[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
He was not quite as weather-beaten as his vehicle, but Russ Jorden still
wore the unmistakable look of someone who'd spent more than his share of
time on Acheron. Weathered and wind-blasted. To a lesser degree the same
description applied to his wife, Anne, though not to the two children
who bounced about in the rear of the big central cabin. Somehow they
managed to dart in and around portable sampling equipment and packing
cases without getting themselves smashed against the walls. Their
ancestors had learned at an early age how to ride something called a
horse. The action of the tractor was not very different from the motion
one has to cope with atop the spine of that empathetic quadruped, and
the children had mastered it almost as soon as they learned how to walk.
Their clothing and faces were smeared with dust despite the nominally
inviolable interior of the vehicle. That was a fact of life on Acheron.
No matter how tight you tried to seal yourself in, the dust always
managed to penetrate vehicles, offices, homes. One of the first
colonists had coined a name for this phenomenon that was more
descriptive than scientific. ?Paniculate osmosis,?he'd called it.
Acheronian science. The more imaginative colonists insisted that the
dust was sentient,
33
33
that it hid and waited for doors and windows to open a crack before
deliberately rushing inside. Homemakers argued facetiously whether it
was faster to wash clothes or scrape them clean.
Russ Jorden wrestled the massive tractor around boulders too big to
climb and negotiated a path through narrow crevices in the plateau they
were ascending. He was sustained in his efforts by the music of the
Locater's steady pinging. It grew louder the nearer they came to the
source of the electromagnetic disturbance, but he refused to turn down
the volume. Each ping was a melody unto itself, like the chatter of
oldtime cash registers. His wife monitored the tractor's condition and
the life-support systems while her husband drove.
?Look at this fat, juicy, magnetic profile.?Jorden tapped the small
readout on his right. ?And it's mine, mine, mine. Lydecker says that
Simpson said so, and we've got it recorded. They can't take that away
from us now. Not even the Company can take it away from us. Mine, all mine.?
?Half mine, dear.?His wife glanced over at him and smiled.
Page 24
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
?And half mine!?This cheerful desecration of basic mathematics came from
Newt, the Jorden's daughter. She was six years old going on ten, and she
had more energy than both her parents and the tractor combined. Her
father grinned affectionately without taking his eyes from the driver's
console.
?I got too many partners.?
The girl had been playing with her older brother until she'd finally
worn him out. ?Tim's bored, Daddy, and so am I. When are we going back
to town?"
?When we get rich, Newt.?
?You always say that.?She scrambled onto her feet, as agile as an otter.
?I wanna go back. I wanna play Monster Maze.?
Her brother stuck his face into hers. ?You can play by yourself this
time. You cheat too much.?
34
?Do not!?She put small fists on unformed hips. ?I'm just the best, and
you're jealous.?
?Am not! You go in places we can't fit.?
?So? That's why I'm the best.?
Their mother spared a moment to glance over from her bank of monitors
and readouts. ?Knock it off. I catch either of you two playing in the
air ducts again, I'll tan your hides. Not only is it against colony
regulations, it's dangerous. What if one of you missed a step and fell
down a vertical shaft?"
?Aw, Mom. Nobody's dumb enough to do that. Besides, all the kids play
it, and nobody's been hurt yet. We're careful.?Her smile returned. ?An'
I'm the best 'cause I can fit places nobody else can.?
?Like a little worm.?Her brother stuck his tongue out at her.
She duplicated the gesture. ?Nyah, nyah! Jealous, jealous.?He made a
grab for her protruding tongue. She let out a childish shriek and ducked
behind a mobile ore analyzer.
?Look, you two.?There was more affection than anger in Anne Jorden's
tone. ?Let's try to calm down for two minutes, okay? We're almost
finished up here. We'll head back toward town soon and-?
