"Wil McCarthy - To Crush the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCarty Sarah)

"Ah. Well. What do they call us, then? Olders?"

"Or bandits," Radmer agrees, "or indeceased, which is an unkind word indeed. But our numbers have
faded over the centuries--especially here in Imbria, which is a hard nation to inhabit in secret. They
sometimes hunt us, so we try to keep out of sight."

"Some of us do," says Sidney Lyman, materializing suddenly at Bruno's side. He glares pointedly at
Radmer. "Others don't ever learn, no matter how much misfortune they bring down upon the rest of us.
These тАШhumans' go through spurts of curiosity and outreach, seeking us out as historical reference works,
which is fine except that it lays the groundwork for the next round of bloodletting. Know thy enemy, eh?

"And of course it's worst for our own children. Immorbidity doesn't breed through; if they stay with us,
we watch them grow old and die. We're like statues to them, unbending, wearing down on a timescale
they can scarce perceive. But if they join the mainstream of human society, they do so as tall,
five-fingered freaks. There aren't even ghettos for them, not anymore, so the freak show never ends.
Many of them do become bandits, in the times when relations are poor. And our dear Radmer here is
always stirring things up."

"Was always," Radmer says. "It's a habit I'd long abandoned."
"Until these lucky days," Lyman answers, with more than a hint of bitterness. "Now you've gone all the
way to Varna, braving radiation and vacuum to bring this . . . gift to the Imbrians. How very noble of
you."

"I like to think so, Sid. Really. If this civilization falls, what do you think will succeed it? Another
Queendom? Another dark age? Do you really want to find out? Most of the time, the people of this city
give little thought to our existence, except as characters in ancient songs."

"But now they need us, in your opinion," Lyman mutters. "Even if their own opinions disagree."

"Yes," Radmer says simply. Then, "I asked you to bring me this far, Sid, and you've done it. I won't ask
any more. In fact, I'll invite you to leave before things get any worse."

"And abandon you here for lynching?"

Radmer laughs humorlessly. "I've been here a hundred times, Sid, and they haven't managed it yet. I'll be
fine."

"Meaning no offense, sir, but I think we'll wait here a minute and see what happens."

"Hmm. Well. Suit yourself."

And presently, as if called forth by this exchange, a new set of guards appear--first a dozen, then two
dozen, then a hundred strong. They're dressed all in yellow, and in addition to rifles and swords they
carry, here and there, the elongated wormhole pole-arms which Lyman has called "air pikes." A few of
them, Bruno notes with surprise, are quite obviously female.

"Ah, the Dolceti," Lyman says, in almost welcoming tones.

"This is more serious," Conrad murmurs to Bruno. "The nation's elite guard, trained in blindsight through