森

1957年，为了写一篇介绍美国农业部某研究项目的杂志文章，弗兰克·赫伯特租了一架小型飞机，来到俄勒冈州海岸的沙丘。美国农业部开发了一种稳固沙层的方法，在沙丘顶部种植耐贫瘠的植物，以防止沙丘流动并吞没道路和建筑物。他打算给这篇文章定个标题，叫“他们挡住了流沙”。

回到家开始写这篇文章时，他意识到某种比杂志文章更宏大的东西。在飞行过程中，注视着像海上波浪一样的沙丘时，他感到了一种情感的牵引。他坐在打字机前，闭上眼睛，想象出一颗广阔的沙漠星球。他看到了一个像马赫迪一样的沙漠救世主骑着马，带着一支骑着马，带着一支骑着马和骆驼的杂乱军队，如雷霆般在沙漠中驰骋。这位领袖富有魅力，能够在他的人民当中激起狂热的忠诚。

渐渐地，这些画面在弗兰克·赫伯特的脑海中变得更宏达，更广阔，他创造了一整个由外星球组成的宇宙。这颗沙漠星球将是所有星球中最重要的，它盛产一种稀缺资源——名叫“美琅脂”。帝国政府和星际公司都需要这种资源，并为控制这种资源而大打出手。

这样一个故事需要一张非常大的画布。

弗兰克·赫伯特先于所有人看过一部《沙丘》电影——一场在他脑海中上演的史诗般的电影盛事：一场梦幻般的、弥赛亚式的幻象，然后他将其打造成了一部堪称有史以来最受推崇的科幻小说。

弗兰克·赫伯特一生都热爱相机和摄影。他在报纸行业中担任专栏作家，葡萄酒编辑和专业摄影师，通常为西海岸的赫斯特旗下的报纸工作。多年后，在指导他大儿子布莱恩从事写作时，他告诉儿子，他喜欢写描述性的段落，这就像透过相机的镜头，描述他所看到的东西。

作为示例，他讲到他是如何在《沙丘》中介绍邪恶的弗拉基米尔·哈克男爵的：从一间无窗的屋子中的黑影开始，“一只戴着光彩夺目的戒指的胖手”旋转着一颗未知星球的立体星球仪。画面徐徐展开，但并不是视觉上的。首先是声音：“星球仪旁边传出一阵嗤嗤的笑声，笑声中蹦出一个低沉的嗓音……”

弗兰克·赫伯特没有正面描述男爵的外貌，而是让这个卑鄙的人用隆隆的、低沉的、冷酷的声音密谋对付高贵的雷托公爵和厄崔迪家族的计划，这种充满杀意的举止，恐吓和威胁着房间里和其他人——彼得·德伏来和菲德-罗萨·哈克南。男爵动了一下，但还是让人没法看清。相反，他“在星球仪旁的暗影中动了动身子。”

在整个章节中，作者慢慢地向读者透露了越来越多的信息，就像照相机镜头的光圈逐渐打开一样。经过三千字的悬念铺垫，男爵终于被正面描述。“当她从阴影中现身的时候，映入眼帘的是一个极为庞大的身形——不论从质量上还是体积上——和一身肥肉。他穿着黑色长袍，衣服的褶皱下有一些细微的隆起，可以看出他身上装着便携式浮空器，拖着那身肥肉。”

《沙丘》是一个极其生动、复杂，且十分完整的故事，充满了独特的想法和令人难以置信的异国情调。每一个度过这部经典小说的人，都会想象和塑造出他们自己的保罗·穆阿迪布、雷托·厄崔迪公爵、杰西卡夫人、哈克南男爵、野兽拉班、邓肯·艾达荷、哥尼·哈莱克、杜菲·哈瓦特……从而欣赏到属于他们自己的电影。

已有其他电影人将他们对《沙丘》的诠释搬上来银幕——大卫林奇1984年的电影和约翰·哈里森后来的迷你电视剧。在他们之前还有一些导演，其项目进行到了不同的阶段，但是没能将它搬上银幕。所有这些导演都是保罗的前辈，他们资源踏上沙丘星球上的炙热沙地，而这的确是对导演技巧的一次非常大的考验。

布莱恩清楚地记得，在《沙丘》最初的创作阶段，他在赫伯特大家庭里的经历。布莱恩记得自己听到父亲给母亲读了一段话：一个名叫保罗·厄崔迪的年轻人，被迫将受放进神秘的盒子里，而一个老妇人——圣母盖乌斯·海伦·莫西阿姆，用毒针顶着他的脖子。

听着听着，布莱恩被这戏剧性的场景和奇怪的话语缩吸引——戈姆刺、穆阿迪布、帕迪沙皇帝、魁萨茨·哈德拉克、厄拉克斯、贝尼·杰瑟里特。随着这些词语和名字从他父亲的舌头上滚落，以铿锵有力的声音发出，布莱恩沉醉于他门那沙哑、神秘的回响。

布莱恩后来才意识到，他听到的其实是《沙丘》的开头章节。

《沙丘》的故事在出版半个多世纪后仍然受到全世界的喜爱和推崇，而且它海将迎来更多的观众。

对传奇影业来说，导演丹尼斯·维伦纽瓦已经接受了这项兼具挑战——为弗兰克·赫伯特的杰作执导一部广受认可的电影版本。维伦纽瓦之前拍的两部科幻电影试水《降临》（2016）和《银翼杀手2049》（2017）——都是充满了想象色彩的视觉盛宴。现在，通过《沙丘》，他达成了足以确立自己地位的成就，这是一部卓越的电影，即使是最铁杆的弗兰克·赫伯特粉丝也不会失望。

任何改变自《沙丘》的电影，都是在弗兰克·赫伯特的奇幻宇宙所奠定的创意和所秒回的广博基础上进行的。“沙丘”正传系列给维伦纽瓦提供了大量素材，包括弗兰克·赫伯特的第一部小说以及它的五部续集《沙丘救世主》《沙丘之子》《沙丘神帝》《沙丘异端》《圣殿沙丘》——这些小说总共有一百多万字，跨越了五千年历史。除了这几部原著作品，我们还一起创作了许多畅销全球的小说，扩展了“沙丘”的历史和人物，从《沙丘》故事一万年前的巴特勒圣战和贝尼·杰瑟里特学校建立这样社员的故事起源，一直到五千年后的大结局。我们的后传和前传为“沙丘”传奇增加了数百万字，填补了雷托公爵的背景故事，讲述了他与卑鄙的哈克南男爵之初的冲突，以及雷托和杰西卡感人的爱情，保罗的诞生还有伊勒琅公主为了保罗·穆阿迪布的传奇一生编纂编年史所做的大量工作。

CHAPTER 9

Many have marked the speed with which Muad‘Dib learned the necessities of Arrakis. The Bene Gesserit, of course, know the basis of this speed.

