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- Стр. 139/972
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but
what
else
is
one
to
expect
of
barbarians
whose
dearest
dream
is
to
live
outside
the
ordered
security
of
the
faufreluches
?
”
The
Duke
felt
in
this
moment
that
his
own
dearest
dream
was
to
end
all
class
distinctions
and
never
again
think
of
deadly
order
.
He
looked
up
and
out
of
the
dust
at
the
unwinking
stars
,
thought
:
Around
one
of
those
little
lights
circles
Caladan
.
.
.
but
I
’
ll
never
again
see
my
home
.
The
longing
for
Caladan
was
a
sudden
pain
in
his
breast
.
He
felt
that
it
did
not
come
from
within
himself
,
but
that
it
reached
out
to
him
from
Caladan
.
He
could
not
bring
himself
to
call
this
dry
wasteland
of
Arrakis
his
home
,
and
he
doubted
he
ever
would
.
I
must
mask
my
feelings
,
he
thought
.
For
the
boy
’
s
sake
.
If
ever
he
’
s
to
have
a
home
,
this
must
be
it
.
I
may
think
of
Arrakis
as
a
hell
I
’
ve
reached
before
death
,
but
he
must
find
here
that
which
will
inspire
him
.
There
must
be
something
.
A
wave
of
self
-
pity
,
immediately
despised
and
rejected
,
swept
through
him
,
and
for
some
reason
he
found
himself
recalling
two
lines
from
a
poem
Gurney
Halleck
often
repeated
—
“
My
lungs
taste
the
air
of
Time
Blown
past
falling
sands
.
.
.
.
”
Well
,
Gurney
would
find
plenty
of
falling
sands
here
,
the
Duke
thought
.
The
central
wastelands
beyond
those
moon
-
frosted
cliffs
were
desert
—
barren
rock
,
dunes
,
and
blowing
dust
,
an
uncharted
dry
wilderness
with
here
and
there
along
its
rim
and
perhaps
scattered
through
it
,
knots
of
Fremen
.
If
anything
could
buy
a
future
for
the
Atreides
line
,
the
Fremen
just
might
do
it
.
Provided
the
Harkonnens
hadn
’
t
managed
to
infect
even
the
Fremen
with
their
poisonous
schemes
.
They
have
tried
to
take
the
life
of
my
son
!
A
scraping
metal
racket
vibrated
through
the
tower
,
shook
the
parapet
beneath
his
arms
.
Blast
shutters
dropped
in
front
of
him
,
blocking
the
view
.