Russ Jorden had half risen from his seat to stare through the
windshield. Childish confrontations temporarily put aside, his wife
joined him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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He was not quite as weather-beaten as his vehicle, but Russ Jorden still
wore the unmistakable look of someone who'd spent more than his share of
time on Acheron. Weathered and wind-blasted. To a lesser degree the same
description applied to his wife, Anne, though not to the two children
who bounced about in the rear of the big central cabin. Somehow they
managed to dart in and around portable sampling equipment and packing
cases without getting themselves smashed against the walls. Their
ancestors had learned at an early age how to ride something called a
horse. The action of the tractor was not very different from the motion
one has to cope with atop the spine of that empathetic quadruped, and
the children had mastered it almost as soon as they learned how to walk.
Their clothing and faces were smeared with dust despite the nominally
inviolable interior of the vehicle. That was a fact of life on Acheron.
No matter how tight you tried to seal yourself in, the dust always
managed to penetrate vehicles, offices, homes. One of the first
colonists had coined a name for this phenomenon that was more
descriptive than scientific. ?Paniculate osmosis,?he'd called it.
Acheronian science. The more imaginative colonists insisted that the
dust was sentient,
33
33
that it hid and waited for doors and windows to open a crack before
deliberately rushing inside. Homemakers argued facetiously whether it
was faster to wash clothes or scrape them clean.
Russ Jorden wrestled the massive tractor around boulders too big to
climb and negotiated a path through narrow crevices in the plateau they
were ascending. He was sustained in his efforts by the music of the
Locater's steady pinging. It grew louder the nearer they came to the
source of the electromagnetic disturbance, but he refused to turn down
the volume. Each ping was a melody unto itself, like the chatter of
oldtime cash registers. His wife monitored the tractor's condition and
the life-support systems while her husband drove.
?Look at this fat, juicy, magnetic profile.?Jorden tapped the small
readout on his right. ?And it's mine, mine, mine. Lydecker says that
Simpson said so, and we've got it recorded. They can't take that away
from us now. Not even the Company can take it away from us. Mine, all mine.?
?Half mine, dear.?His wife glanced over at him and smiled.
Page 24
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
?And half mine!?This cheerful desecration of basic mathematics came from
Newt, the Jorden's daughter. She was six years old going on ten, and she
had more energy than both her parents and the tractor combined. Her
father grinned affectionately without taking his eyes from the driver's
console.
?I got too many partners.?
The girl had been playing with her older brother until she'd finally
worn him out. ?Tim's bored, Daddy, and so am I. When are we going back
to town?"
?When we get rich, Newt.?
?You always say that.?She scrambled onto her feet, as agile as an otter.
?I wanna go back. I wanna play Monster Maze.?
Her brother stuck his face into hers. ?You can play by yourself this
time. You cheat too much.?
34
?Do not!?She put small fists on unformed hips. ?I'm just the best, and
you're jealous.?
?Am not! You go in places we can't fit.?
?So? That's why I'm the best.?
Their mother spared a moment to glance over from her bank of monitors
and readouts. ?Knock it off. I catch either of you two playing in the
air ducts again, I'll tan your hides. Not only is it against colony
regulations, it's dangerous. What if one of you missed a step and fell
down a vertical shaft?"
?Aw, Mom. Nobody's dumb enough to do that. Besides, all the kids play
it, and nobody's been hurt yet. We're careful.?Her smile returned. ?An'
I'm the best 'cause I can fit places nobody else can.?
?Like a little worm.?Her brother stuck his tongue out at her.
She duplicated the gesture. ?Nyah, nyah! Jealous, jealous.?He made a
grab for her protruding tongue. She let out a childish shriek and ducked
behind a mobile ore analyzer.
?Look, you two.?There was more affection than anger in Anne Jorden's
tone. ?Let's try to calm down for two minutes, okay? We're almost
finished up here. We'll head back toward town soon and-?
Russ Jorden had half risen from his seat to stare through the
windshield. Childish confrontations temporarily put aside, his wife
joined him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]