"MIchael Moorcock - The Dancers At The End Of Time 01 - An Alien Heat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

"It's usually the case, fruit of my loins." She sank into the grass again. This last reference was not to
the literal truth. In fact, as Jherek remembered, his mother had been some sort of male anthropoid at the
actual moment of his birth and had forgotten all about him until, by accident, six months later she came
upon the incubator in the jungle she had built. He had still been nursed as a new-born baby by the
incubator. But she had kept him. He was glad of that. So few human beings, as such, were born these
days.
Perhaps that was why, being a natural born baby, as it were, he felt such an affinity with the past,
thought Jherek. Many of the time-travellers тАФ even some of the space-travellers тАФ had been children,
too.
He did get on well with some of the people who had chosen to live outside the menageries and
adopt the ways of this society.
Pereg Tralo, for instance, who had ruled the world in the 30th century simply because he had been
the last person to be born out of an actual womb! A splendid, witty companion. And Clare Cyrato, the
singer from the 500th тАФ a peculiar freak, due to some experiment of her mother's, she too had entered
life as a baby. Babies, children, adolescents тАФ everything!
It was an experience he had not regretted. What experience could be regretted? And he had been
the darling of all his mother's friends. His novelty lasted well into his teens. With delight they had watched
him grow! Everyone envied him. Everyone envied the Iron Orchid, though for a while she had distinctly
tired of him and gone away to live in the middle of a mountain. Everyone envied him, that is, except
Mongrove (who would certainly not have admitted it, anyway) and Werther de Goethe, who had also
been born a baby. Werther, of course, had been a trial and had not enjoyed himself nearly so much.
Even though he no longer had six arms, he still felt a certain amount of resentment about the way he had
been altered, never having the same limbs or the same head, even, from one day to the next.
Jherek noticed that his mother had fallen asleep again. She only had to lie down for a moment and
she was dreaming. It was a habit she had always encouraged in herself, for she thought up many of her
best new ideas in dreams.
Jherek hardly dreamed at all.
If he had, he supposed he would not have to seek out old tapes and platters to read, watch or hear.
Still, he was acknowledged as being one of the very best recreators, even if his originality would not
equal either his mother's or that of the Duke of Queens. Privately Jherek felt that the Duke of Queens lost
on aesthetic sensibility what he made up for in invention.
Jherek remembered that both he and the Iron Orchid were invited to the Duke's that evening. He
had not been to a party for some time and was determined to wear something stunning.
He considered what to put on. He would stick to the 19th century, of course, for he believed very
much in consistency of style. And it must be nothing fanciful. It must be spare. It must be a clean, quiet
image, striking and absolutely without a personal touch. A personal touch would, again, mar the effect.
The choice became obvious.
He would wear full evening dress, an opera hat and an opera cloak.
And, he thought with a self-satisfied smile, he would have the whole thing in a low-keyed
combination of russet orange and midnight blue. With a carnation, naturally, at the throat.




2

A Soir├йe at the Duke of Queens
A few million years ago, perhaps less (for time was terribly difficult to keep track of), there had
flourished as a province of legendary New York City a magnificent district known as the Queen's. It was
here that some New York king's escort had established her summer residence, building a vast palace and