Forge of god PDF
Preview Forge of god
EBOOKS BY GREG BEAR Available from Open Road Media Click to explore each title Want to hear about deals, sweepstakes, and new releases from Open Road Media? Sign up for our newsletters and start receiving offers and news now! Visit www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters FIND US ON THE FORGE OF GOD THE FORGE OF GOD GREG BEAR NEW YORK All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. Th is is a work of fi ction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 1987 by Greg Bear ISBN 978-1-4804-4464-5 Th is edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc. 345 Hudson Street New York, NY 10014 www.openroadmedia.com For Alan Brennert, who gave me hell on TV INTROIT: KYRIE ELEISON June 26, 1996 Arthur Gordon stood in the darkness by the bank of the Rogue River, having walked a dozen yards away from his house and family and guests, momentarily weary of company. He stood six feet two inches in height, losing no more than an inch to a slight stoop. His hair was a dusty brown color, his eyebrows a lighter shade of the same. He had a well-proportioned frame and a sufficient amount of muscle, but he lacked any trace of fat; his muscles showed clearly beneath the skin, giving him an appearance of thinness. The same leanness added intensity and, falsely, a hint of villainy to his face. When he smiled, it seemed he might be thinking something unpleasant or planning mischief. But when he spoke or laughed, that impression was quickly dispelled. His voice was rich and even and calm. He was and always had been—even in his year and a half in Washington, D.C.—the gentlest of men. The clothes Arthur Gordon owned tended to the professorial. His favorite outfit was an old brown pair of corduroy pants—he wore them now—a matching jacket, and a blue checked long- sleeved shirt. His shoes were few and sturdy, running shoes for wear around the house, and for work solid brown or black leather wing tips. His only ostentation was a wide rectangular belt buckle showing a turquoise Saturn and silver stars set in rosewood above brass and maple mountains. He had done little actual astronomy for five years, but he kept that job-description close to his heart and quick to his lips, still thinking it the noblest of professions. Kneeling in the starshadow of ash and maple, he dug his fingers into the rich, black leaf-crusted cake of humus. Closing his eyes,
The list of books you might like
