"Jeff Verona - More Than Kin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Verona Jeff)

MORE THAN KIN



illustrations by Judith Huey
┬й 1999 - All Rights Reserved




"Nice of you to show up, Jack," Ian said as I hustled up to the neatly-dug
rectangle and the pile of dark earth beside it.
"I had to secure the helicopter." To place the open grave between myself
and
Ian, I walked over and stood beside Jean. He offered me a faint smile.
"Shall we begin?" asked Gianni. He stood at the head of the grave; traces
of
dirt clung to the ankles and wrists of his coveralls.
I nodded. Jean pursed his lips. Ian glared at me, then gave a sharp nod.
Gianni consulted the computer slate in his hands. "IтАЩve had to adapt the
ceremony somewhat," he said. "Our relationship with John was unique, and
IтАЩm
not sure that any single term can do it justice, but IтАЩve decided on
тАШbeloved.тАЩ" He cleared his throat, then began reading from the slate. "We
are
gathered today in mourning and remembrance...."
The wind gusted, ruffling my hair, tugging at the seams of my coveralls,
scattering dirt from the edge of the grave. As GianniтАЩs calm, measured
voice
continued, I looked out past the grave to the cluster of domes some two
hundred meters away that marked the station. Beyond it lay the forest,
blue-green in the silvery sunlight, extending out toward the horizon where
distant hills rose to meet the purple sky. Beside me, Jean coughed.
"...this strange and unfamiliar world, whose ways he came to learn," Gianni
was saying.
Looking across the grave, I met IanтАЩs gaze. He glared at me, hot-eyed, his
face a taut mask. I locked eyes with him, matching his anger, daring him to
break contact first.
Our silent contest was ended by the sharp rap of GianniтАЩs knuckles against
his
slate. He knelt down and gathered a handful of earth, scattering it into
the
grave as he intoned "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. May he rest in
peaceтАФJohn, our father and brother."
To a chorus of "Amen" Ian, Jean, and I added our own offerings of dirt. I
went
last, pausing to glance at the colorless face in the grave, a face repeated
identically in those of the three men around me, and in my own.
"Goodbye, John," I said.
Four shovels lay beside the pile of earth, and in unspoken accord we each