"Gordon R. Dickson - Childe Cycle 10 - Other" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

OTHER
Gordon R. Dickson




A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and
de-stroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has re-ceived any payment for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or
incidents is purely coincidental.
OTHER
Copyright © 1994 by Gordon R. Dickson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover art by Royo
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor Books on the World-Wide Web: http://www.tor.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
ISBN: 0-812-51599-4
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 94-12916
First edition: September 1994
First mass market edition: December 1995
Printed in the United States of America 0987654321
This book is dedicated to Marguerite Brodie Dickson
I'm indebted to the following people, for their remarkable helpfulness with this book:
Harry Frank Joe Haldeman Yoji Kondo Dennis Lien Michael Longcor John Miesel Sandra Miesel Dr.
Robert Passovoy Dave Wixon
—GRD

CHAPTER 1
It was not until the small hours of the morning that Henry MacLean had finished the cleaning and reassembly of his
power pistol, that had lain buried deep these twenty years.
It was only then, when he put the energizer coil into the thick handle, that he found his right hand suddenly
white-knuckled on the pistol, the heel of his left hand resting where he had slapped it in—as he would have done with
a fresh reserve coil, in combat as a Soldier of God.
For a moment, it all came back; the sound of weapons, the smell of burning buildings—and the dying Militia sol-dier,
that one time, who had taken a burst of needles in his throat. Who begged him, with gestures, to hold his blood-less
hands together and be his voice, in a final prayer be-fore death.
For a moment he paused, bowed his head and put the edges of his joined hands for a moment against the edge of the
table.
"God," he prayed, "he is like a son. Like Joshua—and
like Will, who is in Thy arms now. I love him equally. Thou knowest why I must do this."
He sat for a moment more, then parted his hands again and raised his head. He had mastered the image and the
long-dead reflex, risen from the grave of memory. They were gone. He put the pistol with its shoulder rig into his
suitcase, with what few other possessions he was taking.
Only a little later, before he left, Henry stopped in the pre-dawn darkness of the kitchen to leave on the kitchen table a
letter to Joshua and Joshua's family. A single sheet of paper on which he told them where he was going, that all that