For the others, we can say that Muad’Dib learned rapidly because his first training was in how to learn.

And the first lesson of all was the basic trust that he could learn. It is shocking to find how many people do not believe they can learn, and how many more believe learning to be difficult. Muad‘Dib knew that every experience carries its lesson.

—from “The Humanity of Muad’Dib”by thePrincess Irulan

PAUL LAY on the bed feigning sleep. It had been easy to palm Dr. Yueh’s sleeping tablet, to pretend to swallow it. Paul suppressed a laugh. Even his mother had believed him asleep. He had wanted to jump up and ask her permission to go exploring the house, but had realized she wouldn’t approve.

Things were too unsettled yet. No. This way was best.

If I slip out without asking I haven’t disobeyed orders. And Iwill stay in the house where it’s safe.

He heard his mother and Yueh talking in the other room. Their words were indistinct—something about the spice … the Harkonnens. The conversation rose and fell.

Paul’s attention went to the carved headboard of his bed—a false headboard attached to the wall and concealing the controls for this room’s functions. A leaping fish had been shaped on the wood with thick brown waves beneath it. He knew if he pushed the fish’s one visible eye that would turn on the room’s suspensor lamps. One of the waves, when twisted, controlled ventilation.

Another changed the temperature.

Quietly, Paul sat up in bed. A tall bookcase stood against the wall to his left.

It could be swung aside to reveal a closet with drawers along one side. The handle on the door into the hall was patterned on an ornithopter thrust bar.

It was as though the room had been designed to entice him.

The room and this planet.

He thought of the filmbook Yueh had shown him—“Arrakis: His Imperial Majesty’s Desert Botanical Testing Station.”It was an old filmbook from before discovery of the spice. Names flitted through Paul’s mind, each with its picture imprinted by the book’s mnemonic pulse: saguaro, burro bush, date palm, sand verbena, evening primrose, barrel cactus, incense bush, smoke tree, creosote bush … kit fox, desert hawk, kangaroo mouse….

Names and pictures, names and pictures from man’s terranic past—and many to be found now nowhere else in the universe except here on Arrakis.

So many new things to learn about—the spice.

And the sandworms.

A door closed in the other room. Paul heard his mother’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Dr. Yueh, he knew, would find something to read and remain in the other room.

Now was the moment to go exploring.

Paul slipped out of the bed, headed for the bookcase door that opened into the closet. He stopped at a sound behind him, turned. The carved headboard of the bed was folding down onto the spot where he had been sleeping. Paul froze, and immobility saved his life.

From behind the headboard slipped a tiny hunter-seeker no more than five centimeters long. Paul recognized it at once—a common assassination weapon that every child of royal blood learned about at an early age. It was a ravening sliver of metal guided by some near-by hand and eye. It could burrow into moving flesh and chew its way up nerve channels to the nearest vital organ.

The seeker lifted, swung sideways across the room and back.

Through Paul’s mind flashed the related knowledge, the hunter-seeker limitations: Its compressed suspensor field distorted the room to reflect his target, the operator would be relying on motion—anything that moved. A shield could slow a hunter, give time to destroy it, but Paul had put aside his shield on the bed. Lasguns would knock them down, but lasguns were expensive and notoriously cranky of maintenance—and there was always the peril of explosive pyrotechnics if the laser beam intersected a hot shield. The Atreides relied on their body shields and their wits.

Now, Paul held himself in near catatonic immobility, knowing he had only his wits to meet this threat.

The hunter-seeker lifted another half meter. It rippled through the slatted light from the window blinds, back and forth, quartering the room.

I must try to grab it, he thought. The suspensor field will make it slippery on the bottom. I must grip tightly.

The thing dropped a half meter, quartered to the left, circled back around the bed. A faint humming could be heard from it.

Who is operating that thing? Paul wondered. It has to be someone near. I could shout for Yueh, but it would take him the instant the door opened.

The hall door behind Paul creaked. A rap sounded there. The door opened.

The hunter-seeker arrowed past his head toward the motion.

Paul’s right hand shot out and down, gripping the deadly thing. It hummed and twisted in his hand, but his muscles were locked on it in desperation. With a violent turn and thrust, he slammed the thing’s nose against the metal doorplate.

He felt the crunch of it as the nose eye smashed and the seeker went dead in his hand.

Still, he held it—to be certain.

Paul’s eyes came up, met the open stare of total blue from the Shadout Mapes.

“Your father has sent for you,”she said. “There are men in the hall to escort you.” Paul nodded, his eyes and awareness focusing on this odd woman in a sacklike dress of bondsman brown. She was looking now at the thing clutched in his hand.

“I’ve heard of suchlike,”she said. “It would’ve killed me, not so?” He had to swallow before he could speak. “I … was its target.”

“But it was coming for me.”

“Because you were moving.”And he wondered: Who is this creature? “Then you saved my life,”she said.

“I saved both our lives.”

“Seems like you could’ve let it have me and made your own escape,”she said.

“Who are you?”he asked.

“The Shadout Mapes, housekeeper.” How did you know where to find me?”

“Your mother told me. I met her at the stairs to the weirding room down the hall.”She pointed to her right. “Your father’s men are still waiting.” Those will be Hawat’s men, he thought. We must find the operator of this thing.

“Go to my father’s men,”he said. “Tell them I’ve caught a hunter-seeker in the house and they’re to spread out and find the operator. Tell them to seal off the house and its grounds immediately. They’ll know how to go about it. The operator’s sure to be a stranger among us.” And he wondered: Could it be this creature? But he knew it wasn’t. The seeker had been under control when she entered.

“Before I do your bidding, manling,”Mapes said, “I must cleanse the way between us. You’ve put a water burden on me that I’m not sure I care to support.

