"May, Julian - Galactic Milieu 3 - Magnificat" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)
And I love you.
Don't be facetious. And don't patronize me!
Never. I love you and I also respect your judgment and your intuition. You're right about Fury being a potential menace to the Milieu, and you're right about it being capable of manipulating humanity to its own ends. You do know the monster better than I do. And the human condition as well.
Don't say that, Jack.
It's true. It's so easy for me to forget what being human is. My knowledge is all academic. What does Jack the Bodiless know about human weakness, human feeling, the emotions that sway the human heart? I try to understand but I don't always succeed. You should know that better than anyone, darling.
Don't be silly.
Did I tell you that Marc thought it was absurd that a--a thing like me should fall in love and want to marry?
He would! If anyone in your family is inhuman, it's Marc, not you.
You'd better hope not, babe. I modeled my wedding tackle on his three-piece set.
Jack, it's not funny. You know as well as I do that human nature is ultimately mental, not physical. You have the mind of a dear, genuine human being. I could never have loved you otherwise. And I do love you.
Diamond...
I want to be with you. I want to put all of these problems aside, just for a little while, and think only about us. It's selfish--
It's not.
[Interval of mutual consolation.]
Jack, what will become of Anne? Will she be transported to Earth?
Paul will arrange it
It seems heartless for us to go ahead with a big wedding.
Nonsense. Anne would be the last one to want to put a damper on the festivities. Now listen to me. I'm coming to Caledonia immediately. In two days we'll fly to Earth in Scurra II--slowly.
Yes. Oh, yes. It would be marvelous to have some quiet time with you. Some learning time.
Some teaching time! I'll be with you before you know it Goodbye, my dearest Diamond, a nighean mo ghaoil.
Goodbye, Jack, a churaidh gun ghьamh!
Intendant Associate Ian Macdonald picked at his poached salmon and champit tatties, his dark brow furrowed in an obstinate scowl. "I still think I should stay home. There's not only Assembly business, but the harvest is on back at the airfarm and Gavin and Hugh have their hands full and call me every other day with this crisis or that. There are equipment problems, and two new flitter pilots who aren't up to snuff, and the wee plants are driftin' far to the north this season, beyond the Goblin Isles."
"I want you to give me away at the wedding, Dad."
Her eyes softened. "You know what I mean. I want you there beside me affirming my marriage. And playing those bloody pipes of yours for the sword dance after."
"Aye, well, there'll be plenty of Remillards about who could do the honors at the altar," he muttered. "That Uncle Rogi you're so fond of. Your Grandad Kyle, for a' that, if you're bound to have a kiltie relation stirrin' up a ruckus."
"It wouldn't be the same and you know it. Kyle can no more play the pipes than Rogi can." The Dirigent lifted a specially prepared container of purщed food, deftly inserted its tube into a hidden orifice behind the chinpiece of her diamond mask, and ate. Her pseudovoice continued to speak as clearly as ever. "I know you're still sulking because Jack and I are getting married on Earth instead of here on Callie. But it wouldn't have been practical having the ceremony here. Not with things still all in a flaughter from the diatreme. Saint Andy's cathedral is a pile of rubble."
"Beinn Bhiorach wasn't touched, as you know very well. We could have had the wedding at Saint Maggie's in Grampian Town, where you were christened, and--"
"--and put up forty or fifty Remillards at the farm? And heaven knows how many Magnates of the Concilium and other distinguished human and exotic guests that Jack will have invited, to say nothing of the odd Macdonald who may have a notion to attend, and a few friends and associates of my own!" She shook her head and her eyes flashed. "Be realistic, Dad. Grampian Town has one fleabag hotel and two pubs with tatty rooms on top."
Ian Macdonald banged his fork down. His massive brow was like thunder. "And perish the thought that the high mucky-muck Remillard Dynasty and their swank friends should have to demean themselves stayin' in low Caledonian dives! Never mind what's right and proper for a father to do for his own lassie's marriage. We'll let the stinkin' rich Remillards pay all the bills and do exactly as they please because they're the First Family of Metapsychology and darlings of the media and fawnin' lapdogs of the fewkin' Lylmik!"
There were murmurs and snickers from people at the tables nearby. The Intendant Assembly dining room was packed with legislators, senior staff members, and lobbyists, and a lot of them undoubtedly shared the Rebellious inclinations of Ian Macdonald.
The Dirigent suppressed her mortification and broadcast vibes of fond tolerance to let the operant diners, at least, know that she was unfazed by her father's tirade. Why did normals love to make scenes? If Ian had been operant, the two of them could have quarreled decently, mind to mind on the intimate telepathic mode...
When his daughter ignored his explosion, Ian Macdonald took a long pull from his glass of McEwan's ale and continued in a much lower tone. "That's not the whole of the matter, either. What about yourself, Dorrie? It's as though the diatreme blew away your good sense, for I swear I don't understand what's come over you since then. A Dirigent of Caledonia dressin' like a carnival queen! Graeme Hamilton must be spinnin' in his grave. And your poor face ... Don't tell me you couldn't have it fixed if you wanted to. By God, your own paramount redaction would do the job without any regen-tank if you bade it! It breaks my heart to see you looking like that, eating invalid's slop, without even a tongue to speak with or lips to kiss--"
"Dad, we had this out before. If you really can't bear the sight of me as I am, I'll let you see me otherwise."
He gasped, for suddenly the diamond mask blurred and seemed to vanish. Her face was as it had been before--heart-shaped and solemn within the gem-studded blue lame hood, with plain features and a mouth with a secretive little smile.
"Anytime you wish, Dad, it'll be my old face you see when you look at me. I've made it so in your mind."
The muscles of Ian's strong jaw worked and he was dismayed to feel his eyes growing moist. "But not your real face."
"No," she said, and he saw the glittering covering rematerialize.
"Why, Dorrie?" His rasping whisper was heartbroken. "In God's name, why? Is it because of him somehow?"
She was serene. "You've no right to ask me that, Dad. Nor to ask the other question trembling on the tip of your tongue. I love Jack. That's all you need to know. And he loves me."
"Does he love you the way you are behind the mask?" Ian hissed.
"A face is also a mask," she said, "and no more the real Dorothea Macdonald than the prosthesis is. Let me prove it."
He gave a low cry of horror and gaped at the sight across the table, feeling his gorge rise. Once again the diamond mask beneath his daughter's calm hazel eyes had faded away, but this time Ian saw hideously scarred flesh clinging to a noseless skull. The ghastly injury was visible only for a moment before sparkling blue and white gems hid it again.
"Is that the true me?" her pseudovoice asked gently.
Ian had covered his eyes with one hand. "No, lass. No." His shoulders shook. "I'm sorry. I'm a pigheaded fool with no right to question your judgment. You must live your life as you see fit and marry your uncanny Jack if that's your choice."
She reached across the table, touching his arm. "Will you come to Earth with Janet and Ellen, and give me away to him at the wedding?"
He raised his head. "I will."
The Dirigent got up from her chair. Her father was such a brawny man and she so small that even with him seated, their eyes were nearly on a level when she stood at his side. "I'll see you there, then," she said. Her masked face came close to his and he felt the cool hardness of the diamonds brush his cheek. "Goodbye, Dad."
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