"The Shadow of His Thoughts page 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babylon 5)This is G o o g l e's cache of http://www.glasstattoo.net/TSofHTpage1.htm.
G o o g l e's cache is the snapshot that we took of the page as we crawled the web.
The page may have changed since that time. Click here for the current page without highlighting.
Google is not affiliated with the authors of this page nor responsible for its content. |
|
The Shadow of His Thoughts page1
The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page 1
The dream was the same.
It was always the same.
The chakat lay on the ground before
him, its four
legs bound by ropes, horns scratching the dry ground beneath its head.
The sun was hot overhead.
A voice, always the same voice,
whispered from
behind Londo. You know what you have to do.
What you have always done.
Londo stared at the creature,
and its gaze met
his own. The eyes that looked back at him were fierce, proud,
unbowed. And somehow familiar. In the
dream it said to him, soundlessly and wordlessly but
with absolute clarity.
It is duty. You cannot fight duty.
I can't do it, Londo thought
back, and looked
down. The sword was in his hand.
Yes, you can, it thought
at him, and it struggled
to raise its head, exposing its throat. Waiting for the
death blow.
Sobbing, Londo brought down the
sword, and
watched the life fade away in the creature's eyes.
Tears fresh on his face, Londo awoke to
the
sound of bells. Bells that had tolled for one hour
each morning every day for the last six days. Six
days since he had taken on the role of emperor; six
days since the bombardment of Centauri Prime had
left vast tracts of the capital city devastated and in
flames. All work stopped while the bells tolled, and the
world was momentarily united in silence for those who had
died in a conflict that should never have happened . . . a conflict
that had been secretly engineered by that alien
race known as the Drakh to produce rage and resentment
in his people -- emotions that he would have to nurture into something
darker with the passing of years.
That was, after all, his job. |
The title of emperor was just a cover, also
arranged by the Drakh . . . a means to an end.
But I 'm not supposed to think these
things, he reminded himself as he felt the presence of the Keeper
stirring at the juncture where his shoulder met alien flesh, where
nerves and neural pathways merged so that his will was no longer entirely
his own. He was able to shield
only his most private thoughts; if he subvocalized or
brought his thoughts to the surface, theKeeper could sense the shape
of them, and relay them by telepathic link to the Drakh, working quietly
in the recesses and ancient tunnels beneath the royal palace . . . building
a future for his world whose shape he did not like to consider for too
long. But
at least it was a future, which is more than his people would have
had if he had refused to accept the Keeper.
No one else could see the Keeper
unless it allowed
them to see it, which was usually a prelude to extermination. He, on
the other hand, could see it all the time, but tried desperately not to
let his gaze wander in that direction
more than necessary.
Denial had always been one of
his greatest strengths.
The bells stopped. Had it
really been an hour already? He closed his eyes as he did when he
was a child, against mornings that came too soon, hoping somehow that the
day and his responsibilities would disappear, and he could be free.
It was a fleeting hope and, like all hopes, daily crushed under the weight
of the waking world.
He opened his eyes, the moment passed,
and Emperor
Mollari the Second rose to begin the seventh day of his rule.
Minister Vole was wringing his hands again,
one
over the other in a motion so tight that Londo couldn't tell where
one hand finished and the other began. "I'm sure His Excellency was
informed --"
"If I had been informed, then
I would know. Since
I knew nothing of this until you mentioned it, then either
I was not |
Page 1 2
3 4
5 6
7
Glass Tattoo
This is G o o g l e's cache of http://www.glasstattoo.net/TSofHTpage1.htm.
G o o g l e's cache is the snapshot that we took of the page as we crawled the web.
The page may have changed since that time. Click here for the current page without highlighting.
Google is not affiliated with the authors of this page nor responsible for its content. |
|
The Shadow of His Thoughts page1
The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page 1
The dream was the same.
It was always the same.
The chakat lay on the ground before
him, its four
legs bound by ropes, horns scratching the dry ground beneath its head.
The sun was hot overhead.
A voice, always the same voice,
whispered from
behind Londo. You know what you have to do.
What you have always done.
Londo stared at the creature,
and its gaze met
his own. The eyes that looked back at him were fierce, proud,
unbowed. And somehow familiar. In the
dream it said to him, soundlessly and wordlessly but
with absolute clarity.
It is duty. You cannot fight duty.
I can't do it, Londo thought
back, and looked
down. The sword was in his hand.
Yes, you can, it thought
at him, and it struggled
to raise its head, exposing its throat. Waiting for the
death blow.
Sobbing, Londo brought down the
sword, and
watched the life fade away in the creature's eyes.
Tears fresh on his face, Londo awoke to
the
sound of bells. Bells that had tolled for one hour
each morning every day for the last six days. Six
days since he had taken on the role of emperor; six
days since the bombardment of Centauri Prime had
left vast tracts of the capital city devastated and in
flames. All work stopped while the bells tolled, and the
world was momentarily united in silence for those who had
died in a conflict that should never have happened . . . a conflict
that had been secretly engineered by that alien
race known as the Drakh to produce rage and resentment
in his people -- emotions that he would have to nurture into something
darker with the passing of years.
That was, after all, his job. |
The title of emperor was just a cover, also
arranged by the Drakh . . . a means to an end.
But I 'm not supposed to think these
things, he reminded himself as he felt the presence of the Keeper
stirring at the juncture where his shoulder met alien flesh, where
nerves and neural pathways merged so that his will was no longer entirely
his own. He was able to shield
only his most private thoughts; if he subvocalized or
brought his thoughts to the surface, theKeeper could sense the shape
of them, and relay them by telepathic link to the Drakh, working quietly
in the recesses and ancient tunnels beneath the royal palace . . . building
a future for his world whose shape he did not like to consider for too
long. But
at least it was a future, which is more than his people would have
had if he had refused to accept the Keeper.
No one else could see the Keeper
unless it allowed
them to see it, which was usually a prelude to extermination. He, on
the other hand, could see it all the time, but tried desperately not to
let his gaze wander in that direction
more than necessary.
Denial had always been one of
his greatest strengths.
The bells stopped. Had it
really been an hour already? He closed his eyes as he did when he
was a child, against mornings that came too soon, hoping somehow that the
day and his responsibilities would disappear, and he could be free.
It was a fleeting hope and, like all hopes, daily crushed under the weight
of the waking world.
He opened his eyes, the moment passed,
and Emperor
Mollari the Second rose to begin the seventh day of his rule.
Minister Vole was wringing his hands again,
one
over the other in a motion so tight that Londo couldn't tell where
one hand finished and the other began. "I'm sure His Excellency was
informed --"
"If I had been informed, then
I would know. Since
I knew nothing of this until you mentioned it, then either
I was not |
Page 1 2
3 4
5 6
7
Glass Tattoo
|