Chapter 12 Chapter Eleven

Paul lay down, intoxicated by the strong smell of spices, and entered a state of trance to foresee the future.He looked into his own mind and saw that the moon had become an elongated ball, writhing and twisting, making a hissing sound that was the terrible sound of a planet cooling in an endless sea - and falling... ...falling...falling, like a ball thrown by a child. It's gone. This moon is not dipping below the horizon.He realized it: it was gone, and there was no moon after that.There was an earthquake, and the earth shook like an animal whose skin was violently shaking.Fear gripped him.

Paul jerked up on the mat, his eyes wide open, staring straight ahead.His ego was divided into two parts, the part that looked outward and the part that looked inward.Looking out, he saw the ion grid, the vent for his private bedroom.He knew that he was lying on the edge of a deep stone moat in the palace.And his inward looking gaze continued to watch the moon fall. look out side!look out side! The Ionic Grid was facing the scorching midday sun on the plains of Arakon, but inside of him was the deepest night.A sweet scent from the roof garden entered his consciousness, but no scent of flowers could bring back the falling moon.

Paul turned around, his feet landed on the cold floor, staring at the world beyond the grid.He could see the graceful arc of the footbridge, built of crystal-encrusted gold and platinum, and adorned with glittering jewels from far-off Sedan.Paul knew that as long as he stood up, he would be able to see the petals in the pond full of waterfowl under the bridge, bright red and clean as blood, whirling and floating rapidly, and the spots of bright red on the emerald green water. His eyes took in the beauty, but his mind could not be distracted from the intoxication of spices. The moon dies.Horrible vision.

This vision suggests a loss of personal security.Perhaps what he saw was the destruction of the civilization he had created, destroyed by its own arrogance. A moon...a moon...a falling moon. The currents of the future have been muddied by tarot cards.In order to see the future through the muddy water, he took a large dose of spice essence, but all he could see was a falling moon and the hateful path he knew from the beginning.To end the holy war, to quell the volcanic carnage, he had to destroy his reputation. let go...let go...let go... The smell of the roof garden reminded him of Jani.He longed for her arms, arms of love and forgiveness.But not even Jani could dispel the vision of the moon.What would she say if he told Chani that he foresaw that he would die a certain way?Since death is unavoidable, why not choose a noble way of death, end one's life in the prime of life, and stop wasting time to live on?Would it not be a more honorable choice to end one's life before the strength of the will fails?

He stood up and walked through the gate to the patio outside.There you can see the flowers and vines hanging down in the garden.His lips were parched, as if he'd been on a long walk in the desert. The moon... the moon Where is the moon? He thought of the young woman's body found on the dunes, and Alia's description.A Samuta-addicted Freeman woman!Everything fits that hateful pattern. The universe works in its own way, and there is nothing you can do about it.he thinks.The universe just plays by its principles. On a low table by the patio rail are some shells from the oceans on Mother Earth.He picked up the shells, they were smooth and moist to the touch, trying to remember the distant past.The pearly surface glistens in the moonlight.He looked away from the shell and across the garden to the blazing sky, the rainbow, dusty and dancing in the silver sun.

My Fremen call themselves "children of the moon," he thought. He put down the shells and paced the terrace.Was that eerie moon a sign that he could still get out of this mess?He wrestled with the mystical meaning of the vision, feeling weak and troubled, gripped by the magic of the spice. His eyes turned to the north, looking at the low and crowded government office buildings.The overpass was crowded with people hurrying back and forth.It seemed to him that those people were like a small particle with the background pattern of doorways, walls, and tiles.With the blink of an eye, the person becomes one with the bricks and tiles and becomes a part of the bricks and tiles!

A moon fell and disappeared. A feeling seized him: the city was a strange symbol of his universe.The buildings he saw were on the plain where his Fremen had wiped out Sadukkah's legion.This piece of land that was once ravaged by war is now crowded with people and has become a bustling business field. Paul walked along the edge of the terrace and around the corner.Suburbs can now be seen in the distance, city buildings replaced by rocks and desert wind.Ahead is the Temple of Alia; its two-kilometre-long side walls are covered with green and black draperies, with the moon symbolizing Muad'di painted on it.

