"Kathy Tyers - Firebird 2 - Fusion Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tyers Kathy)

The reasonable thing is to learn from those who can teach.

Sophocles

Chapter 1

The Lost of AuriaтАж

tema - theme
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Firebird Mari Caldwell had been a pilot, once.

And will be again, she vowed. Standing on an outer walkway that led to the main dome of ThyricaтАЩs
major military base, she watched as a pair of elegant black intercept fightercraft screamed over her from
behind. One day, when she was no longer grounded from military flying, she would shamelessly use her
husbandтАЩs pull to get on the pilot-training list for those beautiful, deadly fighters.

A second pair closely followed the first: the light, quick, killing birds of the Federacy. SheтАЩd flown against
these dual-drive, space-and-atmosphere fighters once. It had been a strategic disaster.

Never again. YouтАЩre a Federate, now.

All four fighters vanished over the line of gray clouds that swirled against the BaseтАЩs weather-control
zone, and Firebird sighed. The gray-and-green, soaking wet world of Thyrica had its lovely moments, but
it was not her home.

Well. She would make it her home. She had no choice. We have no choice, she corrected herself, and
one of the twins kicked agreement against her ribs. After half a day struggling to write a sonata for the
small NтАЩTaian harp, she was coming to meet Brennen for dinner.

Brenn. At least youтАЩve still got m-flight clearance.

She never would have believed she could so miss a person she lived with. This was the down side of pair
bonding: She no longer felt whole when she was alone. Something inside her felt drained,
emptiedтАФstolen.

The sky shone deep, clear blue overhead, but dampness squeaked between her fingers and made her
loosely belted Thyrian skyff cling to her legs. ThyricaтАЩs huge ocean had given the planet life, but like some
primeval god, the sea also drove its weather. Man could contain it, but never master it.

Firebird shivered and hurried on.

She slipped inside the domeтАЩs reception area, where a smoked glasteel ceiling curved high overhead,
letting fading daylight bathe the broad reception quadrangle. On her left, two workers in green coveralls
pushed a service cart between them toward a corridor; from her right, a husky, dark-haired man
approached. He wore the four-rayed shoulder star of her husbandтАЩs kindred, ThyricaтАЩs telepathic
minority: the Sentinels.

Her heart sank when he came close enough to recognize. Oh, glory, she groaned. Not Terrell. Not now