"Baxter, Stephen - Manifold 03 - Origin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baxter Stephen)

than it had any right to be. Its colours were masked by the washed-out blue of
the air of Earth, but still, it had colours, yes, not the Moon's rightful
palette of greys, but smatterings of a deep blue-black, a murky brown that even
had tinges of green, for God's sake - but it was predominantly red, a strong
scorched red like the dead heart of Australia seen from the flight deck of a
Shuttle orbiter...

It was a Moon, but not the Moon. A new Moon. A Red Moon.

He just stared, still pulling the T-38 through its climb. He sensed Emma, behind
him, silent. What was there to say about this, the replacement of a Moon?

That was when he lost control.



Fire:

The people walk across the grass.

The sky is blue. The grass is sparse, yellow. The ground is red under the grass.
Fire's toes are red with the dust. The people are slim black forms scattered on
red-green.

They are called the Running-folk.

The people call to each other.

'Fire? Dig! Fire?'

'Dig, Dig, here! Loud, Loud?'

Loud's voice, from far away. 'Fire, Fire! Dig! Loud!'

The sun is high. There are only people on the grass. The cats sleep when the sun
is high. The hyenas sleep. The Nutcracker-men and the Elf-men sleep in their
trees. Everybody sleeps except the Running-folk. Fire knows this without
thinking.

As his legs walk Fire holds his hands clamped together. Smoke curls up from
between his thumbs. There is moss inside his hands. The fire is in the moss. He
blows on the moss. More smoke comes. The fire hurts his palms and fingers. But
his hands are hard.

His legs walk easily. Walking is for legs. Fire is not there m his legs. Fire is
in his hands and his eyes. He makes his hands tend the fire, while his legs
walk.

Fire is carrying the fire. That is his name. That is what he does.