The moon fell. Paul wiped his forehead and eyes.The city and that symbol oppressed him, but he couldn't get rid of it.The thought made him despise himself.If he was so indecisive, if he put it on someone else, he would have lost his temper a long time ago. He hates this city! The anger born of boredom boiled deep inside, fueled even more violently by his unavoidable decision.He knows which way his feet must tread.You've seen it countless times, haven't you?See yourself on this path!Once upon a time, long ago, he saw himself as a political reformer.But his innovations gradually fell into old patterns.Like that amazing invention, matter that has a memory.You can shape it into any shape you want, and then you just wait and see, they will bounce back and become the same as before.There is an inert force in the human heart, which he cannot reach, which defeats him and makes him feel powerless.

Paul stared at the distant rooftops.How many free and cherished lives are hidden under these roofs?There are also green leaves between the red and gold roofs, and plants grown outdoors.Green, the gift of Muaddi and his water.Looking around, there are orchards and shrubs everywhere, which are comparable to the plants of the Lebanese in the legendary desert area of ​​the earth. "Muad'di watered like a madman," said the Fremen. Paul covered his eyes with his hands. The moon fell. He put his hands down and looked at his city with more sober eyes than usual.There is a rage in the building: this is brought about by this terrible empire.One after another, towering under the northern sun, they are huge and bright.Behemoth!Every extravagant building tells a crazy history.One after another, all of them came into his eyes: terraces like mesas, squares, parks, houses as wide as towns, and artificially cultivated pieces of simulated wildness.

Somehow, the most magnificent art can coexist with the worst taste, suddenly grabbing his attention: a wicket from the oldest Baghdad... a cupola born in the legendary Damascus... a passage The arches, from the low-gravity planet Atal...they work harmoniously and seamlessly, creating an unparalleled splendor. a moon!a moon!a moon! A sense of defeat haunted him.In the universe he rules, the cries of human beings are getting louder and louder.It was the consciousness of the masses, and this collective consciousness formed a huge pressure, squeezing him, washing him like a raging tide.He felt the surging currents of human activity: like eddies, like torrents, like the passing of genes.No dam can stop it, no means can restrain this raging tide, no curse can stop its flood.

