Read Online The Many-Coloured Land - 1 by Julian May - Free Book Online
Authors: Julian May
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ago in response to an increasing demand. An kinds of people have gone into Exile after undergoing a survival regimen. People from every imaginable educational background and profession, from Earth and from the human colonies. All of those time-travelers have one thing in common: They want to go on living, but they can't function any longer in this complex, structured world of galactic civilization."
"And this is what you've chosen?"
"My application was accepted more than a month ago."
They came to a tricky scree slope, the remnant of an old avalanche, and concentrated on traversing it safely. When they reached the other side they rested for a moment. The sun beat down hotly. The retroevolved condors were gone.
"Amerie," the old man said, "it would be very interesting to see fossil bones with flesh on them."
She elevated an eyebrow. "Isn't this notion a trifle impulsive?"
"Maybe I've nothing better to do. Seeing Pliocene animals alive would be an interesting windup to a long career in paleobiology. And the day-to-day survival aspects wouldn't pose any problems for me. If there's one thing you learn out in the field, it's roughing it in comfort. Maybe I could kind of help you get your hermitage set up. That is, if you wouldn't think I was too great a temptation to your vows."
She went into gales of laughter, then stopped and said, "Claude! You're worried about me. You think FU get eaten by a sabertooth tiger or trampled by mastodons."
"Dammit, Amerie! Do you know what you're letting yourself in for? Just because you climb a few tame mountains and catch stocked trout in Oregon you think you can be a female Francis of Assisi in a howling wilderness!" He looked away, scowling. "God knows what kind of human dregs are wandering around there. I don't want to cramp your style, child. I could just keep an eye on things. Bring you food and such. Even those old mystics let the faithful bring 'em offerings, you know. Amerie, don't you understand? I wouldn't want anything to spoil your dream."
Abruptly, she threw her arms around him, then stepped back smiling, and for an instant he saw her not in jeans, plaid shirt, and bandanna, but robed in white homespun with a rope knotted about her waist. "Doctor Majewski, I would be honoured to have you as a protector. You may very well be a temptation. But I'll be steadfast and resist your allure, even though I love you very much."
"That's settled, then. We'd better get on down and arrange for Genevieve's requiem without delay. We'll take her ashes with us to France and bury her in the Pliocene. Gen would have liked that."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The widow of Professor Theo Guderian had been astounded when the first time-tripper appeared at the gate of the cottage on the slope of the Monts du Lyonnais.
It happened in the year 2041, early in June. She was working in her rose garden, snipping deadheads from the splendid standards of Mme. A. Meilland and wondering how she would be able to pay the death duties, when a stocky male hiker with a dachshund came striding up the dusty road from Saint-Antoine-des-Vignes. The man knew where he was going. He stopped precisely in front of the gate and waited for her to approach. The little dog sat down one step behind her master's left heel.
"Good evening, Monsieur," she said in Standard English, folding her secateurs and slipping them into the pocket of her back salopette.
"Citizen Angelique Montmagny?"
"I prefer the older form of address. But yes, I am she."
He bowed formally. "Madame Guderian! Permit me to present myself. Richter, Karl Josef. I am by profession a poet and my home has been up to now in Frankfurt. I am here, chere Madame, to discuss with you a business proposal concerning the experimental apparatus of your late husband."
"I regret that I am no longer able to demonstrate the device." Madame pursed her lips. The fine beak of her aquiline nose lifted proudly. Her small black eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Indeed, I am shortly going to
"And this is what you've chosen?"
"My application was accepted more than a month ago."
They came to a tricky scree slope, the remnant of an old avalanche, and concentrated on traversing it safely. When they reached the other side they rested for a moment. The sun beat down hotly. The retroevolved condors were gone.
"Amerie," the old man said, "it would be very interesting to see fossil bones with flesh on them."
She elevated an eyebrow. "Isn't this notion a trifle impulsive?"
"Maybe I've nothing better to do. Seeing Pliocene animals alive would be an interesting windup to a long career in paleobiology. And the day-to-day survival aspects wouldn't pose any problems for me. If there's one thing you learn out in the field, it's roughing it in comfort. Maybe I could kind of help you get your hermitage set up. That is, if you wouldn't think I was too great a temptation to your vows."
She went into gales of laughter, then stopped and said, "Claude! You're worried about me. You think FU get eaten by a sabertooth tiger or trampled by mastodons."
"Dammit, Amerie! Do you know what you're letting yourself in for? Just because you climb a few tame mountains and catch stocked trout in Oregon you think you can be a female Francis of Assisi in a howling wilderness!" He looked away, scowling. "God knows what kind of human dregs are wandering around there. I don't want to cramp your style, child. I could just keep an eye on things. Bring you food and such. Even those old mystics let the faithful bring 'em offerings, you know. Amerie, don't you understand? I wouldn't want anything to spoil your dream."
Abruptly, she threw her arms around him, then stepped back smiling, and for an instant he saw her not in jeans, plaid shirt, and bandanna, but robed in white homespun with a rope knotted about her waist. "Doctor Majewski, I would be honoured to have you as a protector. You may very well be a temptation. But I'll be steadfast and resist your allure, even though I love you very much."
"That's settled, then. We'd better get on down and arrange for Genevieve's requiem without delay. We'll take her ashes with us to France and bury her in the Pliocene. Gen would have liked that."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The widow of Professor Theo Guderian had been astounded when the first time-tripper appeared at the gate of the cottage on the slope of the Monts du Lyonnais.
It happened in the year 2041, early in June. She was working in her rose garden, snipping deadheads from the splendid standards of Mme. A. Meilland and wondering how she would be able to pay the death duties, when a stocky male hiker with a dachshund came striding up the dusty road from Saint-Antoine-des-Vignes. The man knew where he was going. He stopped precisely in front of the gate and waited for her to approach. The little dog sat down one step behind her master's left heel.
"Good evening, Monsieur," she said in Standard English, folding her secateurs and slipping them into the pocket of her back salopette.
"Citizen Angelique Montmagny?"
"I prefer the older form of address. But yes, I am she."
He bowed formally. "Madame Guderian! Permit me to present myself. Richter, Karl Josef. I am by profession a poet and my home has been up to now in Frankfurt. I am here, chere Madame, to discuss with you a business proposal concerning the experimental apparatus of your late husband."
"I regret that I am no longer able to demonstrate the device." Madame pursed her lips. The fine beak of her aquiline nose lifted proudly. Her small black eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Indeed, I am shortly going to
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