"Christopher Hinz - Paratwa 03 - The Paratwa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hinz Christopher)

Clubs and taverns everywhere were jammed; touring dramusicals were opening to record runs. For the
astute business personтАФfor the citizen capable of ignoring the threat of future decimationтАФit was a time
of great profit potential. In the field of public diversions, new fortunes were being made every day.

The lion realized that the majority of the Irryan populace

did not truly believe that the state of the weather was an important issue. But many of the billion-plus
colonists seemed unable to deal directly with the return of the Paratwa. The reality of it filled them with
inexpressible dread, and arguing about the weather served as a catharsis for those hidden feelings. The
lion only could hope that if and when a day of true crisis was upon them, people would maintain sight of
the pertinent issues.
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And if that day ever did come, the lion hoped it would be under sunny skies.

He found himself chuckling heartily, amused by his own contradictions. So much for his sharp analysis of
the weather debate.

A Costeau guard, with thruster rifle slung over his shoulder, emerged from the house, searching for his
leader. The young guard glanced around suspiciously, obviously scanning the surrounding forests for
some indication of what was causing the lion of Alexander, Chief of the United Clans, acknowledged
head of the entire Costeau population, to laugh aloud. When the guard realized that they were alone, he
cleared his throat.

"Sir, I have Doyle Blumhaven for you."

The lion felt the last remnant of joy slip from his face. Doyle Blumhaven was one of the few people
capable of doing that to him.

He sighed, "Bring a monitor outside. I'll speak to our esteemed Councillor right here." And never mind
the weather.

The guard shook his head. "No, sir, he's not on screen. He's here, at the retreat."

Doyle Blumhaven? Here in the flesh? E-Tech's Director rarely left his offices in the main governmental
district, some thirty miles to the south. And as far as the lion knew, Blumhaven had never before been to
the clan of Alexander's private pre-<тАФ serve. Although they were both Councillors of Irrya, the lion
could not imagine what had motivated Blumhaven to enter the unofficial heartland of the Costeaus.

He nodded to the guard and then made his way around the stone path that encircled the large A-frame.
Near the front of the house sat Doyle Blumhaven, at one of the lawntables, on a slightly elevated ridge of
groomed albino grass. He wore a conservative blue suit, expertly cut to deemphasize his heavy frame. A
servant had already brought a tray of refreshments and Blumhaven was munching contentedly on pita
bread stuffed with mashed flounder.

At the sight of the lion, a tight smile crept across the Councillor's pudgy face. "Terrible weather, isn't it?"