"Bc37" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry & Pournelle)

Beowulf's Children
Chapter 37

THUNDER

The best of men cannot suspend their fate:
The good die early, and the bad die late.
-DANIEL DEFOE

Edgar looked up from his computer screen to find Trish glowering at him. He said, "I take it you got my note."
"Note. Yeah, note, I got your fucking note."
"Gotcha! Hey, I didn't intend it to make you that angry. I have to go back to the island. They need me. Ruth needs me."
"Ruth Moskowitz is a lame. What has she got that can even hold your attention?"
"Trish, look up a name. Pygmalion."
Trish sipped past the white foam on her cup. Toshiro had taught her calm. "Who was Pygmalion?"
"Greek sculptor. Made a statue of a woman, then fell in love with her. The gods brought her to life to stop his whining. Trish, what did you see in a lame like me?"
"Power, dammit, Edgar! I saw you make a hurricane!"
"You were already in my pants."
"Yeah. Well. Aaron needed you. Not just the hurricane, he needed you to shut up about how bad the weather's getting. Otherwise the Star Born might wait it out before they came back here. So he told me to distract you."
"Distract," Edgar said.
"Well, I don't think he . . . hah. He'd dumped me for Jessica, but he never stops screwing any woman. I was ticked. How I distracted you was the last thing he expected. After Toshiro died, he kind of hinted that I could kind of let you alone."
Edgar grinned. "Do you mean to say we've been cheating on Aaron?"
"Yeah. Pygmalion, huh?"
"Yeah. You shaped me, Trish. Then you kind of lost interest because I didn't need you quite so much--"
"--And you'll drop Ruth!" Trish wrapped her hand around his wrist as he was about to speak. "When you've really put her back together, you'll know it. You'll lose interest. Then come brag to me, Soft One. I may have sculpted some Scouts by then, but I'm always open to a brag."

Perhaps a dozen pairs of human feet had passed this way before them: not enough to actually create a path, but enough for the broken twigs and turned earth to mark the way easily. Aaron or Little Chaka led, Cadmann in the middle or taking the rear.
Again, this was disorienting. How many times had he broken trail for these boys, while they tromped loyally behind? Too many to count.
He watched Chaka. The big shoulders, the broad hips worked steadily as they climbed the path. He felt perfectly comfortable with Little Chaka. He had seen Chaka angry, sad, happy . . . in the full spectrum of human emotion.
He watched Aaron more carefully. More carefully now than ever. Aaron was getting everything he had wanted.
True, it had cost Toshiro his life, and almost torn the colony apart, but Aaron had what he wanted. There was something vastly self-satisfied and relaxed about him, similar to the attitude of a man who has just enjoyed really great sex. And for Aaron, perhaps that analogy wasn't wholly inappropriate.
Aaron whistled tunelessly as he led. There was something about him, something not quite . . . connected to the ground that he trod. Above it all. That was Aaron. Above it all.
And in that moment, for reasons that Cadmann couldn't be quite certain of, he knew that Aaron had indeed seen all sides of the Robor incident before it ever happened. Knew that Aaron realized that death was the probable outcome. There was no way to prove it, but Aaron had used them all, all of the stresses, all of the arguments, all of the efforts.
From the very beginning, it wouldn't have mattered how things turned out. No matter what happened, Aaron Tragon was going to win.
Eventually Aaron's will and most secret plans would control the colony. The foundation of Camelot was the group efforts of a hundred and seventy people, based on principles voted and designed before they ever left Earth. But here . . .
Like it or not, the entire colony would be the outgrowth of one man's personality. One increasingly disturbing man.
He watched Aaron. Step after step. As perfect as a machine. His body perfect. His mind as remote and inaccessible as the farthest misty peaks of Avalon.

By the time they stopped for lunch, Cadmann's mood--if that was what it was--had burned away with the early haze.
They sat on an overhang looking down on Shangri-La a thousand feet below and twenty kilometers distant. The domes and rectangles of the camp stretched out beneath him.
"Penny for your thoughts," Aaron said comfortably.
"I was thinking about the early days," Cadmann replied. "God, it seems so long ago now."
Off in the distance, a pterodon swooped down after a birdle. The birdles were known to invade pterodon territory. Birdles were herbivorous, and the pterodons carnivorous, but the birdles spoiled hunting, scared away prey. So mated pterodon pairs swooped and squawked, gained altitude and buzz-bombed the giant beetles, driving them away. The efforts were never effective beyond a day or so. Birdles were tenacious.
Aaron watched him, an indefinable sadness in his eyes. ."What happened, Cadmann?" he said at last. "I remember you, back in the old days. You were full of fire. You're not old. But you're starting to think you are."
Cadmann laughed. "Older than you think, boy." Aaron was right. There was something different about his attitude. He was thinking of everything in the past. Looking back like . . . an old man. Christ. When had that happened?
"It was Robor, " he said finally. "It was getting there too late. It was killing Toshiro."
Chaka tried to interrupt, but Cadmann shushed him. "I'm not interested in technicalities, Chaka. It shouldn't have happened. And it's also the physical pain. I hurt myself up there. I still feel it. I'm just not the man I used to be."
Aaron gazed at him, and for a moment . . . just a moment, for the first time in Aaron's adult life, Cadmann had the very distinct feeling that something had really registered in there. Something had been touched emotionally. There was no joy, no triumph in Aaron's face.
"I'm sorry about that," Aaron said. "I never intended that to happen."
I may have intended to rip the colony apart. I may have intended to steal an invaluable piece of property. I may have not given a damn if one of my friends died--or you died, Cadmann.