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Dr Who [Lethbridge Stewart] Andy Frankham Allen (v5.0) (epu
Content Selected Essays on Tech Cory Doctorow
Amazing Doctor Darwin Charles Sheffield
Brian Moore The Doctor's Wife (epub)
Bite My Cookies [Who Needs Chri Joyee Flynn
Doctor MC Three More Wishes Be Kind To Y
Doctor Rat William Kotzwinkle
Doctor No Ian Fleming
Czepko von Reigersfeld, Daniel Sexcenta Monodisticha Sapientum
Craig Schaefer Daniel Faust The Living End

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.His face, although young, was naturally thin and drawn, as if his skin and bone were made up entirely of crisp vertical lines.His eyes were red-rimmed and his face was topped with a brush of spiky white-blond hair.He manoeuvred the skimmer, a dartlike vehicle with a strengthened bubble-hatch on top, and brought it in over the splintered ruins of the citadel.Leibniz winced.His scans cut through the haze of smoke below him, revealing the destruction in colour maps and infrared images.Still standing tall at the centre of Banksburgh was the library.Its shape was an elongated pyramid, skewering a globe of black glass at ground level.Its surface telegraphed the destruction around it.Somehow, this fragile pinnacle of learning had escaped the bombardments while all around was reduced to rubble.Any reassurance that Leibniz could gain from this was shattered by the sight of the rest of the city.The streets, laid out in the Wheel of Life pattern typical of many colonial outposts, were burning.The Wheel, Leibniz thought wildly, the Wheel itself was ablaze.One of the scans tracked over the ruins of the governor’s home, which he understood had been bombed to a ruin early in the conflict.Now, even the ruins were being destroyed.A gaping fascia, like a chessboard of soot-black and hellish red, was all that remained.He flicked a few controls as he came in over the fringe zone, and traced Cheynor immediately.The captain had a clear run towards safety.The hatch of the skimmer folded behind Darius Cheynor as the Phractons’flamers ate their way into the chequered Londinium Plaza.Horst Leibniz turned and grinned like a ghoul.Cheynor collapsed into the seat, a man at the end of his strength.‘This is madness,’ Leibniz said, the grin intact.‘Nobody will blame us if we don’t act sane in dealing with the Phracs.’7Cheynor felt his body aching with exhaustion, with the sudden release of latent tenor.He closed his eyes against the rushing landscape.‘They will,’ he said.‘That’s the problem.’Rivulets of dust trickled from the roof of the reading hall.Disks lay scattered like dead fish in a polluted river, and consoles were cracked or overturned.A young woman with quicksilver-glossy hair and a round, intelligent face was stuffing as many of the disks as she could find into a denim haversack, occasionally glancing at her wristwatch.Now and then the building would be rocked by more nearby explosions and more unwanted patterns would etch themselves into the floor and ceiling.She snapped the haversack shut, looking around with nervous, sharp eyes.They were green and had pupils ringed with a haze of yellowish orange.After satisfying herself with her owlish scan that the coast was as clear as it could be, she swung open the hatch leading down to the stacks, and lowered her athletic body on to the ladder.She got halfway down before she had a mental picture of those vast underground vaults of information being sealed off forever – with her body slumped and rotting between Ichthyology and Iconography.Suzi Palsson, Chief Archivist and Librarian of Gadrell Major, bit her lip, weighed the preservation of history against the preservation of her life, and, opting for the latter, ascended the shaft again rapidly.She hefted the rucksack, zipped her tunic and slipped the protectors over her eyes.At the gallery, Suzi paused, leaning on the rail.As she looked out again at the devastation of what had been Banksburgh, she wondered – and doubted – if the Phractons had ever heard of Alexandria.82Some Days Are Better Than OthersBernice Summerfield sometimes wondered how soon it would be before she became history.Sometimes, wandering the corridors of the Doctor’s complex, still almost magical TARDIS, she would think she sensed the ghosts of long-departed friends there in the dim light of the roundels, transient souls who fluttered like mayflies through the Doctor’s near endless days.She shuddered at those times, a future echo of what she might become.And she sometimes wanted to speak to them, to reach out, and to ask: have you felt what I have felt, have you seen the same unresolved anguish of the years ahead and behind?On such occasions she had the strongest yearnings to leave the TARDIS, to get the Doctor to open his box of tricks and places and times once more.For it occasionally called to Bernice Summerfield, that sense of empty loneliness.It called to her like the vastness between worlds, like the calm on Heaven before the deaths, like the sound of distant oceans.It was a kind of subconscious chill that made her wonder if she had now, inescapably, become a part of something too great for one human being from one world.It called her like the sense of an ending.The lights were dim and Benny was running her hand along the rows of assorted clothes in the TARDIS wardrobe.In the less-than-perfect mirror, she saw herself, and sighed heavily.It was just her now.Alone with the Doctor.With Ace’s departure had come an onerous feeling of responsibility.‘What if something goes wrong now?’ she said out loud.‘After all we’ve been through?’Her fingertips pressed against those of her image.Dark eyes looked into dark eyes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]