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hall floor-the in-side of the house was clean, lifeless, like a museum.
Leaving the bags, he walked toward the kitchen. His boots clunked.
On the center of the kitchen table was a folder sealed in plastic-the first
time Trystin could recall plastic around the house. He rummaged through the
drawers to find the scissors, then neatly cut the sealed envelope along the
edge. Inside was a short computer-generated note.
17octem795 Trystin,
As we promised, everything will be kept for your return. Prophets always do
return. That is something we consultants know, but I must admit I never
thought I'd father a great religious figure.
All my work remains in the system, for you to use or dispose of as you see
Fit. I can tell-implants are good for some things-that my days are limited,
and, if you find this, obviously, my diagnosis was correct. I will have the
master suite cleared. To come back to that would be asking too much of you,
and you need a fresh start, at least in the bedroom.
Enjoy the gardens, and your thoughts, and whoever you find to share them with.
Do find someone. I have faith that you can and knowledge enough to insist you
should.
I could wax long and sentimental, a weakness of age and frailty, but I will
not. You know how I feel. I am proud of you, and I always have been. Our
thoughts and love are with you, and may the gardens give you the pleasure they
have given me.
The words "love" and "Father" were scrawled under the printed words. Trystin's
eyes burned, and he could barely swallow.
He left the folder on the table and walked toward the window, pulling back the
shades and sliding open the glass, letting the cool dampness of the late fall
slip into the house.
After a moment, he walked down to the office, standing in the archway and
looking at the silent systems, the blank screens, and the row of old-fashioned
wooden cases that held antique bound paper books even more dated than the
cases. For a time, he just looked, then turned. He did not look into the room
that had been Salya's. The master suite was empty, as his father had written.
He shook his head. His father had lived by his word. Trystin only hoped he
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
could manage as well.
The great room seemed unchanged-the old chess table was still in place, and
Trystin ran his fingers over the smooth wood. Maybe it did really date back to
old Earth. He slid open two more windows, enjoying the damp chill.
A buzz sounded.
Trystin paused, then hurried to the kitchen where he fumbled with the console
on the faintly dusty counter. "Yes?"
"This is Ulteena. May I come in?" Trystin swallowed, then answered, "Of
course. The gates are open." "Thank you."
Even through the speakers, her voice sounded formal, . and Trystin found he
didn't like that. Then, he had sounded formal. And he liked that thought even
less . . . far less.
He hurried out the front door and down the path to find her looking at the
bonsai cedar. "It needs work," he explained. She turned. "You look so young."
"I don't feel young." "I shouldn't have come."
Trystin looked at the one woman who had always anticipated everything. He
smiled. "Yes you should have. I need you."
She glanced toward the cedar as if she had not heard his words. "I'm glad
you kept the house and the garden." Her voice floated more lightly than the
faint fall breeze, coming to him with the mixed scents of the last miniature
yellow roses of the year, the rysya, and the ancient pines. Abruptly, she
turned to him. "What did you say?" "I love you, and I need you," he repeated,
his eyes blur-ring again.
"You've never . . ." She shook her head, as if in disbelief.
"I've always . . . I just was afraid . . . because you were always so
competent. I told you that, on the outer orbit station, remember?" He let the
tears stream down his face, as he saw the matching dampness streak her cheeks.
He laughed roughly. "And you were always senior. You didn't let me forget it,
that first time." "That was stupid." Her eyes met his.
"That was a long time ago, and I was always stupid about you. I thought you
didn't care."
"I almost didn't come," she insisted. "If you hadn't left the note . . ."
"I would have found you-this time," he answered, taking her hand firmly as
they stood in late fall and the long twilight.
Page 213 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
hall floor-the in-side of the house was clean, lifeless, like a museum.
Leaving the bags, he walked toward the kitchen. His boots clunked.
On the center of the kitchen table was a folder sealed in plastic-the first
time Trystin could recall plastic around the house. He rummaged through the
drawers to find the scissors, then neatly cut the sealed envelope along the
edge. Inside was a short computer-generated note.
17octem795 Trystin,
As we promised, everything will be kept for your return. Prophets always do
return. That is something we consultants know, but I must admit I never
thought I'd father a great religious figure.
All my work remains in the system, for you to use or dispose of as you see
Fit. I can tell-implants are good for some things-that my days are limited,
and, if you find this, obviously, my diagnosis was correct. I will have the
master suite cleared. To come back to that would be asking too much of you,
and you need a fresh start, at least in the bedroom.
Enjoy the gardens, and your thoughts, and whoever you find to share them with.
Do find someone. I have faith that you can and knowledge enough to insist you
should.
I could wax long and sentimental, a weakness of age and frailty, but I will
not. You know how I feel. I am proud of you, and I always have been. Our
thoughts and love are with you, and may the gardens give you the pleasure they
have given me.
The words "love" and "Father" were scrawled under the printed words. Trystin's
eyes burned, and he could barely swallow.
He left the folder on the table and walked toward the window, pulling back the
shades and sliding open the glass, letting the cool dampness of the late fall
slip into the house.
After a moment, he walked down to the office, standing in the archway and
looking at the silent systems, the blank screens, and the row of old-fashioned
wooden cases that held antique bound paper books even more dated than the
cases. For a time, he just looked, then turned. He did not look into the room
that had been Salya's. The master suite was empty, as his father had written.
He shook his head. His father had lived by his word. Trystin only hoped he
Page 212
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
could manage as well.
The great room seemed unchanged-the old chess table was still in place, and
Trystin ran his fingers over the smooth wood. Maybe it did really date back to
old Earth. He slid open two more windows, enjoying the damp chill.
A buzz sounded.
Trystin paused, then hurried to the kitchen where he fumbled with the console
on the faintly dusty counter. "Yes?"
"This is Ulteena. May I come in?" Trystin swallowed, then answered, "Of
course. The gates are open." "Thank you."
Even through the speakers, her voice sounded formal, . and Trystin found he
didn't like that. Then, he had sounded formal. And he liked that thought even
less . . . far less.
He hurried out the front door and down the path to find her looking at the
bonsai cedar. "It needs work," he explained. She turned. "You look so young."
"I don't feel young." "I shouldn't have come."
Trystin looked at the one woman who had always anticipated everything. He
smiled. "Yes you should have. I need you."
She glanced toward the cedar as if she had not heard his words. "I'm glad
you kept the house and the garden." Her voice floated more lightly than the
faint fall breeze, coming to him with the mixed scents of the last miniature
yellow roses of the year, the rysya, and the ancient pines. Abruptly, she
turned to him. "What did you say?" "I love you, and I need you," he repeated,
his eyes blur-ring again.
"You've never . . ." She shook her head, as if in disbelief.
"I've always . . . I just was afraid . . . because you were always so
competent. I told you that, on the outer orbit station, remember?" He let the
tears stream down his face, as he saw the matching dampness streak her cheeks.
He laughed roughly. "And you were always senior. You didn't let me forget it,
that first time." "That was stupid." Her eyes met his.
"That was a long time ago, and I was always stupid about you. I thought you
didn't care."
"I almost didn't come," she insisted. "If you hadn't left the note . . ."
"I would have found you-this time," he answered, taking her hand firmly as
they stood in late fall and the long twilight.
Page 213 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]