"Joan D. Vinge - Psiren" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vinge Joan D)

empty place in my mind. He drifted away. The room was darkening around me,
infinity reaching an end, walls closing in with almost a physical pressure. I followed
the rest of them out into the street, not thinking about where I was this time, but only
about tomorrowтАФabout remembering this place, and coming back to it again, and
again.

I walked back to the Center through OldcityтАЩs night without seeing any of it. I
climbed the ancient circling stairs at the rear of the quiet building to my room. And
as I opened the door I remembered Jule again, remembered her coming here and
how our evening had started; how it had ended, when she left me at the Haven
without a goodbye. Why? But I wasnтАЩt ready yet to go to her and find out. Because
it would mean sharing what had happened to me, and I wasnтАЩt ready for that; not
even with Jule.

I stretched out on my sleep platform, staring at the ceiling. My long-pupiled
strangerтАЩs eyes tracing every crack, even in the darkness. Alien. She was an alien, the
DreamweaverтАФ and that was why sheтАЩd been able to reach into every mind in that
room at once and start them all into fantasies. Why sheтАЩd even been able to crack
the tomb IтАЩd buried my own mind in. No one else IтАЩd met since IтАЩd lost my telepathy
had even come closeтАФbecause I was only half human. The other half was Hydran,
like she was, and that half came with Psionic ability that no one I knew could touch.
All human psions had some Hydran blood, but in most of them it was generations
thinтАФfrom the time before humans had decided to hate the only other intelligent race
theyтАЩd ever encountered.

My mother had been Hydran; my mother was dead. My life after that had been
living proof that nobody wanted a Hydran halfbreedтАФuntil IтАЩd met Jule and
Siebeling. But even they hadnтАЩt been able to make me a telepath again.

And yet the Dreamweaver had looked at me and known, and even holding
dozens of other minds, she had made a blind man see.

I rolled onto my stomach, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes; seeing
stars, God, oh God! feeling tears. I ground them out. After more than a year working
with other psions crippled by human hate, proving to them just by existing that they
could be worse off than they were ... to have this happen! To feel alive again, to feel
the presence of another mind reach into mine. The pain of returning life was the
sweetest torture IтАЩd ever known. The Dreamweaver ... I had to find her; had to let
her know . . . let her know ... a heavy peace began to settle on me as I touched the
memory again . . . find her. . . .

****

It was daylight when I opened my eyes again; another artificial day of Oldcity
street-lighting. I blinked and squinted in the band of glare that lay across my face; sat
up, feeling excitement hot and sudden in my chest as I remembered. I tried to
remember how long it had been since IтАЩd felt anything but a dim, tired ache, morning
after morning. I pulled on a clean smock over my jeans and went downstairs.

IтАЩd overslept. Jule was already there, passing out hot drinks to the dayтАЩs first