"Kathy Tyers - Firebird 1 - Firebird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tyers Kathy)

Scale ninety-sevenтАФthey havenтАЩt had one so high in a hundred years. See the MasterтАЩs star on the
shoulder? Eight points, not four. Supposedly heтАЩs the first Sentinel the Federacy has considered for real
rankтАФ the Sentinels pretend reluctance to accept authority, but the situation is more complex than that.тАЭ
Korda paused dramatically. тАЬMuch more complex. The S.O. people rotate between the defense fleet
and special intelligence assignments. Often theyтАЩre sent on jobs that others have tried and failed.тАЭ

Then, this was the man, now a Lieutenant General. The slowly rotating hologram did not do him justice,
she thought. But the notion of a telepath at the heart of the NтАЩTaian government, spying on them even for
a day, sent a chill of horror down her spine.

тАЬHeтАЩs cute,тАЭ whispered Lady Delia Stele to no one in particular.

KordaтАЩs explosive reaction startled them all. тАЬIf thatтАЩs all you can think about, Stele, get out of here. Out!
My time is too valuable to waste on giggly Wastlings that anybody can play with and no one will ever
marry.тАЭ

DeliaтАЩs face, so prettily circled in blond hair, was a study in humiliation. The hostility in the room swelled
nearly to exploding. Vultor Korda brought the lights back up and swung out his arms. тАЬGo ahead and
hate me. I can feel it. But IтАЩll be alive next year and most of you will be dead. Come back tomorrow and
IтАЩll show you something that could give you another week or two.тАЭ He dove for the exit.

When Firebird saw that Delia was being consoled by several girls (and, bless his heart, Daley Bowman),
she slipped out into the passway and headed home. For all his sliminess, Vultor Korda had given her a
good deal to think about. It roiled in her mind during dinner, which she took alone in her suite.

After calling her personal girl Dunna to remove the leavings, she retreated to her music room. A slender,
triangular case lay on the carpet below the studioтАЩs small window; carefully, she drew out her clairsa by
the corners of its short top arch. Twenty-two bronze-alloy strings caught the dying daylight and shone red
through dangling strands of her auburn hair.

She spent the hour that remained before the interview cradling it, seated on a low stool with the
transcriber running. She was writing a song that might be her lastтАФif she lived to finish it.

The ballad honored Iarla, Queen of Naetai. A century before, Lady Iarla, a QueenтАЩs Wastling like
herself, had survived against all odds to mount the throne. Iarla had set a standard that Firebird had
hoped to match; capable and compassionate, aggressive and intelligent, Iarla was one of the most
respected figures in NaetaiтАЩs history. The melody was the best she had ever done, and the chords that
rolled from the strings of her clairsa stirred her even on a hundredth playing, but words just wouldnтАЩt
come. There had been a time when she had secretly hoped to repeat IarlaтАЩs climb to glory, but as
CarradeeтАЩs second confinement approached, FirebirdтАЩs very survival had become precarious.

After four attempts to rhyme a second stanza, she gave up in disgust and ordered the transcriber to shut
itself off. She returned the clairsa to its soft case before changing into a fresh Academy uniform.

A layer of dust had settled on the ornate bedroom bureau: she needed to call Dunna in to give the suite a
good cleaning. Slowly she turned around as if seeing the marble walls and costly furnishings for the first
time. This had been IarlaтАЩs suite, too. That had always been a point of pride to Firebird. To be an Angelo
was to be proud. With dignity that masked her apprehension, she swung down the curved staircase and
across an echoing foyer to the QueenтАЩs private office.