But we Fremen pay our debts—be they black debts or white debts. And it’s known to us that you’ve a traitor in your midst. Who it is, we cannot say, but we’re certain sure of it. Mayhap there’s the hand guided that flesh-cutter.” Paul absorbed this in silence: a traitor. Before he could speak, the odd woman whirled away and ran back toward the entry.

He thought to call her back, but there was an air about her that told him she would resent it. She’d told him what she knew and now she was going to do his bidding. The house would be swarming with Hawat’s men in a minute.

His mind went to other parts of that strange conversation: weirding room. He looked to his left where she had pointed. We Fremen. So that was a Fremen. He paused for the mnemonic blink that would store the pattern of her face in his memory-prune-wrinkled features darkly browned, blue-on-blue eyes without any white in them. He attached the label: The Shadout Mapes.

Still gripping the shattered seeker, Paul turned back into his room, scooped up his shield belt from the bed with his left hand, swung it around his waist and buckled it as he ran back out and down the hall to the left.

She’d said his mother was someplace down here—stairs … a weirding room.

我们很快就听说，丹尼斯对《沙丘》的热情已经引起了努力争取该书版权的人的注意。

制片人玛丽·帕伦特和凯尔·博伊特都是弗兰克·赫伯特原著小说的粉丝，在他们加入传奇娱乐公司，分别担任全球制作副主席和创意事务执行副总裁之前，就已经开始求购这本书的电影版权了。

尽管这个故事是在20世纪60年代写就的，但它仍然有着极强的现实意义。”玛丽说，“从主题上讲，它描绘了全人类目前面临的挑战，例如生态崩溃的世界、腐败和不断移位的政治流沙。这些主题的中心，是一个年轻人努力驾驭我们的新世界的成长故事。”与赫伯特遗产管理会的沟通始于2012年。“我们开始了洽谈购买电影版权的征途，”凯尔回忆道，“我们在2016年加入了传奇公司，这让我们能够站在第一线，把制作这部电影列为当务之急。”几年来，各大电影公司一直在找弗兰克·赫伯特遗产管理会——由弗兰克·赫伯特的长子布莱恩·赫伯特、外孙拜伦·梅里特和孙女金·赫伯特管理——商谈购买《沙丘》的电影版权。

2015年2月，布莱恩和他的妻子扬前往洛杉矶，与传奇影业会面。“会议进行得非常顺利，”布莱恩回忆道，“但其他电影公司也有兴趣，遗产管理会要做出一项重要决定，这个决定将对’沙丘系列电影的未来产生至关重要的影响。”次年9月，当丹尼斯表达了他毕生的愿望——执导一部改编自《沙丘》小说的电影时，赫伯特遗产管理会心动了。“我们决定不和他直接联系，因为当时我们的工作室还没有建好。”布莱恩解释道。

CHAPTER 10

What had the Lady Jessica to sustain her in her time of trial? Think you carefully on this Bene Gesserit proverb and perhaps you will see: “Any road followed precisely to its end leads precisely nowhere. Climb the mountain just a little bit to test that it’s a mountain. From the top of the mountain, you can not see the mountain.”

—from “Muad’Dib: Family Commentaries” by the Princess Irulan

AT THE end of the south wing, Jessica found a metal stair spiraling up to an oval door. She glanced back down the hall, again up at the door.

Oval? she wondered. What an odd shape for a door in a house.

Through the windows beneath the spiral stair she could see the great white sun of Arrakis moving on toward evening. Long shadows stabbed down the hall.

She returned her attention to the stairs. Harsh sidelighting picked out bits of dried earth on the open metalwork of the steps.

Jessica put a hand on the rail, began to climb. The rail felt cold under her sliding palm. She stopped at the door, saw it had no handle, but there was a faint depression on the surface of it where a handle should have been.

Surely not a palm lock, she told herself. A palm lock must be keyed to one individual’s hand shape and palm lines. But it looked like a palm lock. And there were ways to open any palm lock—as she had learned at school.

Jessica glanced back to make certain she was unobserved, placed her palm against the depression in the door. The most gentle of pressures to distort the lines—a turn of the wrist, another turn, a sliding twist of the palm across the surface.

She felt the click.

But there were hurrying footsteps in the hall beneath her. Jessica lifted her hand from the door, turned, saw Mapes come to the foot of the stairs.

“There are men in the great hall say they’ve been sent by the Duke to get young master Paul,”Mapes said. “They’ve the ducal signet and the guard has identified them.”She glanced at the door, back to Jessica.

A cautious one, this Mapes, Jessica thought. That’s a good sign.

“He’s in the fifth room from this end of the hall, the small bedroom,”Jessica said. “If you have trouble waking him, call on Dr. Yueh in the next room. Paul may require a wakeshot.” Again, Mapes cast a piercing stare at the oval door, and Jessica thought she detected loathing in the expression. Before Jessica could ask about the door and what it concealed, Mapes had turned away, hurrying back down the hall.

Hawat certified this place, Jessica thought. There can’t be anything too terrible in here.

She pushed the door. It swung inward onto a small room with another oval door opposite. The other door had a wheel handle.

An air lock! Jessica thought. She glanced down, saw a door prop fallen to the floor of the little room. The prop carried Hawat’s personal mark. The door was left propped open, she thought. Someone probably knocked the prop down accidentally, not realizing the outer door would close on a palm lock.

She stepped over the lip into the little room.

Why an airlock in a house? she asked herself. And she thought suddenly of exotic creatures sealed off in special climates.

Special climate! That would make sense on Arrakis where even the driest of off-planet growing things had to be irrigated.

The door behind her began swinging closed. She caught it and propped it open securely with the stick Hawat had left. Again, she faced the wheel-locked inner door, seeing now a faint inscription etched in the metal above the handle.

She recognized Galach words, read: “O, Man! Here is a lovely portion of God’s Creation; then, stand before it and learn to love the perfection of Thy Supreme Friend.” Jessica put her weight on the wheel. It turned left and the inner door opened.

A gentle draft feathered her cheek, stirred her hair. She felt change in the air, a richer taste. She swung the door wide, looked through into massed greenery with yellow sunlight pouring across it.

A yellow sun? she asked herself. Then: Filter glass! She stepped over the sill and the door swung closed behind.

