A Talent for War Read Online Free PDF Page B

was by God going to stay there.
    We ran into snow over the city. The sun was low in the west, and it cast a thousand hews against frosted towers, and the peaks to the east. The capital's extensive parks had all but vanished in the storm. In the Confederate Triangle, the monuments to the two great brothers were blue and timeless: Christopher Sim's Doric pyramid, its illuminated apex glowing steadily against the encroaching dark; and, across the White Pool, Tarien Sim's Omni, a ghostly globe, symbol of the statesman's dream of a united human family.
    I checked in at a hotel, logged onto the net in case anyone wanted to reach me, and took a shower. It was early evening, but I was tired. Nevertheless I couldn't sleep. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling, I wandered downstairs, had a sandwich, and contacted Brimbury & Conn.
    "I'm in town," I said.
    "Welcome home, Mr. Benedict," said their AI. "Is there any way we can be of assistance?"
    "I need a skimmer."
    "On the roof of your hotel, sir. I am clearing it for you now. Will you be communicating with us tomorrow?"
    "Yes," I said. "Probably late morning. And thanks."
    I went up and collected my aircraft, punched in the location code of Gabe's house, and five minutes later I was lifting out over the city, headed west.
    The malls and avenues were crowded with sightseers, shielded from the falling snow by gantner light. Tennis courts were filled, and kids paddled in pools. Andiquar has always been lovely at night, its gardens, towers, and courtyards softly illuminated, the winding Narakobo silent and deep.
    While I floated over that pacific scene, the newsnet reported a mute attack on a Page 14

    communications research ship which had wandered too close to the Perimeter. Five or six dead.
    No one was sure yet.
    I flew out over the western fringes of Andiquar. Snow was falling heavily now, and I tilted the back of the seat and settled into the warmth of the cockpit. The landscape unrolled a few hundred meters below, leaving its trace on the thermals: the suburbs broke up into small towns, hills rose, forests appeared. Occasionally a road wandered through the display and, about twenty minutes out, I crossed the Melony, which had more or less marked the limits of human habitation when I
    was a boy.
    You can see the Melony from the attic bedroom at Gabriel's house. When I first went to live there, it twisted through mysterious, untamed country. A refuge for ghosts, robbers, and dragons.
    The amber warning lamp signaled arrival. I banked and dropped lower. The dark forest was harmless now, curbed by athletic fields and pools and curving walkways. I'd watched the retreat of the wilderness over the years, counted the parks and homes and hardware stores. And on that snowy night, I flew above it and knew that Gabe was gone, and that much of what he loved was also gone.
    I switched to manual and drifted in over the treetops, watching the house itself materialize out of the storm. There was already a skimmer on the pad (Gabe's, I assumed), so I set down on the front lawn.
    Home.
    It was probably the only real home I'd known, and I was saddened to see it standing stark and empty against the pale, sagging sky. According to tradition, Jorge Shale and his crew had crashed nearby. Only an historian can tell you now who first set foot on Rimway, but everybody on the planet knows who died in the attempt. Finding the wreckage had been the first major project of my life. But, if it existed out there at all, it had eluded me.
    The house had once been a country inn, catering to hunters and travelers. Most of the woodland had been replaced by large glass homes and square lawns. Gabe had done what he could to hold onto the wilderness area. It had been a losing fight, as struggles against progress always are.
    During my last years with him, he'd grown increasingly irascible with the unfortunates who moved into the neighborhood. And I doubt that many among his neighbors were sorry to see him go.
    The