"Linda Nagata - Old Mother" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nagata Linda)

LINDA NAGATA

OLD MOTHER

Long strings of fire-crackers sparked and exploded in the moment of the New
Year, roaring across the seaside pavilion like an assault of armies. The violent
odor of gunpowder invaded the clouds of salt spray thrown up by the huge combers
that boomed against the beach: a baseline rhythm for the drums and gongs that
drove the lion to dance. The lion was a fantastic animal, fifteen feet from nose
to tail, neurocell plastic glittering white and red and gold, great green eyes
winking under heavy lashes, huge maw snapping open and shut as it charged about
the crowd pursuing invisible demons. Asha ducked and stumbled backward, laughing
as the lion raced past her. Clay caught her; stood her back up on her feet again
with a grin. The drums pounded a blood rhythm into her head, a pulse that
hammered at her doubt. She crowed with a hundred other voices when the the lion
reared up on its hind legs to roar at the stars winking overhead.

The stars, the stars. They teased her in the night, faint and shimmering in
mystery. Never confuse the stars with the planets. The planets were bright and
close and too well understood. But the stars . . . no one had ever tried for the
stars before. That would soon change. This time tomorrow she'd be off on the
first leg of her journey to Dragon -- the almost-living biometal ship that had
been growing in orbit for five years. All was ready now.

"Time to make the offering!" Clay shouted over the thunder of surf and drums. A
farmer would remember that, Asha thought. Even in the new century, it didn't
hurt a farmer to pay attention to luck and omens and gods.

Nodding, she reached into her skirt pocket. Little rectangles of gold foil were
al ready shimmering in the torch light, held over the heads of the crowd by
eager hands. Asha added her own to the glitter. Clay's strong hand encircled
hers, left over right. For luck, for prosperity. She smiled and leaned against
him, feeling the strength of the land in his body, his lean muscles like the
binding roots of the orchard he tended on his grandmother's farm. For a moment,
fear glittered in her sight like starlight on broken glass. But she turned away
from it. That was for tomorrow. Tonight they would dance together to the rhythm
of the drums.

The lion was working the other side of the crowd now. She could see its handler,
seated behind the musicians, studying a video display of the pavilion, directing
the lion's dance with the aid of a collision avoidance program. And his partner
beside him -- Clay's grandmother, Electra -- a dark and heavy old artist in a
flowing blue dress who used smart paint and guile to make lifeless things
suddenly seem alive. Around Electra, reality became slippery. Any inanimate
object could suddenly awaken to a new and animate identity, Nothing was fixed.
Nothing was quantifiable. She'd raised Clay in a world in which dreamtime could
hardly be distinguished from the waking state.

Asha's gaze fixed on Electra's wide, brown face, on her dark eyes that managed
to scowl despite the joyful bend of her mouth. Clay had been nothing more than a