"W. Michael Gear - Spider 2 - Way Of Spider" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gear W Michael)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The production of this manuscript in its present form would have been
impossible without the vital input of a handful of key people. I owe a great
deal to my cherished wife, Kathy, who spent countless hours reading,
commenting and correcting. You wouldn't be reading this were it not for her.
Sharon Jarvis, my agent at the time, did a wonderful job working with DAW. My
ex-editor mother, Katherine P. Cook, provided her years of journalistic
insight and keen judgment. And finally, editors remain the overworked, unsung
heroes of the publishing business. With pleasure, therefore, I would like to
acknowledge Sheila Gilbert, of DAW Books, for the incredibly perceptive
comments and salient suggestions she provided. The book is stronger as a
result.
Thank you all.
CHAPTER 1.Spider would decide the fate of a planet.
Men and women peered upward into the flickering darkness, anxious, mouths
working silently as jagged fingers of actinic death ripped the soundless
heavens above. Evil strobes of violet boiled from one part of the heavens,
searing the cloud cover, rolling across the arch of the night to pulse in
weird lavender.
Star lightning-frightening in its unworldly silence-wove back and forth over
the village as starships flashed death beyond any Romanan's comprehension.
Hushed voices, abstracted and unreal, whispered in awe to either side of Susan
Smith Andojar. She looked around her as another streak of violet illuminated
angular, weatherhardened faces; their strength, spirit, and character betrayed
by the squint of an eye, the set of a hard mouth. Tension-so common to her
violent people-crackled in the air.
Wrinkled, age-battered old men, dark eyes gleaming, peered upward, fighting
their failing vision. Twisted mahogany lips pulled over toothless gums in a
rictus of dread and hope.
Silent, terror-locked women-some young, some oldstood, helpless. Others sat on
gay-colored wool blankets spread over hard-packed dirt, or perched in the beds
of wagons and leaned against pillows made of coats, packs and hides. Here and
there arms cradled an infant who slept soundly, heedless of the searing arcs
of death overhead.
The few warriors glared helplessly upward. Impotent agony glazed their eyes.
At each flash of the star weapons they shifted, shaking rifles futiiely at the
cloud-masked sky, fingering the human-hair coups dangling from their vests and
belts-knowing they missed the greatest opportunity for status and honor to
befall the People since the revolt against the Sobyets so long ago.
Man, woman, and child, they prayed to Spider-prayed the star death would end,
leaving their world alive.
Susan snugged her worn blanket tightly around her shoulders and walked slowly
from the crowd. Even while death glittered in the skies, she existed
separately, alone, mocked by Spider. As so often before, she sought sanctuary
within, away from her dead parents' people. In the deadly dancing lights, she
followed the way she knew by heart. Climbing up on the corral poles, she
leaned against one of the big posts, watching the eerie skies, waiting,
wondering.
The clouds had drifted, scudding rapidly to the east. A painful actinic
brilliance burst across the tortured sky. She pulled the coarse wool blanket