"George R. R. Martin - The Glass Flower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

the black of ignorance. And this only in one small galaxy, whose uttermost reaches we shall never know,
should we endure a billion years. Ultimately, the sheer size of things will defeat us, however we may strive
or scream; that truth I am sure of.

But I do not defeat easily. That is my pride, my last and only pride; it is not much to face the darkness
with, but it is something. When the end comes, I will meet it raging.

The White was like me in that. It was a frog from a pond beyond ours, a place lost in the grey where our
little lights have not yet shone on the dark waters. Whatever sort of creature it might have been, whatever
burdens of history and evolution it carried in its genes, it was nonetheless my kin. Both of us were angry
mayflies, moving restlessly from star to star because we, alone among our fellows, knew how short our
day. Both of us found a destiny of sorts in these swamps of Croan'dhenni.

The White came utterly alone to this place, set down its little starship (I have seen the remains: a toy, that
ship, a trinket, but with lines that are utterly alien to me, and deliciously chilling), and, exploring, found
something.

Something older than itself, and stranger.

The Artifact.

Whatever strange instruments it had, whatever secret alien knowledge it possessed, whatever instinct bid
it enter; all lost now, and none of it matters. The White knew, knew something the native sentients had
never guessed, knew the purpose of the Artifact, knew how it might be activated. For the first time
in├втВмтАЭa thousand years? A million? For the first time in a long while, the game of mind was played. And
The White changed, emerged from the Artifact as something else, as the first. The first mindlord. The first
master of life and death. The first painlord. The first lifelord. The titles are born, worn, discarded,
forgotten, and none of them matter.

Whatever I am, The White was the first.
****
Had the cyborg asked to meet my Apostles, I would not have disappointed him. I gathered them when
he left me. ├втВм┼УThe new player,├втВмтАв I told them, ├втВм┼Уcalls himself Kleronomas. I want to know who he
is, what he is, and what he hopes to gain. Find out for me."

I could feel their greed and fear. The Apostles are a useful tool, but loyalty is not for them. I have
gathered to me twelve Judas Iscariots, each of them hungry for that kiss.

"I'll have a full scan worked up,├втВмтАв suggested Doctor Lyman, pale weak eyes considering me, flatterer's
smile trembling.

"Will he consent to an interface?├втВмтАв asked Deish Green-9, my own cyberjack. His right hand,
sunburned red-black flesh, was balled into a fist; his left was a silver ball that cracked open to exude a
nest of writhing metallic tendrils. Beneath his heavy beetling brow, where he should have had eyes, a
seamless strip of mirrorglass was set into his skull. He had chromed his teeth. His smile was very bright.

"We'll find out,├втВмтАв I said.

Sebastian Gayle floated in his tank, a twisted embryo with a massive monstrous head, flippers moving
vaguely, huge blind eyes regarding me through turgid greenish fluids as bubbles rose all around his pale