"Julian May - Jack the Bodiless" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

opposite mental climate prevailed, and Denali was an invigorating place with an aether that fairly
glowed with friendliness and verve. The original rationale for establishing the colony had been
the planet's deposits of valuable gallium ore, and this was still a major economic resource. But
Denali had also become a popular vacation resort, first appealing mainly to Human Polity winter-
sports fans (including the famous Remillard clan of New Hampshire) and later attracting hordes of
like-minded Poltroyans as well.
Atoning Unifex let memories crowd to the fore of Its consciousness, recollections that had
been repressed for aeons. This small planet had been loved by both of them . . .
She, of course, had been born here, living and working in the colony's capital city of
Iditarod until a fateful tragedy had taken her to Earth, where the two of them had so improbably
met. On the very brink of their great adventure she had spoken casually of her own experiences as
a native of Denali, and they had laughed together over the unexpected mutual reminiscences. The
shared laughter had come to an end long ago, but the memories remained in a deep level of the
Lylmik's ancient mind, guarded and cherished and eventually becoming almost too precious to



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contemplate. The pain that had once darkened these memories had long since faded, and their
scrutiny at this particular time was now actually appropriate.
And so Atoning Unifex lingered there in the middle of the storm, Its mind in a state that a
human being would have recognized as part reverie and part prayer, thinking of a person who had
once been a woman, who had twice loved deeply, and who had mothered Unity in countless nonhuman
minds in a distant Galaxy.
Finally the Lylmik uttered the mental equivalent of a deep sigh. The epilogue of the comedy
was nearly complete, but One waited upon the inimitable Uncle Rogi, who kicked at the goad as
usual, dawdling while cosmic destiny hung suspended.
Unifex focused Its mind narrowly on the subsurface snow cavern that sheltered Rogatien
Remillard from the raging snowstorm. It saw a hunched, lanky man sitting beside a tiny tent,
taking off his ski boots. Like other members of his famous family, Uncle Rogi possessed the genes
for self-rejuvenation. His face was that of a raddled fifty-year-old, belying his actual age of
167 Earth years. His gaunt cheeks were frost-reddened, and his nose and eyes watered a little when
he forgot to mop them with the red bandanna handkerchief he carried up the cuff of his old L. L.
Bean Penobscot parka. He had tossed aside his knitted toque, and sweaty silver curls straggled
over his forehead and ears. He was whistling as he peeled off the archaic twentieth-century ski
garb and stripped faded red long johns from a pale and sinewy body. Then he lowered himself with
exquisite care into a geothermal pool in the center of the small snow cave. The telepathic
emanations from his ever obstinate and uncoadunate mind were happy ones.
Uncle Rogi said to himself: If the storm lasts, I'll forget about the final leg of my trek
and call the park's shuttlebug and go wallow for a week in the lodge's apres-ski entertainments
casino cabaret string quartets Lucullan food good company perhaps a new science fiction novel
savored in the Wintergarden while the bar waitrons keep the drinks coming and I check out the
snowbunny crop!
The old man settled deeper into the steaming water, smiling.
Poor Uncle Rogi! Unifex had other plans for him. But Rogi had had a good enough holiday, ski-
touring more than 200 kilometers throughout the beautiful park during an unusual three-week spell
of calm bright days. Now the weather pattern had changed, and whether Rogi was willing to admit it
or not, he was adequately refreshed and recreated after his first stint of journalistic labors. It