“A wet-planet conservatory,”she breathed.

Potted plants and low-pruned trees stood all about. She recognized a mimosa, a flowering quince, a sondagi, green-blossomed pleniscenta, green and white striped akarso … roses….

Even roses! She bent to breathe the fragrance of a giant pink blossom, straightened to peer around the room.

Rhythmic noise invaded her senses.

She parted a jungle overlapping of leaves, looked through to the center of the room. A low fountain stood there, small with fluted lips. The rhythmic noise was a peeling, spooling arc of water falling thud-a-gallop onto the metal bowl.

Jessica sent herself through the quick sense-clearing regimen, began a methodical inspection of the room’s perimeter. It appeared to be about ten meters square. From its placement above the end of the hall and from subtle differences in construction, she guessed it had been added onto the roof of this wing iong after the original building’s completion.

She stopped at the south limits of the room in front of the wide reach of filter glass, stared around. Every available space in the room was crowded with exotic wet-climate plants. Something rustled in the greenery. She tensed, then glimpsed a simple clock-set servok with pipe and hose arms. An arm lifted, sent out a fine spray of dampness that misted her cheeks. The arm retracted and she looked at what it had watered: a fern tree.

Water everywhere in this room—on a planet where water was the most precious juice of life. Water being wasted so conspicuously that it shocked her to inner stillness.

She glanced out at the filter-yellowed sun. It hung low on a jagged horizon above cliffs that formed part of the immense rock uplifting known as the Shield Wall.

Filter glass, she thought. To turn a white sun into something softer and more familiar. Who could have built such a place? Leto? It would be like him to surprise me with such a gift, but there hasn’t been time. And he’s been busy with more serious problems.

She recalled the report that many Arrakeen houses were sealed by airlock doors and windows to conserve and reclaim interior moisture. Leto had said it was a deliberate statement of power and wealth for this house to ignore such precautions, its doors and windows being sealed only against the omnipresent dust.

But this room embodied a statement far more significant than the lack of waterseals on outer doors. She estimated that this pleasure room used water enough to support a thousand persons on Arrakis—possibly more.

Jessica moved along the window, continuing to stare into the room. The move brought into view a metallic surface at table height beside the fountain and she glimpsed a white notepad and stylus there partly concealed by an overhanging fan leaf. She crossed to the table, noted Hawat’s daysigns on it, studied a message written on the pad: “TO THE LADY JESSICA— May this place give you as much pleasure as it has given me. Please permit the room to convey a lesson we learned from the same teachers: the proximity of a desirable thing tempts one to overindulgence. On that path lies danger.

My kindest wishes, MARGOT LADY FENRING” Jessica nodded, remembering that Leto had referred to the Emperor’s former proxy here as Count Fenring. But the hidden message of the note demanded immediate attention, couched as it was in a way to inform her the writer was another Bene Gesserit. A bitter thought touched Jessica in passing: The Count married his Lady.

Even as this thought flicked through her mind, she was bending to seek out the hidden message. It had to be there. The visible note contained the code phrase every Bene Gesserit not bound by a School Injunction was required to give another Bene Gesserit when conditions demanded it: “On that path lies danger.” Jessica felt the back of the note, rubbed the surface for coded dots. Nothing.

The edge of the pad came under her seeking fingers. Nothing. She replaced the pad where she had found it, feeling a sense of urgency.

Something in the position of the pad? she wondered.

But Hawat had been over this room, doubtless had moved the pad. She looked at the leaf above the pad. The leaf! She brushed a finger along the under surface, along the edge, along the stem. It was there! Her fingers detected the subtle coded dots, scanned them in a single passage: “Your son and the Duke are in immediate danger. A bedroom has been designed to attract your son. The H loaded it with death traps to be discovered, leaving one that may escape detection.”Jessica put down the urge to run back to Paul; the full message had to be learned. Her fingers sped over the dots: “I do not know the exact nature of the menace, but it has something to do with a bed.

The threat to your Duke involves defection of a trusted companion or lieutenant.

The H plan to give you as gift to a minion. To the best of my knowledge, this conservatory is safe. Forgive that I cannot tell more. My sources are few as my Count is not in the pay of the H. In haste, MF.” Jessica thrust the leaf aside, whirled to dash back to Paul. In that instant, the airlock door slammed open. Paul jumped through it, holding something in his right hand, slammed the door behind him. He saw his mother, pushed through the leaves to her, glanced at the fountain, thrust his hand and the thing it clutched under the falling water.

“Paul!”She grabbed his shoulder, staring at the hand. “What is that?” He spoke casually, but she caught the effort behind the tone: “Hunter-seeker.

Caught it in my room and smashed its nose, but I want to be sure. Water should short it out.”

“Immerse it!”she commanded.

He obeyed.

Presently, she said: “Withdraw your hand. Leave the thing in the water.” He brought out his hand, shook water from it, staring at the quiescent metal in the fountain. Jessica broke off a plant stem, prodded the deadly sliver.

It was dead.

She dropped the stem into the water, looked at Paul. His eyes studied the room with a searching intensity that she recognized—the B.G. Way.

“This place could conceal anything,”he said.

“I’ve reason to believe it’s safe,”she said.

“My room was supposed to be safe, too. Hawat said—”

“It was a hunter-seeker,”she reminded him. “That means someone inside the house to operate it. Seeker control beams have a limited range. The thing could’ve been spirited in here after Hawat’s investigation.” But she thought of the message of the leaf: “… defection of a trusted companion or lieutenant. ”Not Hawat, surely. Oh, surely not Hawat.

“Hawat’s men are searching the house right now,”he said. “That seeker almost got the old woman who came to wake me.”

“The Shadout Mapes,”Jessica said, remembering the encounter at the stairs.

“A summons from your father to—”

“That can wait,”Paul said. “Why do you think this room’s safe?” She pointed to the note, explained about it.

He relaxed slightly.

But Jessica remained inwardly tense, thinking: A hunter-seeker! Merciful Mother! It took all her training to prevent a fit of hysterical trembling.

Paul spoke matter of factly: “It’s the Harkonnens, of course. We shall have to destroy them.” A rapping sounded at the airlock door—the code knock of one of Hawat’s corps.

“Come in,”Paul called.

