"Jack Vance - Telek" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

The soaring imagination of Jack Vance needs little introduction here. Twice a Hugo
winner, long cherished by science-fiction enthusiasts for the vivid individuality of his style
and the fertility of his inventive mind, this Californian had already reached the highest rank of
the field when this novella of telekinetic powers appeared late in 1951. His work since that
time has served only to consolidate the position he held then.

Telek
Jack Vance

I.
Geskamp and Shorn stood in the sad light of sundown, high on the rim of the new stadium. Wooded
hills rolled away to either side; behind them, far to the west, the towers of Tran cut sword-shaped
notches into the sky.
Geskamp pointed east, up Swanscomba Valley, now glowing a thousand tones of gold and green in
the long light of sunset. "That's where I was born, by that row of poplars. I knew the valley well in the old
days." He spent a moment in far reflection. "I hate to see the changes, the old things wiped out.
There"тАФhe pointed тАФ"by the stream was Pimssi's croft and stone barn. There, where you see the grove
of oaks, that was the village Cobent. There, by Poll Point, was the valley power tank. There, the Tran
aquaport crossed the river, entered the tunnel. It was considered beautiful, the aquaport, antique,
overgrown with ivy, stained with lichen. And only six months ago; already it seems a hundred years."
Shorn, intending to make a delicate request, considered how best to take advantage of Geskamp's
nostalgia for the irretrievable past; he was faintly surprised to find Geskamp, a big jutfaced man with
gray-blond hair, indulging in sentiment of any kind. "There is certainly no recognizing it now."
"No. It's all tidy and clean. Like a park. Look up that mile of clear lawn. I liked it better in the old
days. Now it's waste, nothing else." Geskamp cocked his bristling eyebrows at Shorn. "Do you know,
they hold me responsible, the farmers and villagers? Because I'm in charge, I gave the orders?"
"They strike out at what's closest."
"I merely earn my salary. I did what I could for them. Completely useless, of course; there never
were people so obdurate as the Teleks. Level the valley, build a stadium. Hurry, in time for their
midsummer get-together. I say, why not build in Mismarch Valley, around the mountain, where only
sheepherders would be disturbed, no crofts and farms to be broken up, no village to be razed."
"What did they say to that?"
"It was Forence Nollinrude I spoke to; you know him?"
"I've seen him: one of their liaison committee. A young man, rather more lofty than the average."
Geskamp spat on the concrete under his feet. "The young ones are the worst. He asked, 'Do we not
give you enough money? Pay them well, clear them out. Swanscomba Valley is where we will have our
stadium.' So"тАФGeskamp held out his hands in a quick gesticulationтАФ"I bring out my machines, my men.
We fly in material. For those who have lived here all their lives there is no choice; they take their money
and go. Otherwise some morning perhaps they look out their door and find polar ice or mountains of the
moon. I'd not put such refinement past the Teleks."
"Strange tales are told," Shorn agreed.
Geskamp pointed to the grove of oaks. His shadow, cast against the far side of the stadium by the
level rays of the sun, followed the motion. "The oaks they brought, so much did they condescend. I
explained that transplanting a forest was a job of great delicacy and expense. They were indifferent.
'Spend as much as you like.' I told them there wasn't enough time; if they wanted the stadium inside the
month; finally they were aroused. Nollinrude and the one called Henry Motch stirred themselves, and the
next day we had all our forestтАФBut would they dispose of the waste from the aquaport, cast it in the
sea? No. 'You hire four thousand men, let them move the rubble, brick by brick if need be; we have
business elsewhere.' And they were gone."
"A peculiar people."