"George R. R. Martin - Dying of the Light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

himself still looks down on Worlorn, but his light is very red and growing feeble. So Worlorn lives in slow-declining
sunset. A few more years and the seven suns will shrink to seven stars, and the ice will come again."
The speaker stood very still as he regarded the dawn, his boots slightly apart and his hands on his hips. He was a
tall man, lean and well muscled, bare-chested even in the chill morning. His red-bronze skin was made even redder
by the light of Fat Satan. He had high angular cheekbones, a heavy square jaw, and receding shoulder-length hair as
black as Gwen's. And on his forearms-his dark forearms matted with fine black hair-he wore two bracelets, equally
massive. Jade and silver on his left arm, black iron and red glowstone on his right.
Dirk did not stir from the wing of the manta. The man looked down at him. "You are Dirk t'Larien, and once you
were Gwen's lover."
"And you are Jaan."
"Jaan Vikary, of the Ironjade Gathering," the other said. He stepped forward and raised his hands, palms outward
and empty.
Dirk knew the gesture from somewhere. He stood and pressed his own palms against the Kavalar's. As he did, he
noticed something else. Jaan wore a belt of black oiled metal, and a laser pistol was at his side.
Vikary caught his look and smiled. "All Kavalars go armed. It is a custom-one we value. I hope you are not as
shocked and biased as Gwen's friend, the Kimdissi. If so, that is your failure, not ours. Larteyn is part of High
Kavalaan, and you cannot expect our culture to conform to yours."
Dirk sat down again. "No. I should have expected it, perhaps, from what I heard last night. I do find it strange. Is
there a war on somewhere?"
Vikary smiled very thinly-an even, deliberate baring of teeth. "There is always a war somewhere, t'Larien. Life
itself is a war." He paused. "Your name: t'Larien. Unusual. I have not heard its like before, nor has my teyn Garse.
Where is your homeworld?"
"Baldur. A long way off, on the other side of Old Earth. But I scarcely remember it. My parents came to Avalon
when I was very young."
Vikary nodded. "And you have traveled, Gwen has told me. Which worlds have you seen?"
Dirk shrugged. "Prometheus, Rhiannon. Thisrock, Jamison's World, among others. Avalon, of course. A dozen
altogether, mostly places more primitive than Avalon, where my knowledge is in demand. It's usually easy to find
work if you've been to the Institute, even if you're not especially skilled or talented. Fine with me. I like traveling."
"Yet you have never been beyond the Tempter's Veil until now. Only in the jambles, and never to the outworlds.
You will find things different here, t'Larien."
Dirk frowned. "What was that word you used? Jambles?"
"The jambles," Vikary repeated. "Ah. Wolfman slang. The jambled worlds, the jumbled worlds, what you will. A
phrase that I acquired from several Wolf-men who were among my friends during my studies on Avalon. It refers to
the star sphere between the outworlds and the first- and second-generation colonies near Old Earth. It was the
jambles where the Hrangans saturated the stars and ruled their slaveworlds and fought the Earth Imperials. Most of
the planets you named were known then, and they were touched hard by the ancient war and jumbled by the collapse.
Avalon itself is a second-generation colony, once a sector capital. That is some distinction, do you think, for a world
so very far in these centuries ai-shattered?"
Dirk nodded agreement. "Yes. I know the history, a little. You seem to know a lot of it."
"I am a historian," Vikary said. "Most of my work has been devoted to making history out of the myths of my own
world, High Kavalaan. Ironjade sent me to Avalon at great expense to search the data banks of the old computers for
just that purpose. Yet I spent two years of study there, had much free time, and developed an interest in the broader
history of man."
Dirk said nothing but only looked out again toward the dawn. The red disc of Fat Satan was half risen now, and a
third yellow star could be seen. It was slightly to the north of the others, and it was only a star. "The red star is a
supergiant," Dirk mused, "but up there it seems only a bit larger than Avalon's sun. It must be pretty far away. It
should be colder, the ice should be here now. But it's only chilly."
"That is our doing," Vikary told him with some pride. "Not High Kavalaan, in truth, yet outworld work
nonetheless. Tober preserved much of the lost force-field technology of the Earth Imperials during the collapse, and
the Toberians have added to it in the centuries since then. Without their shield no Festival could ever have been held.