The door swung wide and a tall man in Atreides uniform with a Hawat insignia on his cap leaned into the room. “There you are, sir,”he said. “The housekeeper said you’d be here.”He glanced around the room. “We found a cairn in the cellar and caught a man in it. He had a seeker console.” “I’ll want to take part in the interrogation,”Jessica said.

“Sorry, my Lady. We messed him up catching him. He died.”

“Nothing to identify him?”she asked.

“We’ve found nothing yet, my Lady.”

“Was he an Arrakeen native?”Paul asked.

Jessica nodded at the astuteness of the question.

“He has the native look,”the man said. “Put into that cairn more’n a month ago, by the look, and left there to await our coming. Stone and mortar where he came through into the cellar were untouched when we inspected the place yesterday. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

“No one questions your thoroughness,”Jessica said.

“I question it, my Lady. We should’ve used sonic probes down there.”

“I presume that’s what you’re doing now,”Paul said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Send word to my father that we’ll be delayed.”

“At once, sir.”He glanced at Jessica. “It’s Hawat’s order that under such circumstances as these the young master be guarded in a safe place.”Again, his eyes swept the room. “What of this place?”

“I’ve reason to believe it safe,”she said. “Both Hawat and I have inspected it.”

“Then I’ll mount guard outside here, m’Lady, until we’ve been over the house once more.”He bowed, touched his cap to Paul, backed out and swung the door closed behind him.

Paul broke the sudden silence, saying: “Had we better go over the house later ourselves? Your eyes might see things others would miss.”

“This wing was the only place I hadn’t examined,”she said. “I put if off to last because….”

“Because Hawat gave it his personal attention,”he said.

She darted a quick look at his face, questioning.

“Do you distrust Hawat?”she asked.

“No, but he’s getting old … he’s overworked. We could take some of the load from him.”

“That’d only shame him and impair his efficiency,”she said. “A stray insect won’t be able to wander into this wing after he hears about this. He’ll be shamed that….”

“We must take our own measures,”he said.

“Hawat has served three generations of Atreides with honor,”she said. “He deserves every respect and trust we can pay him … many times over.” Paul said: “When my father is bothered by something you’ve done he says ‘Bene Gesserit!’ like a swear word.”

“And what is it about me that bothers your father?”

“When you argue with him.”

“You are not your father, Paul.” And Paul thought: It’ll worry her, but I must tell her what that Mapes woman said about a traitor among us.

“What’re you holding back?”Jessica asked. “This isn’t like you, Paul.” He shrugged, recounted the exchange with Mapes.

And Jessica thought of the message of the leaf. She came to sudden decision, showed Paul the leaf, told him its message.

“My father must learn of this at once,”he said. “I’ll radiograph it in code and get if off.”

“No,”she said. “You will wait until you can see him alone. As few as possible must learn about it.”

“Do you mean we should trust no one?”

“There’s another possibility,”she said. “This message may have been meant to get to us. The people who gave it to us may believe it’s true, but it may be that the only purpose was to get this message to us.” Paul’s face remained sturdily somber. “To sow distrust and suspicion in our ranks, to weaken us that way,”he said.

“You must tell your father privately and caution him about this aspect of it,” she said.

“I understand.” She turned to the tall reach of filter glass, stared out to the southwest where the sun of Arrakis was sinking—a yellowed ball above the cliffs.

Paul turned with her, said: “I don’t think it’s Hawat, either. Is it possible it’s Yueh?”

“He’s not a lieutenant or companion,”she said. “And I can assure you he hates the Harkonnens as bitterly as we do.” Paul directed his attention to the cliffs, thinking: And it couldn’t be Gurney… or Duncan. Could it be one of the sub-lieutenants? Impossible. They’re all from families that’ve been loyal to us for generations—for good reason.

Jessica rubbed her forehead, sensing her own fatigue. So much peril here! She looked out at the filter-yellowed landscape, studying it. Beyond the ducal grounds stretched a high-fenced storage yard—lines of spice silos in it with stiltlegged watchtowers standing around it like so many startled spiders. She could see at least twenty storage yards of silos reaching out to the cliffs of the Shield Wall—silos repeated, stuttering across the basin.

Slowly, the filtered sun buried itself beneath the horizon. Stars leaped out.

She saw one bright star so low on the horizon that it twinkled with a clear, precise rhythm—a trembling of light: blink-blink-blink-blink-blink … Paul stirred beside her in the dusky room.

But Jessica concentrated on that single bright star, realizing that it was too low, that it must come from the Shield Wall cliffs.

Someone signalling! She tried to read the message, but it was in no code she had ever learned.

Other lights had come on down on the plain beneath the cliffs: little yellows spaced out against blue darkness. And one light off to their left grew brighter, began to wink back at the cliff—very fast: blinksquirt, glimmer, blink! And it was gone.

The false star in the cliff winked out immediately.

Signals … and they filled her with premonition.

Why were lights used to signal across the basin? she asked herself. Why couldn’t they use the communications network? The answer was obvious: the communinet was certain to be tapped now by agents of the Duke Leto. Light signals could only mean that messages were being sent between his enemies—between Harkonnen agents.

There came a tapping at the door behind them and the voice of Hawat’s man: “All clear, sir .

m‘Lady. Time to be getting the young master to his father.”

CHAPTER 4

Dr. Wellington Yueh, a name black in treachery but bright in knowledge; the Lady Jessica, who guided her son in the Bene Gesserit Way, and—of course—the Duke Leto, whose qualities as a father have long been overlooked.

—from“A Child’s History of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan

THUFIR HAWAT slipped into the training room of Castle Caladan, closed the door softly. He stood there a moment, feeling old and tired and stormleathered. His left leg ached where it had been slashed once in the service of the Old Duke.

Three generations of them now, he thought.

He stared across the big room bright with the light of noon pouring through the skylights, saw the boy seated with back to the door, intent on papers and charts spread across an ell table.

How many times must I tell that lad never to settle himself with his back to a door? Hawat cleared his throat.

Paul remained bent over his studies.

A cloud shadow passed over the skylights. Again, Hawat cleared his throat.

Paul straightened, spoke without turning: “I know. I’m sitting with my back to a door.” Hawat suppressed a smile, strode across the room.

Paul looked up at the grizzled old man who stopped at a corner of the table.