In this torrent, Muad'di's jihad is but a passing cloud.Like him, the Bee Geist Sisterhood, who made a career out of manipulating human genes, fell into this torrent and couldn't get out.The phantasy of the falling moon should be put on another background for comment, in the big universe.There, the seemingly eternal stars will gradually dim, flicker, and go out... In such a universe, what's the fuss about the disappearance of a moon? From the deepest part of the fortress-like palace resounded the jingle of a ten-string rebe, and sang a jihadi ballad, singing sadly of a woman who remained in the homeland of Arrakis. Singing intermittently amidst the bustle of the city: He hates this song.Fools indulging in sentimentality!Sing about the corpse on the dunes that Alia had seen. In the shadow of the patio fence, a figure moved.Paul turned sharply. The Necromancer stepped out and walked into the sunlight, its two metallic eyes gleaming. "Is it Duncan Idaho, or the man named Hayter?" said Paul. The undead stopped two steps away from him, "Which one do you want me to be, Your Majesty?" There was a hint of caution in his voice. "Just play your real Sunni games," said Paul bitterly.Always hidden secrets!But can whatever a true Sunni philosopher says or does, change the reality before them in the slightest? "Your Majesty is a little upset." Paul turned and gazed at the distant cliffs of Shield Wall Mountain.The vaults and buttresses, eroded by wind and sand, seemed to mock his city.Nature was joking with him: look what I can build!He could see a crack in the hill in the distance, from which the sand was spilling.He thought: there!Right there, where we fought the Sarduka Legion! "Why is Your Majesty upset?" Necromancer asked. "A vision," Paul whispered. "Aha, I had a lot of hallucinations too when the Trealaxes just woke me up. I was bored, lonely... and didn't really realize I was alone. Didn't realize it then. My hallucinations what Didn't tell me! The Trealax tell me it's a sickness of the flesh, afflicting both men and undead. A sickness, nothing more." Paul turned around and looked into the eyes of the undead.These sunken, steel-hard orbs have no expression.What vision did these eyes see? "Duncan...Duncan..." Paul whispered. "I'm called Hayter." "I saw a moon fall," said Paul. "It was gone, destroyed. I heard a hiss, and the earth shook." "You've taken too much spice this time," said the undead. "Looking for a true Sunni sage, all he finds is a Mentat!" said Paul. "Very well! Then use your logic to analyze my vision, Mentat. Analyze it and reduce it to just a few In a word, the kind engraved on the tombstone." "What about the tombstone?" said the Necromancer. "You have always been avoiding death. You have always been focused on predicting the next moment and refusing to live in the present. Divination! For an emperor, what a wonderful pillar!" Paul stared blankly at the mole on Necromancer's chin that he was very familiar with since he was a child. "You have been living in the future," said the Necromancer, "but have you brought something tangible to this future? Make it a reality?" "If I follow the path of the future I see, I'll survive," Paul murmured, "but why do you think I want to live in that future?" Necromancer shrugged, "You yourself asked me not to be mysterious and mysterious, and asked me to say something real." "But in a universe of events, what is there really that is real?" Paul said. "Is there a final answer? Doesn't every solution create a new round of problems?" "You look too far into the future, so that you have an illusion of immortality." Necromancer said, "In fact, Your Majesty, even your empire has its own time limit and will eventually perish." "Don't bring these insanely true clichés to me," growled Paul. "I've heard too many stories of gods and saviors. Like everyone else, I'm going to perish eventually. It doesn't take any special magic to do that." It is also foreseeable that even the lowest orderly in my kitchen has this ability." He shook his head, "The moon has fallen!" "You haven't let your mind stop to think about how this illusion came about," said the Necromancer. "Is my enemy going to let you destroy me in this way?" Paul asked, "to prevent me from clearing my mind?" "It's a mess, can you sort it out?" Necromancer asked, "We are really Sunnis who say: 'The best way to sort it out is not to sort it out.' To sort out other things when you don't sort it out yourself what?" "I'm haunted by a vision, and you're still talking nonsense!" Paul raged. "What do you know about precognition?" "I have seen prophecies work," said the Necromancer. "I have seen those who ask for their fortunes. They are always afraid of the results." "My falling moon is real," Paul whispered.He took a shaky breath, "It's moving, falling." "People are always afraid of things that are triggered by themselves." Necromancer said, "You are afraid of your own predictive power, afraid of things that come from unknown sources and come to mind. I don't know when they will disappear and where will they go? " "You're soothing me with thorns," growled Paul. An inner light illuminates the face of the necromancer.For a moment, he was the real Duncan Idaho. "I'm doing my best to comfort you," he said. The light flashed across the face of the undead, and Paul couldn't help feeling suspicious.Could it be that the necromancer also felt sorrow, which was repelled by his consciousness?Hait himself also saw the illusion, but suppressed the illusion again? "My moon has a name," Paul whispered. He let the illusion flow from his heart, and his whole body was immersed in this illusion.His whole body screamed, but not a sound came out.He was afraid to speak, lest the sound might reveal his secret.The dreadful future weighed heavily on him, but Chani wasn't part of it.The flesh that had cried out in ecstasy, the ardent eyes that had melted him, the true and utterly captivating voice had disappeared, turned into water, turned into sand. Paul turned around slowly and looked towards the square in front of the Alia Temple.Three clean-shaven pilgrims burst in from the Parade Avenue.Dressed in dirty yellow robes, they walked hurriedly, their heads bowed against the afternoon sand.One of them limped on his left foot and dragged on the ground.Fighting against the sand and dust, they rounded a corner and disappeared. Just as his moon would disappear, so would they.But the illusion is still in front of my eyes.Its implications frightened him, but he had no choice. Flesh will die, he thought, and eternity will take back what was rightfully its own.Our bodies stir these waters only briefly, and we dance intoxicatedly before the love of our lives and ourselves, play with all kinds of strange ideas, and finally bow our heads before time.What can we say about this?I existed, at least right now, I haven't... anyway, I have.