"May, Julian - Galactic Milieu 3 - Magnificat" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

"Of course not," she snapped. "Do you think the women of 1905 held their chins up with psychokinesis?" She raked me with her eyes from top hat to spats. "Well, you seem to be compos mentis and properly dressed. Do you have the rings?"
I fished out a tiny white velvet box, opened it, and showed her two starkly plain golden bands about half a cent in width. "Good." She made me hold out the pillow, then poked a depression in its center and tipped the rings into it "See that you don't drop them, and stay close to Marc when it's time for him to pass them over... Oh, by the way. Brother Duval's wife the deaconess couldn't make it, so you'll be assisting him as acolyte during the mass."
I opened my mouth to protest. After all, the last time I'd been an altar boy was in 1957! But Lucille turned to the others and announced, "We're almost ready, everyone. I'll just go out in the garden for a final check and cue the musicians and then we'll begin." She was off in a swirl of long petticoats and embroidered silk hosiery.
I peeked outside with my farsight and saw that most of the four hundred guests were in their seats--the humans and the exotics, the Edwardian and the Galactic, the friends and relatives of the bride and groom happily mingled in the modern casual fashion, leaving only the front rows empty for the wedding party.
Lucille reappeared, the orchestra struck up the solemn "Trumpet Voluntary" by Angus Hayakawa MacGillivray, and the slow parade began. Brother Duval led the way. Then came the grandparents, Kyle and Masha, Denis and Lucille; the groomsmen, Luc Remillard and Kenneth Macdonald; Marc, the best man, walking alone (as was symbolically apropos). The groom stepped out next, Paul on his left hand and sweet-faced Catherine on his right
When Jack was safely on his way up the aisle and the bridesmaids were poised to begin their march, Janet Finlay opened the mystery door and out came Malama with Dorothea Macdonald.
All brides are beautiful, but this one was smashing. She'd designed the outfit herself and would have stitched it up as well if the press of her official duties hadn't made it impossible. The gown was shining white silk with a high neck. The skirt had no train, but it clung to her narrow hips and flared widely at the bottom like a calla lily, making her petite form seem taller. The lace that covered the bodice and was appliquщd over the sleeves and skirt had been lavishly reembroidered with Caledonian seed pearls; tiny diamonds from that planet flashed among them. Over the bride's left shoulder, fastened by a pearl brooch with a single huge central diamond she had cut and faceted herself, was a long sash of Macdonald of the Isles tartan, matching her father's kilt Dorothщe's veil was almost like a Spanish mantilla, densely figured white lace that hid her entire face and extended nearly to the floor behind her. Over it she wore a narrow tiara of pearls. Her bouquet was small white roses with satin ribbons.
Ian, stiff and solemn, offered his right arm to his daughter and Janet took her place on Dorothщe's other side. The bridesmaids, walking single file, had already gone out, followed by Malama with the bridal leis of maile leaves. Then it was my turn. I ceased my mental eavesdropping, settled my top hat, and hurried into the late-afternoon sunshine.
Jack and his best man were already standing in front of the little table-altar with the priest, toppers doffed. An enormous bank of multihued blossoms was behind them, and beyond that loomed the profile of the White Mountains. I marched down the aisle, bearing my cushion before me. The aether brimmed with amiable vibrations, and the air was filled with music and the perfume of flowers. Hardly anyone looked at me; all eyes (except my own) were on the gorgeously dressed bride and her father and stepmother following behind me.
Surreptitiously, I searched the grounds for Hydra.
The guests all seemed to be kosher, as were the musicians in the orchestra. My seekersense roved to the adjacent marquee over on the left where the food and drink were going to be served after the ceremony. Most of the waitrons were standing quietly outside, watching the spectacle.
He was right in the midst of them, arms folded across his burly chest a triumphant smile on his face.
I saw him for only an instant before I was forced to wheel about and take my place with the other attendants. As the priest spoke his first words of greeting and Ian Macdonald gave his daughter's arm to Jack, I farspoke Marc on the intimate mode, nearly incoherent with fear and desperation:
He'sHEREhe'sHEREthegoddambastardis RIGHT HERE!
Rogi you sillyoldfool--
No Marco listen it's Parnell HYDRA he's here one of the waiters overthere by the tents lookforyourself LOOK!
... I've scanned the lot NONEofthem have Hydra sig you're batshit if you fuck up Jack's wedding I'll wring your scrawny neck NOW PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!!!
I'm not drunk I'm not imagining things he's THERE [image] the big guy right in middle of pack--
There's no one like that standing there. Every one of those waitrons is nonoperant&harmless.
Marco--
SHUT UP! Or I'll zap your brain to oatmeal I swear UncleRogi and work you like a puppet.
I'll ask Malama to help me.
No you won't t'es frappadingue espшce d'oeuf toi and you won't harass Jack&Dorothea either I'm putting a BLOCK into you there now for God's sake behave yourself!
He'd muted my farspeech with his paramount coercion. The block would dissolve all by itself eventually, but until it did I would be unable to converse telepathically with anyone except him.
Softer music was playing. Ian and Janet had withdrawn to their seats, along with Paul and Catherine. The attendants now also moved back, leaving Jack and Dorothщe side by side on a prie-dieu as Brother Duval began the nuptial mass. Marc's coercion forced me over to the left side of the outdoor sanctuary, where there was a little kneeler for the server and a stand with carafes of water and red wine and a crystal bowl of unconsecrated communion wafers. I sank down, numb and resigned to my fate. With my back to the marquee I'd be spared the sight of Hydra waiting for me with that damned grin on his face.
Fortunately, there was nothing for me to do in the first part of the ceremony. The priest concluded the brief opening rites and began the Liturgy of the Word with a powerful quotation from the Song of Songs.

My Beloved lifts up his voice and says to me:
"Come then, my love, my lovely one, come.
For lo, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone,
the flowers are all in bloom,
and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.
My little bird, hiding in the clefts of the rock,
show me your face and let me hear your voice,
for your speech is sweet and your face is beautiful
Your eyes behind your veil are soft,
your breasts are two fawns that feed among the lilies.
Till the day break and the shadows flee away
I will go unto the mountain of myrrh,
To the hill of frankincense."

[Thus says the Bride:] My Beloved is mine and I am his!
Awake, north wind; come, wind of the south,
Breathe over my garden and scatter its fragrance,
welcome my Beloved and let him taste its precious fruits.
My Beloved is radiant and bright,
he stands out among thousands.
His locks are black as the raven,
his eyes are like doves beside running waters,
his lips are red blossoms,