Hawat’s eyes were two pools of alertness in a dark and deeply seamed face.

“I heard you coming down the hall,” Paul said. “And I heard you open the door.”

“The sounds I make could be imitated.”

“I’d know the difference.” He might at that, Hawat thought. That witch-mother of his is giving him the deep training, certainly. I wonder what her precious school thinks of that? Maybe that’s why they sent the old Proctor here—towhip our dear Lady Jessica into line.

Hawat pulled up a chair across from Paul, sat down facing the door. He did it pointedly, leaned back and studied the room. It struck him as an odd place suddenly, a stranger-place with most of its hardware already gone off to Arrakis.

A training table remained, and a fencing mirror with its crystal prisms quiescent, the target dummy beside it patched and padded, looking like an ancient foot soldier maimed and battered in the wars.

There stand I, Hawat thought.

“Thufir, what’re you thinking?” Paul asked.

Hawat looked at the boy. “I was thinking we’ll all be out of here soon and likely never see the place again.”

“Does that make you sad?”

“Sad? Nonsense! Parting with friends is a sadness. A place is only a place.” He glanced at the charts on the table. “And Arrakis is just another place.”

“Did my father send you up to test me?” Hawat scowled—the boy had such observing ways about him. He nodded.

“You’re thinking it’d have been nicer if he’d come up himself, but you must know how busy he is. He’ll be along later.”

“I’ve been studying about the storms on Arrakis.”

“The storms. I see.”

“They sound pretty bad.”

“That’s too cautious a word: bad. Those storms build up across six or seven thousand kilometers of flatlands, feed on anything that can give them a push— coriolis force, other storms, anything that has an ounce of energy in it. They can blow up to seven hundred kilometers an hour, loaded with everything loose that’s in their way—sand, dust, everything. They can eat flesh off bones and etch the bones to slivers.”

“Why don’t they have weather control?”

“Arrakis has special problems, costs are higher, and there’d be maintenance and the like. The Guild wants a dreadful high price for satellite control and your father’s House isn’t one of the big rich ones, lad. You know that.”

“Have you ever seen the Fremen?” The lad’s mind is darting all over today, Hawat thought.

“Like as not I have seen them,” he said. “There’s little to tell them from the folk of the graben and sink. They all wear those great flowing robes. And they stink to heaven in any closed space. It’s from those suits they wear—call them ‘stulsuits’—that reclaim the body’s own water.” Paul swallowed, suddenly aware of the moisture in his mouth, remembering a dream of thirst. That people could want so for water they had to recycle their body moisture struck him with a feeling of desolation. “Water’s precious there,” he said.

Hawat nodded, thinking: Perhaps I’m doing it, getting across to him the importance of this planet as an enemy. It’s madness to go in there without that caution in our minds.

Paul looked up at the skylight, aware that it had begun to rain. He saw the spreading wetness on the gray meta-glass. “Water,” he said.

“You’ll learn a great concern for water,” Hawat said. “As the Duke’s son you’ll never want for it, but you’ll see the pressures of thirst all around you.” Paul wet his lips with his tongue, thinking back to the day a week ago and the ordeal with the Reverend Mother. She, too, had said something about water starvation.

“You’ll learn about the funeral plains,” she’d said, “about the wilderness that is empty, the wasteland where nothing lives except the spice and the sandworms.

You’ll stain your eyepits to reduce the sun glare. Shelter will mean a hollow out of the wind and hidden from view. You’ll ride upon your own two feet without ‘thopter or groundcar or mount.” And Paul had been caught more by her tone—singsong and wavering—than by her words.

“When you live upon Arrakis,” she had said, “khala, the land is empty. The moons will be your friends, the sun your enemy.” Paul had sensed his mother come up beside him away from her post guarding the door. She had looked at the Reverend Mother and asked: “Do you see no hope, Your Reverence?”

“Not for the father.” And the old woman had waved Jessica to silence, looked down at Paul. “Grave this on your memory, lad: A world is supported by four things….” She held up four big-knuckled fingers. “… the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the righteous and the valor of the brave. But all of these are as nothing….” She closed her fingers into a fist. “… without a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Make that the science of your tradition!” A week had passed since that day with the Reverend Mother. Her words were only now beginning to come into full register. Now, sitting in the training room with Thufir Hawat, Paul felt a sharp pang of fear. He looked across at the Mentat’s puzzled frown.

“Where were you woolgathering that time?” Hawat asked.

“Did you meet the Reverend Mother?”

“That Truthsayer witch from the Imperium?” Hawat’s eyes quickened with interest. “I met her.”

“She….” Paul hesitated, found that he couldn’t tell Hawat about the ordeal.

The inhibitions went deep.

“Yes? What did she?” Paul took two deep breaths. “She said a thing.” He closed his eyes, calling up the words, and when he spoke his voice unconsciously took on some of the old woman’s tone: “ ‘You, Paul Atreides, descendant of kings, son of a Duke, you must learn to rule. It’s something none of your ancestors learned.’ ” Paul opened his eyes, said: “That made me angry and I said my father rules an entire planet.

And she said, ‘He’s losing it.’ And I said my father was getting a richer planet.

And she said. ‘He’ll lose that one, too.’ And I wanted to run and warn my father, but she said he’d already been warned—by you, by Mother, by many people.”

“True enough,” Hawat muttered.

“Then why’re we going?” Paul demanded.

“Because the Emperor ordered it. And because there’s hope in spite of what that witch-spy said. What else spouted from this ancient fountain of wisdom?” Paul looked down at his right hand clenched into a fist beneath the table.

Slowly, he willed the muscles to relax. She put some kind of hold on me, he thought. How? “She asked me to tell her what it is to rule,” Paul said. “And I said that one commands. And she said I had some unlearning to do.” She hit a mark there right enough, Hawat thought. He nodded for Paul to continue.

“She said a ruler must learn to persuade and not to compel. She said he must lay the best coffee hearth to attract the finest men.”

“How’d she figure your father attracted men like Duncan and Gurney?” Hawat asked.

