Thurston ALICIA II (English Edition)

The science fiction classic!
1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-7554-1492-6
Verlag: BookRix
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 549 Seiten

In the not distant future the world hasn't changed so much - men and women still fall in love, laugh, and sip wine - but some have changed, some will live forever as retreads, old souls implanted surgically in the empty bodies of the young. Voss Geraghty is a retread, a retiring government researcher who has been rewarded with a new body. What he wants out of his new life is fun, sex, and adventure, what he finds is disappointment. But there's a growing radical underground that sees the inequity in a society that allows the young to die so that the old may live on...   Alicia II  is the undisputed science fiction masterpiece  by Robert Thurston (* 28. Oktober 1936 in Lockport, New York; ? 20. Oktober 2021 in Ridgefield Park, New Jersey) and was first published in 1978; Apex is publishing a new edition of this classic novel in its ENGLISH SCIENCE FICTION NOVELS series.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Thurston, Robert

Leseproben

  PART II
    Chapter One     Stacy became my friend on the planet blandly named Coolidge, the assignment that used up most of my off-planet time.  Before putting me aboard the shuttle to Coolidge, orbiting- station personnel did a redundant test of my adaptation pack—adaptapack—which had been surgically implanted in my chest. The adaptapack adjusted for the differences between Coolidge’s atmosphere and what was breathable for my body. Primarily it allowed me to inhale without harm the traces of methane in the planet’s air, along with other, not identifiable by Earth standards, elements that were part of the atmosphere.  As we descended toward the planet, I studied the lines of various intense colors, arranged almost in series, spotting the surface. They were distributed among other, Earth-normal, colors of land, sea, and clouds. It looked to me as if paint had been casually applied in many places by an artist more concerned with testing hues and tints than committing his talent to a masterpiece. I decided to ask the pilot about it. »Do you know what all those colors on the—«  »I just drive.«  »But hasn’t anybody ever said any—«  »Nobody talks to me.«  »That’s hard to be-«  »Not after you get to know me.«  »Will I see you that oft—«  »Business at the satellite or landing stage, this’s the only shuttle you’ll use.«  »And you’re the only—«  »Correct.«  »And you don’t—«  »Not to you people unless you talk to me.«  »I see that you’re not exactly—«  »I keep to myself.«  »You sound like you come from New Eng—«  »Lotta people think that.«  »Do you?«  »Nope.«  »Where, th—«  »Toronto, Old Canada, New Whatever-they-call-it.«  »Cold climate, anyway.«  »Almost every first-timer makes that remark.«  »You win.«  »I usually do.«  »What’s your-«  »Stacy.«  »First or—«  »Last.«  »I’ll be sure to remem—«  »You do that.«  I gave up on talking to him. We descended onto the planet with the businesslike efficiency of two people who would see each other again only on an official basis.   I was astonished when Stacy presented himself at my quarters several months later, his gear slung over his shoulder. For a moment I could not quite remember him. When I did, I was really puzzled. He stood at attention for a long time while I stared at him, wondering when he would say something.  »You’re not going to tell me what you’re doing here until I ask you first, right?«  »Right, sir.«  »Okay, what are you—«  »I’m assigned to you now.«  »But who’ll pilot the—«  »New man, just arrived, good credentials.«  »Why’d you—«  »I needed a transfer, change of scene.«  I had requisitioned no aide, and had in fact always said I preferred to work alone, that I liked to be alone. »But why me, Stacy, why’d you want to—«  »Practicality, Mr. Geraghty.«  »Prac—«  »I don’t put myself where I won’t be useful, and I don’t put myself where I can be stepped on.«  »And I-«  »You were the only choice.«  »But I can’t see—«  »Oh, you’ll get used to the arrangement.«  »Are you—«  »Positive. I’m good at paperwork, I’m not clumsy, and I can shoot.«  Which proved to be the proper qualifications for the position.       Chapter Two     In the months that followed, Stacy took pride in staying out of my way. When I was busy with home-base work—detailed reports, mostly, about our generally uneventful forays into Coolidge’s pretty but placid wilderness—he found other work to do quietly. When I needed something, he obtained it for me—even when I was not, according to regulations, supposed to have it. He kept annoying colleagues out of my way. He even did some light cooking. Half the time, he had anticipated my requirements and had completed the task before I asked. Most of the other members of the Coolidge exploratory team did not share my appreciation of Stacy. Not surprising, since they did not especially appreciate me. They thought Stacy a creep, wanted him returned to the orbiting station. They were disturbed at the silent way he watched them like a spy, never saying anything, yet looking—examining, critical. It was the critical they really couldn’t stand, the suggestion of mockery. The female members of the team especially complained about Stacy. It was all part of their intricate courtship of me. I tried to listen patiently to their complaints, as a penance for the cruel methods I had to employ in order to discourage their courtships. When I told Stacy what the others said about him, he just shrugged and admitted the truth of their accusations. When I suggested he could use a soupçon of etiquette in dealing with them, he said he wouldn’t—it was too late to break old habits.   Coolidge had proved to be something of a disappointment for our exploratory team. It was a very Earthlike environment. With some color differences, the greenery was amazingly similar. Little of interest had been discovered by our geologists, zoologists, and anthropologists. The only mystery worth keeping a conversation going was the strange multicolored mist which had been scheduled for later investigation, although some data had been derived from distant sightings. Because it covered large areas of the planet, it was decided not to study it closely until more data had been gathered. With the single exception of the mist, then, Coolidge was unexciting for a group of hazardous-duty volunteers. I did notice, though, that most of the team settled into ordinary routine with some ease. Myself, I couldn’t stand the life in the bubble. Too much paperwork, too few trips into the wilderness. I complained too loudly and too often about the dullness. My colleagues, who claimed to be too involved in their own trivial projects, were only too eager to let me assume the role of troubleshooter. Stacy and I became the men who chopped jungle ahead of the rest, looked into dark places with them peeking over our shoulders, exposed ourselves to the planetary subjects for future study. One day Stacy and I took one of the birds—a bird was a complex combination of old-style helicopter and more modern shuttlecraft—and plotted a course for a destination where, on an earlier flight, a large animal had been sighted from a distance by a pair of geologists. We arrived at the point of sighting quickly. Stacy took back manual control and set the bird down into a clearing. Our equipment showed no sign of animal life for a few miles’ radius. I decided we should take a look around. Outside the ship, the clearing seemed less peaceful than it had looked from above. To our left a bunch of Stoka trees were in furious motion. Stoka trees, named after one of the more obtuse officials at the orbiting satellite, resembled Earth trees in bark and foliage, though with streaks of red and lavender throughout both leaves and branches. From time to time their branches tended to start bobbing up and down, usually in a 1-2-3 up, 1-2-3 down pattern. (Later it was discovered that the trees’ movements were connected with the production of an apparently useless sap.) When several of the trees fluttered their branches at the same time, it was an enchantingly rhythmic sight.  »Sense anything, Stacy?«  »Not much.«  »But something.«  »Not much.«  »There’s something out—«  »Yes, I know.«  »What do you think—«  »Dragons. Moby...