"Foster, Alan Dean - Flinx 8 - The Howling Stones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

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Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is
coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or destroyed"
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A Del Reyй Book Published by Ballantine Books Copyright O 1997 by Thranx, Inc.

All rights reserved under International and Pan‑American Copyнright Conventions.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House,
Inc., New York, and simultaнneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited,
Toronto.

http://www.randomhouse.com

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97‑92418

ISBN 0‑345‑40645‑1

Printed in Canada

First Hardcover Edition: January 1997
First Mass Market Edition: January 1998

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Chapter One

People tended to overlook Pulickel Tomochelor in a crowd. It was something he'd
grown used to. He'd always been overlooked: in academia, in sports, at social
gatherнings. Only a few unusually perceptive instructors had taken note of his
singular abilities. These he'd paid close attention to, and by cleaving to them,
he had been correнspondingly raised up.
His accomplishments were never spectacular but always solid, satisfying without
standing out. He was, in short, that most valued of all commodities in both
business and government: the reliable employee without a personal agenda.
And yet there was enough there, determination comнpensating for lack of
brilliance, for him to be called upon more than once to deal with problems that
others could not solve. Where they could not succeed, Pulickel Toнmochelor
invariably produced results. From this he took, as was his manner, a quiet
instead of boisterous satisнfaction. Not for him a plethora of medals or awards,
not for him applause during multiple personal appearances or the rapt attention
of the media. A commendation in his official record was recognition enough. Nor
did he disнdain the occasional bonus.
There had been a woman once, too, to offer praise and support. She had moved on,
leaving behind a confusion of memories leavened with vague dissatisfaction.
Doнmesticity was the sole task at which he had failed; the only matter left
inconclusive in his life. It rankled and left him unfulfilled inside. As with
the responsibility, the fault was not entirely his, but it ate at him
nonetheless. He stored it in a far recess of his mind and moved on,
concentrating on his work and his career, which by all acнcounts were far more