Foster, Alan Dean The Last Starfighter

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that he prefers not to pursue the path you have so deceptively chosen for him."
"I told him he was to receive a special honor, and so he has," Centauri pointed out. "So I was a little
conservative with some of the details, so what? I saw him fight, using the simplified gunstar fire controls
on the simulators I designed. All he needs is a good navigator/ operator like yourself to take him into
combat. He can be the greatest Starfighter ever!"
"Centauri," Alex protested, "that was just a game."
"A game? Maybe you thought it was just a game, but it was a carefully thought-out, heavily researched
test. A test which you took along with hundreds of representatives of other young, combative races. And
the test worked exactly as it was designed to. It selected you, my boy, and here you are."
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"Right. Here I am, about to get killed."
The Rylan officer shifted impatiently from one foot to the other and gestured with his extended hand.
"Return the payment, Centauri. Or do I have to call Security?"
"No need to rush things. Why so insistent? This is a secured installation. Where could I run to?"
"You always manage to find someplace."
Centauri chose to turn from the officer and ignore that. Instead, he tried to convince the crux of his
current difficulties of the rightness of the course his good friend Centauri had chosen for him.
"Now why talk of being killed? You don't seriously think being a Starfighter is dangerous? You're being
foolish, my boy. What could be dangerous?"
"Yeah, what," Alex snapped. "It's nothing, really. A simple little interstellar war involving a few billion
combatants. What could be dangerous?"
"Exactly my point." Centauri sounded pleased, managing to ignore Alex's sarcasm with marvelous ease.
"All you have to do is . . ."
There was a disturbance in the hangar. In minutes everyone was aware of its presence among them.
Hands put tools aside while armed troops scurried to battle stations in case the chance presented itself
for them to shoot at more than an uncomfortable feeling.
The light began to change, darkening at first near the center of the largest open area, then brightening as a
flat white glow built into a solid globe of illumination. The light intensified, solidifying.
Alex whispered to Grig. "What is it?"
"Image projection. Somehow the Ko-Dan have learned the location of our command center."
Alex thought a moment. "The traitors Enduran mentioned. It has to be."
"Yes, the traitors."
"Are there many of them?"
"No, but there are enough to make a difference, and they are led by one whose philosophy, while
abhorrent to all civilized peoples, possesses a certain malignant attractiveness. They are not to be
underestimated, nor is their leader."
"Xur." Alex stared fascinated at the rotating sphere of dense light and remembered details of the
videogame.
"Yes, Xur, but that is little more than a name to you. To us it conjures up the image of a real person, of a
great evil. Enduran knows this more than any other."
"Enduran? Why him?"
"Watch, listen, learn." Alex held his questions and did as he was told.
Within the spinning globe of light a face began to take form. It resembled another recently observed and
Alex struggled to place it. Then he had it, and understood what Grig meant. The resemblance was
striking, and frightening.
Enduran had appeared on the floor of the hangar, shaking off the protective hands of the aides who tried
to hold him back. The ambassador approached the projection fearlessly. His expression hinted at anger
barely held in check.
The projection reacted to this new presence, smiled humorlessly. "Hello, Father."
"You have no father," said Enduran. "I have no son."
The image did not appear in the least upset. "And neither of us has any illusions. No, that is not quite
right. You still believe in the invulnerability of your foolish, outmoded 'Frontier.' It is less solid than the
image you gaze upon now, and will vanish just as easily should I will it so . . . Father."
"Do not call me Father!" Enduran fought to check his emotions. Were he to lose his temper and strike out
at a pillar of smoke it would draw only laughter from the traitor. Enduran would never give him that kind
of satisfaction.
"You are no longer my son. That much is settled. You have made yourself an outcast, not only from your
family, but from your civilization, from that which nurtured you. You have betrayed on a level
unprecedented in history. Knowing this, why have you chosen to return?"
The projection was am used. "I wouldn't think that after all you've learned that my intentions are still open
to question. I thought I made them quite clear when I was thrown out of the Council." Some of Xur's
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humor gave way to the blind fury barely concealed beneath his veneer of politeness.
"I have returned to fulfill my destiny, Father. The destiny you and the other members of the Council
denied to me. I have returned to claim my birthright. I have returned for the good of all Rylans, as my
supporters well know."
"Dabblers in evil," Enduran responded. "They see in a return to ancient combat only an opportunity for
shallow excitements. Past that they see nothing. I do. You have returned for the good of Xur and Xur [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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