Paul shrugged. “Then she said a good ruler has to learn his world’s language, that it’s different for every world. And I thought she meant they didn’t speak Galach on Arrakis, but she said that wasn’t it at all. She said she meant the language of the rocks and growing things, the language you don’t hear just with your ears. And I said that’s what Dr. Yueh calls the Mystery of Life.” Hawat chuckled. “How’d that sit with her?” “I think she got mad. She said the mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience. So I quoted the First Law of Mentat at her: ‘A process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join it and flow with it.’ That seemed to satisfy her.” He seems to be getting over it, Hawat thought, but that old witch frightened him. Why did she do it? “Thufir,” Paul said, “will Arrakis be as bad as she said?”

“Nothing could be that bad,” Hawat said and forced a smile. “Take those Fremen, for example, the renegade people of the desert. By first-approximation analysis, I can tell you there’re many, many more of them than the Imperium suspects. People live there, lad: a great many people, and….” Hawat put a sinewy finger beside his eye. “… they hate Harkonnens with a bloody passion.

You must not breathe a word of this, lad. I tell you only as your father’s helper.”

“My father has told me of Salusa Secundus,” Paul said. “Do you know, Thufir, it sounds much like Arrakis … perhaps not quite as bad, but much like it.”

“We do not really know of Salusa Secundus today,” Hawat said. “Only what it was like long ago … mostly. But what is known—you’re right on that score.”

“Will the Fremen help us?”

“It’s a possibility.” Hawat stood up. “I leave today for Arrakis. Meanwhile, you take care of yourself for an old man who’s fond of you, heh? Come around here like the good lad and sit facing the door. It’s not that I think there’s any danger in the castle; it’s just a habit I want you to form.” Paul got to his feet, moved around the table. “You’re going today?”

“Today it is, and you’ll be following tomorrow. Next time we meet it’ll be on the soil of your new world.” He gripped Paul’s right arm at the bicep. “Keep your knife arm free, heh? And your shield at full charge.” He released the arm, patted Paul’s shoulder, whirled and strode quickly to the door.

“Thufir!” Paul called.

Hawat turned, standing in the open doorway.

“Don’t sit with your back to any doors,” Paul said.

A grin spread across the seamed old face. “That I won’t, lad. Depend on it.” And he was gone, shutting the door softly behind.

Paul sat down where Hawat had been, straightened the papers. One more day here, he thought. He looked around the room. We’re leaving. The idea of departure was suddenly more real to him than it had ever been before. He recalled another thing the old woman had said about a world being the sum of many things—the people, the dirt, the growing things, the moons, the tides, the suns—the unknown sum called nature, a vague summation without any sense of the now. And he wondered: What is the now? The door across from Paul banged open and an ugly lump of a man lurched through it preceded by a handful of weapons.

“Well, Gurney Halleck,” Paul called, “are you the new weapons master?” Halleck kicked the door shut with one heel. “You’d rather I came to play games, I know,” he said. He glanced around the room, noting that Hawat’s men already had been over it, checking, making it safe for a duke’s heir. The subtle code signs were all around.

Paul watched the rolling, ugly man set himself back in motion, veer toward the training table with the load of weapons, saw the nine-string baliset slung over Gurney’s shoulder with the multipick woven through the strings near the head of the fingerboard.

Halleck dropped the weapons on the exercise table, lined them up—the rapiers, the bodkins, the kindjals, the slow-pellet stunners, the shield belts. The inkvine scar along his jawline writhed as he turned, casting a smile across the room.

“So you don’t even have a good morning for me, you young imp,” Halleck said. “And what barb did you sink in old Hawat? He passed me in the hall like a man running to his enemy’s funeral.” Paul grinned. Of all his father’s men, he liked Gurney Halleck best, knew the man’s moods and deviltry, his humors, and thought of him more as a friend than as a hired sword.

Halleck swung the baliset off his shoulder, began tuning it. “If y’ won’t talk, y’ won’t,” he said.

Paul stood, advanced across the room, calling out: “Well, Gurney, do we come prepared for music when it’s fighting time?”

“So it’s sass for our elders today,” Halleck said. He tried a chord on the instrument, nodded.

“Where’s Duncan Idaho?” Paul asked. “Isn’t he supposed to be teaching me weaponry?”

“Duncan’s gone to lead the second wave onto Arrakis,” Halleck said. “All you have left is poor Gurney who’s fresh out of fight and spoiling for music.” He struck another chord, listened to it, smiled.

“And it was decided in council that you being such a poor fighter we’d best teach you the music trade so’s you won’t waste your life entire.”

“Maybe you’d better sing me a lay then,” Paul said. “I want to be sure how not to do it.”

“Ah-h-h, hah!” Gurney laughed, and he swung into “Galacian Girls,” his multipick a blur over the strings as he sang: “Oh-h-h, the Galacian girls Will do it for pearls, And the Arrakeen for water! But if you desire dames Like consuming flames, Try a Caladanin daughter!”

“Not bad for such a poor hand with the pick,” Paul said, “but if my mother heard you singing a bawdy like that in the castle, she’d have your ears on the outer wall for decoration.” Gurney pulled at his left ear. “Poor decoration, too, they having been bruised so much listening at keyholes while a young lad I know practiced some strange ditties on his baliset.”

“So you’ve forgotten what it’s like to find sand in your bed,” Paul said. He pulled a shield belt from the table, buckled it fast around his waist. “Then, let’s fight!” Halleck’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “So! It was your wicked hand did that deed! Guard yourself today, young master—guard yourself.” He grabbed up a rapier, laced the air with it. “I’m a hellfiend out for revenge!” Paul lifted the companion rapier, bent it in his hands, stood in the aguile, one foot forward. He let his manner go solemn in a comic imitation of Dr. Yueh.

“What a dolt my father sends me for weaponry,” Paul intoned. “This doltish Gurney Halleck has forgotten the first lesson for a fighting man armed and shielded.” Paul snapped the force button at his waist, felt the crinkled-skin tingling of the defensive field at his forehead and down his back, heard external sounds take on characteristic shield-filtered flatness. “In shield fighting, one moves fast on defense, slow on attack,” Paul said. “Attack has the sole purpose of tricking the opponent into a misstep, setting him up for the attack sinister. The shield turns the fast blow, admits the slow kindjal!” Paul snapped up the rapier, feinted fast and whipped it back for a slow thrust timed to enter a shield’s mindless defenses.

