"Phyllis Eisenstein - In the Hands Of Glory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eisenstein Phyllis)

Branches scoured the bottom of the craft, and it bucked and twisted like a
living mount. A series of jolts swung it right, left, right again, and then its
nose caught and the great metal bird heaved tail upward in a ponderous
somersault. Shuddering, it came to rest upside down among the broken
trees.
She dangled from her chair, its harness preventing her from felling to
the canopy. Feebly, her fingers scrabbled at the buckles. Her head felt near
bursting, and her lungs struggled against a great weight. The last thing
she saw before consciousness slipped away was MichaelтАЩs skull-face,
staring at her, blood dripping from it in a steady rhythm.




TWO
┬л^┬╗

Once more she stands at attention in the graduation line, one of thirty
shiny-new third lieutenants waiting for the Brigadier to set gold bars
upon their shoulders. Once more she hears the anthem of the Patrol, all
brass and drums, vibrating the ground beneath her boots. She hardly
notices the Brigadier himselfтАФhe is merely a tall shape moving slowly
toward her, pausing at the man on her left, then abruptly blocking her
field of vision. She perceives the tug at each shoulder as the insignia slips
into place, feels the firm grip on her proffered hand; when it is released,
she snaps an automatic salute, and the Brigadier answers briefly before
sliding onwardтАж
Now she sees that face in the crowd once more. A single face in the
front row, vignetted by the gray blur of a hundred other faces. A
dark-haired face with trim mustache, shaggy brows, a high-bridged
nose, eyes black as space. Those eyes have followed her from the moment
she climbed to the dais, from the moment her own gaze made chance
contact with them. Who is he? she wonders againтАФthe face seems
familiar, but her memory has no name to give it. He smiles, and in that
smile she can read a message a questionтАж a promise. She smiles in
return, a mere quirk of the lips, nothing unbecoming a newly minted
officer; and they smile together until the time when the new officers
must turn and march off, eyes front, arms and legs swinging in unison.
 Evening and the celebration: each graduate on the arm of a parent,
women with their fathers, men with their mothers, leading the Grand
Parade. Many are the great names represented here; many the high
ranks and the decorations to match the aspirations of the young.
Resplendent in dress uniform, they strut around the floor like exotic
birds, bedecked with plumes and gold and flashing gems, a circle of
royal blue and white. Dia walks with her father, her fingers light upon
his arm, her eyes searching for a face in the throng.
Then a hand touches her shoulder, and she turns, knowing that he has
been watching her all along.
$Music whirls them away, rushes about them like a riptide, drenches
them. Locked together, they swoop, they sail, they soar, as if they have