"Norton, Andre - Daybreak - 2250 A. D." - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

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DAYBREAK--2250 A.D.

(Star Man's Son)

Copyright, 1952, by Harcourt, Brace & Co., Inc.

An Ace Book, by arrangement with

Harcourt, Brace & Co., Inc.

All Rights Reserved.

Printed in U.S.A.

1. A THIEF BY NIGHT

A night mist which was almost fog-thick still wrapped most of the Eyrie in a cottony curtain.
Beads of moisture gathered on the watcher's bare arms and hide jerkin. He licked the wetness from
his lips. But he made no move toward shelter, just as he had not during any of the long black
hours behind him.

Hot anger had brought him up on this broken rock point above the village of his tribe. And
something which was very close to real heartbreak kept him there. He propped a pointed
chin--strong, cleft and stubborn--on the palm of a grimy hand and tried to pick out the buildings
which made straight angles in the mist below.

Right before him, of course, was the Star Hall. And as he studied its rough stone walls, his lips
drew tight in what was almost a noiseless snarl. To be one of the Star Men, honored by all the
tribe, consecrated to the gathering and treasuring of knowledge, to the breaking of new trails and
the exploration of lost lands--he, Fors of the Puma Clan, had never dreamed of any other life. Up
until the hour of the Council Fire last night he had kept on hoping that he would be given the
right to enter the Hall. But he had been a child and a fool to so hope when all the signs had read
just the opposite. For five years he had been passed over at the choosing of youths as if he did
not exist. Why then should his merits suddenly become diamond-bright on the sixth occasion?

Only--his head dropped and his teeth clenched. Only --this was the last year--the very last year for
him. Next year he would be over the age limit allowed a novice. When he was passed over last
night--

Maybe--if his father had come back from that last ex-

ploring venture--If he himself didn't bear the stigma so plainly--His fingers clutched the thick
hair on his head, tugging painfully as if he would have it all out by the roots. His hair was the
worst! They might have forgotten about his night sight and too-keen hearing. He could have
concealed those as soon as he learned how wrong it was to be different. But he could not hide the
color of his close-cropped hair. And that had damned him from the day his father had brought him
here. Other men had brown or black, or, at the worst, sunbleached yellow, covering their heads. He
had silver white, which showed to all men that he was a mutant, different from the rest of his