"C M Kornbluth & Judith Merril - Gunner Cade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

Gunner Cade
C.M. Kornbluth & Judith
Merril



CHAPTER 1

Far below the sleeping loft, in ancient cellars of reinforced concrete, a relay closed in perfect silent
automaton adjustment; up through the Chapter House, the tiny noises multiplied and increased. The soft
whir of machinery in the walls; the gurgle of condensing fluid in conditioners; the thumping of cookers,
where giant ladles stirred the breakfast mash; the beat of pistons pumping water to the top.

Gunner Cade, consecrate Brother in the Order of Armsmen, compliant student of the Klin Philosophy,
and loyal citizen of the Realm of Man, stirred in his sleepbag on the scrubbed plastic floor. He half-heard
the rising sounds of the machinery of the House, and recognized the almost imperceptible change in the
rhythm of the air blowers. Not quite awake, he listened for the final sound of morning, the scraping noise
of the bars at windows and gates, as they drew back reluctantly into the stone walls.

It is fitting that the Emperor rules.

It is fitting that the Armsmen serve the Emperor through the Power Master and our particular Stars.

While this is so, all will be well, to the end of time.

The words came to his mind without effort, before he opened his eyes. He had not fumbled for them
since his sixth year, when, between his parents and himself, it had been somehow settled that he would
become a Brother of the Order. For at least the six thousandth time, his day began with the conscious
affirmation of Klin.

The bars grated in their grooves, and at the instant, the first light struck through the slits of windows
overhead. Cade shivered inside the scanty insulation of his bag and came fully awake, at once aware of
the meaning of the chill. This was a Battle Morn.

The air blew steadily stronger and colder from the conditioners, tingling against his skin as Cade slipped
from his sleepbag and folded it, deflated, into the precise small package that would fit the pocket of his
cloak. Timing each action by the habits of thirteen years, he unbuckled his gunbelt, removed the gun, and
closed away the belt and sleepbag in the locker that held his neatly folded uniform. It was by now
reflexive action to open the gun and check the charge, then close the waterproof seal.

BattleMorn! With mounting elation, Cade performed each meticulous detail of the morning routine, his
body operating like the smooth machine it was, while his mind woke gradually to the new day. He
thought vaguely of commoners lolling late in bed, mumbling a morning thought of the Emperor, and
breaking their fast at a grossly laden table. He thought vaguely of Klin teachers waking with subtle and
elaborate propositions that proved what any Gunner feels in his bones. He thought vaguely of his own
Star of France, doubtless haggard this morning after a night vigil of meditation on the fitting course.

He thought, too, of the Emperor—the Given Healer, the Given Teacher, the Given Ruler—but, like a
gun’s blast came the thought: That is not fitting.