Halleck watched the action, turned at the last minute to let the blunted blade pass his chest. “Speed, excellent,” he said. “But you were wide open for an underhanded counter with a slip-tip.” Paul stepped back, chagrined.

“I should whap your backside for such carelessness,” Halleck said. He lifted a naked kindjal from the table and held it up. “This in the hand of an enemy can let out your life’s blood! You’re an apt pupil, none better, but I’ve warned you that not even in play do you let a man inside your guard with death in his hand.” “I guess I’m not in the mood for it today,” Paul said.

“Mood?” Halleck’s voice betrayed his outrage even through the shield’s filtering. “What has mood to do with it? You fight when the necessity arises—no matter the mood! Mood’s a thing for cattle or making love or playing the baliset.

It’s not for fighting.”

“I’m sorry, Gurney.”

“You’re not sorry enough!” Halleck activated his own shield, crouched with kindjal outthrust in left hand, the rapier poised high in his right. “Now I say guard yourself for true!” He leaped high to one side, then forward, pressing a furious attack.

Paul fell back, parrying. He felt the field crackling as shield edges touched and repelled each other, sensed the electric tingling of the contact along his skin.

What’s gotten into Gurney? he asked himself. He’s not faking this! Paul moved his left hand, dropped his bodkin into his palm from its wrist sheath.

“You see a need for an extra blade, eh?” Halleck grunted.

Is this betrayal? Paul wondered. Surely not Gurney! Around the room they fought—thrust and parry, feint and counter-feint. The air within their shield bubbles grew stale from the demands on it that the slow interchange along barrier edges could not replenish. With each new shield contact, the smell of ozone grew stronger.

Paul continued to back, but now he directed his retreat toward the exercise table. If I can turn him beside the table, I’ll show him a trick, Paul thought. One more step, Gurney.

Halleck took the step.

Paul directed a parry downward, turned, saw Halleck’s rapier catch against the table’s edge. Paul flung himself aside, thrust high with rapier and came in across Halleck’s neckline with the bodkin. He stopped the blade an inch from the jugular.

“Is this what you seek?” Paul whispered.

“Look down, lad,” Gurney panted.

Paul obeyed, saw Halleck’s kindjal thrust under the table’s edge, the tip almost touching Paul’s groin.

“We’d have joined each other in death,” Halleck said. “But I’ll admit you fought some better when pressed to it. You seemed to get the mood.” And he grinned wolfishly, the inkvine scar rippling along his jaw.

“The way you came at me,” Paul said. “Would you really have drawn my blood?” Halleck withdrew the kindjal, straightened. “If you’d fought one whit beneath your abilities, I’d have scratched you a good one, a scar you’d remember. I’ll not have my favorite pupil fall to the first Harkonnen tramp who happens along.” Paul deactivated his shield, leaned on the table to catch his breath. “I deserved that, Gurney. But it would’ve angered my father if you’d hurt me. I’ll not have you punished for my failing.”

“As to that,” Halleck said, “it was my failing, too. And you needn’t worry about a training scar or two. You’re lucky you have so few. As to your father— the Duke’d punish me only if I failed to make a first-class fighting man out of you. And I’d have been failing there if I hadn’t explained the fallacy in this mood thing you’ve suddenly developed.” Paul straightened, slipped his bodkin back into its wrist sheath.

“It’s not exactly play we do here,” Halleck said.

Paul nodded. He felt a sense of wonder at the uncharacteristic seriousness in Halleck’s manner, the sobering intensity. He looked at the beet-colored inkvine scar on the man’s jaw, remembering the story of how it had been put there by Beast Rabban in a Harkonnen slave pit on Giedi Prime. And Paul felt a sudden shame that he had doubted Halleck even for an instant. It occurred to Paul, then, that the making of Halleck’s scar had been accompanied by pain—a pain as intense, perhaps, as that inflicted by a Reverend Mother. He thrust this thought aside; it chilled their world.

“I guess I did hope for some play today,” Paul said. “Things are so serious around here lately.” Halleck turned away to hide his emotions. Something burned in his eyes.

There was pain in him—like a blister, all that was left of some lost yesterday that Time had pruned off him.

How soon this child must assume his manhood, Halleck thought. How soon he must read that form within his mind, that contract of brutal caution, to enter the necessary fact on the necessary line: “Please list your next of kin. ” Halleck spoke without turning: “I sensed the play in you, lad, and I’d like nothing better than to join in it. But this no longer can be play. Tomorrow we go to Arrakis. Arrakis is real. The Harkonnens are real.” Paul touched his forehead with his rapier blade held vertical.

Halleck turned, saw the salute and acknowledged it with a nod. He gestured to the practice dummy. “Now, we’ll work on your timing. Let me see you catch that thing sinister. I’ll control it from over here where I can have a full view of the action. And I warn you I’ll be trying new counters today. There’s a warning you’d not get from a real enemy.” Paul stretched up on his toes to relieve his muscles. He felt solemn with the sudden realization that his life had become filled with swift changes. He crossed to the dummy, slapped the switch on its chest with his rapier tip and felt the defensive field forcing his blade away.

“En garde!” Halleck called, and the dummy pressed the attack.

Paul activated his shield, parried and countered.

Halleck watched as he manipulated the controls. His mind seemed to be in two parts: one alert to the needs of the training fight, and the other wandering in fly-buzz.

I’m the well-trained fruit tree, he thought. Full of well-trained feelings and abilities and all of them grafted onto me-all bearing for someone else to pick.

For some reason, he recalled his younger sister, her elfin face so clear in his mind. But she was dead now—in a pleasure house for Harkonnen troops. She had loved pansies … or was it daisies? He couldn’t remember. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember.

Paul countered a slow swing of the dummy, brought up his left hand entretisser.

The clever little devil! Halleck thought, intent now on Paul’s interweaving hand motions. He’s been practicing and studying on his own. That’s not Duncan style, and it’s certainly nothing I’ve taught him.

This thought only added to Halleck’s sadness. I’m infected by mood, he thought. And he began to wonder about Paul, if the boy ever listened fearfully to his pillow throbbing in the night.

“If wishes were fishes we’d all cast nets,” he murmured.

It was his mother’s expression and he always used it when he felt the blackness of tomorrow on him. Then he thought what an odd expression that was to be taking to a planet that had never known seas or fishes.

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。