"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 20 - Web of Sand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

calculated sonic wave which matched the aural emotional
triggers inherent in all who were human. Science wedded to art
and served as entertainment.

The piece ended with a sharp abruptness, the silence
shocking, stunning, then, before the spell could be broken, she
began the second selection.
 Hezekiah had worked on it for half his life and had died still
unsatisfied but few would admit that he had achieved less than
perfection. This time there were words all could follow, each
syllable chosen for semantic and emotive impact, the music
accentuating the message as her own skill modulated it, tone and
key changing, pure melody providing contrast, long ululations
stretching and distorting time. A tapestry of sound and music,
words and tone, cadences weaving as threads, glissades,
apparent cacophonies, the final, triumphant cadenza.

This time she waited for applause, bowing, smiling as
Barrocca hurled down his goblet in order to beat his hands,
Yagnik rising to cry out, a sound born of emotion, torn from his
soul. Chole Khalil joined him, adding to the storm rising from
the table. Even Yunus clapped and his uncle dented a salver with
the impact of a spoon.

Slowly the room regained its calm. Silence came to replace the
din but only when it was complete did she give the signal to the
watchful musicians. With a chord as solemn as a prayer the
Interlude began.

Ecuilton had been a child during the war which had ruined
his planet. He had seen his mother die in a burning house, his
father torn by explosives, his brother crisped by searing pastes.
He had witnessed all the horror and vileness of internecine
combat and, later, the indifference of the victors to what had
happened to the vanquished. To them, as to the others, the thing
had been a mere interlude. To him it was a thing he could never
forget and, old, crippled and dying, he had created a
masterpiece.

Ellain hated it.

She hated what it did to her, the emotions it aroused; the
pain and fury and frustration. The injustice. The horror. The
imagery of burning, screaming children, of shrieking, distraught
women. Of men crawling like half-crushed insects, blind,
groping, entrails trailing like greasy ribbons. Of boots stamping
on pleading, extended hands. Of the bewildered cries of helpless
babies starving as they sucked at the breasts of raped and
murdered mothers. The violation of the soil. The stink, the filth,
the obscenity of war.