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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 113 из 164«Bitch! Never!»
He held her, found thesoft coral mouth and kissed her; bruised her lips with his, waiting for the final blackout.
The concussion never came.
«Tricked!» he exclaimed. She laughed. He kissed her again and at last forced himself to release her. She gasped for breath, then laughed again, her coral eyes blazing.
«It's over,» she said.
«It hasn't begun yet.»
«What d'you mean?»
«The war between us.»
«Make it a human war,» she said fiercely. «You're the first not to be deceived by my looks. Oh God! The boredom of the chivalrous knights and their milk-warm passion for the fairy tale princess. But I'm not like that inside. I'm not. I'm not. Never. Make it a savage war between us. Don't win me. . . destroy me!»
Suddenly she was Lady Olivia again, the gracious snow maiden. «I'm afraid the bombardment has finished, my dear Fourmyle. The show is over. But what an exciting prelude to the New Year. Good night.»
«Good night?» he echoed incredulously.
«Good night,» she repeated. «Really, my dear Fourmyle, are you so gauche that you never know when you're dismissed? You may go now. Good night.»
He hesitated, searched for words, and at last turned and lurched out of the house. He was trembling with elation and confusion. He walked in a daze, scarcely aware of the confusion and disaster around him. The horizon now was lit with the light of red flames. The shock waves of the assault had stirred the atmosphere so violently that winds still whistled in strange gusts. The tremor of the explosions had shaken the city so hard that brick, cornice, glass, and metal were tumbling and crashing. And this despite the fact that no direct hit had been made on New York.
The streets were empty; the city was deserted. The entire population of New York, of every city, had jaunted in a desperate search for safety to the limit of their ability . . . five miles, fifty miles, five hundred miles. Some had jaunted into the center of a direct hit. Thousands died in jaunte explosions, for the public jaunte stages had never been designed to accommodate the crowding of mass exodus.
Foyle became aware of white-armored Disaster Crews appearing on the streets. An imperious signal directed at him warned him that he was about to be summarily drafted for disaster work. The problem of jaunting was not to get populations out of cities, but to force them to return and restore order. Foyle had no intention of spending a week fighting fire and looters. He accelerated and evaded the Disaster Crew.
He held her, found thesoft coral mouth and kissed her; bruised her lips with his, waiting for the final blackout.
The concussion never came.
«Tricked!» he exclaimed. She laughed. He kissed her again and at last forced himself to release her. She gasped for breath, then laughed again, her coral eyes blazing.
«It's over,» she said.
«It hasn't begun yet.»
«What d'you mean?»
«The war between us.»
«Make it a human war,» she said fiercely. «You're the first not to be deceived by my looks. Oh God! The boredom of the chivalrous knights and their milk-warm passion for the fairy tale princess. But I'm not like that inside. I'm not. I'm not. Never. Make it a savage war between us. Don't win me. . . destroy me!»
Suddenly she was Lady Olivia again, the gracious snow maiden. «I'm afraid the bombardment has finished, my dear Fourmyle. The show is over. But what an exciting prelude to the New Year. Good night.»
«Good night?» he echoed incredulously.
«Good night,» she repeated. «Really, my dear Fourmyle, are you so gauche that you never know when you're dismissed? You may go now. Good night.»
He hesitated, searched for words, and at last turned and lurched out of the house. He was trembling with elation and confusion. He walked in a daze, scarcely aware of the confusion and disaster around him. The horizon now was lit with the light of red flames. The shock waves of the assault had stirred the atmosphere so violently that winds still whistled in strange gusts. The tremor of the explosions had shaken the city so hard that brick, cornice, glass, and metal were tumbling and crashing. And this despite the fact that no direct hit had been made on New York.
The streets were empty; the city was deserted. The entire population of New York, of every city, had jaunted in a desperate search for safety to the limit of their ability . . . five miles, fifty miles, five hundred miles. Some had jaunted into the center of a direct hit. Thousands died in jaunte explosions, for the public jaunte stages had never been designed to accommodate the crowding of mass exodus.
Foyle became aware of white-armored Disaster Crews appearing on the streets. An imperious signal directed at him warned him that he was about to be summarily drafted for disaster work. The problem of jaunting was not to get populations out of cities, but to force them to return and restore order. Foyle had no intention of spending a week fighting fire and looters. He accelerated and evaded the Disaster Crew.