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- Julian May - Pliocene Exiles/Galactic Milieu Series | Science Fiction & Fantasy forums
Go home. Rogi chuckled. Hale Pohakumano was actually situated high enough to be spared the worst of the tropical heat and humidity. Home, Marcel said again, fixing Rogi with an owl-like coercive stare. And put my goddam stupid wishful thinking in the ash can where it belongs. Haunani and Tony must have let her know I was staying in her house.
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The residents and holidaymakers in Kekaha village were mostly still asleep, their minds unguarded so that even a metapsychic searcher as clumsy as he was could sort through their identities quickly. None of those minds belonged to Elaine Donovan, the woman he had loved and lost years ago.
Elaine was probably nowhere near the Hawaiian Islands—perhaps not even on the planet Earth. Borrowing her house while he wrote the penultimate volume of his memoirs had been a bummer of an idea after all, even though the Family Ghost had colluded in it and mysteriously made all the arrangements. But it had mattered. Rogi had seen her image on the Tri-D and in durofilm newsprint rather often in recent years, for she was a distinguished patron of the arts, both human and exotic.
The rejuvenation techniques of the Galactic Milieu had preserved her beauty.
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She retained the same silvery eyes, strawberry-blonde hair, and striking features that had left him thunderstruck at their first meeting in Long ago, his pigheaded pride had made marriage impossible and they had gone their separate ways. He had loved other women since their parting but none of them were her equal: Elaine Donovan, the grandmother of Teresa Kendall and the great-grandmother of Marc Remillard and his mutant younger brother Jack.
She was a busy woman. Like most people, Rogi still called the stuff paper. Little Diamond Mask and Jack the Bodiless. But his reverie evaporated as he reached the last line. He was suddenly wide awake with something horrid stirring deep in his gut.
Julian May - Pliocene Exiles/Galactic Milieu Series | Science Fiction & Fantasy forums
He slammed the durofilm sheet down on the desk, mouthed an obscenity in Canuckois dialect, and sat with his head lowered for a moment before looking up toward the ceiling. Muttering under his breath, Rogi pulled a key ring from his pants pocket and lurched to his feet. A gleaming fob resembling a small ball of red glass enclosed in a metal cage caught the light from the desk lamp as he shook the bunch of old-fashioned keys provocatively.
Answer the questions. Not just the Fury thing, but the Mental Man fiasco and the war as well. Why did you let it happen? God knows you meddled and manipulated us enough earlier in the game. Rogi crumpled back into the chair and pressed his brow with the knuckles of his tightened fists.
Go home, Marcel said. Marcel began to purr. Now sleep. Why was his Hawaiian friend being so damned mysterious? What was the Family Ghost up to now, using the kahuna woman as a go-between?
Sleep, urged Marcel. He jumped down from the desk and headed out of the room, pausing to look back over his shoulder. Outside, the sky had turned to gold and wild roosters were crowing in the ravines. Rogi turned off the desk lamp and the transcriber and shuffled after the cat. The key ring with the Great Carbuncle, forgotten, lay on the desk looking very ordinary except for a wan spark of light at the heart of the red fob, reminiscent of a similar, more sinister object buried in Spain.
Rogi slept poorly, plagued by dreams of the Fury monster and its homicidal minion, Hydra. Roused by the pillow alarm at hours, he slapped shave on his face, showered, put on fresh slacks and a more subdued shirt, and went out to the egg parked on the landing pad at the edge of the garden. Tony Opelu was trimming a hibiscus hedge with a brushzapper. He waved. See All Customer Reviews.
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May has cemented her position as one of this generation's foremost storytellers. This satisfying end to a remarkable feat of the imagination is a necessary purchase. Human colonies are thriving on numerous planets, life on Earth is peaceful and prosperous, and as more humans are being born with metapsychic abilities, it will not be long before these gifted minds at last achieve total Unity. But xenophobia is deeply rooted in the human soul. A growing corps of rebels plots to keep the people of Earth forever separate, led by a man obsessed with human superiority: Marc Remillard. Marc's goal is nothing less than the elevation of human metapsychics above all others, by way of artificial enhancement of mental faculties.
His methods are unpalatable, his goal horrific. And so Marc and his coconspirators continue their work in secret. Only the very Unity he fears and abhors can foil Marc's plans. And only his brother, Jack the Bodiless, and the young woman called Diamond Mask can hope to lead the metaconcert to destroy Marc, Unify humanity, and pave the way for the Golden Age of the Galactic Milieu to begin. But a rebel group want Earth to remain separate, led by a man obsessed with human superiority.
This is Marc Remillard, unknowingly influenced by Fury who is now unveiled and on the run. Marc's goal is nothing less than the elevation of human metapsychics above all others, through artificial enhancement of mental faculties. His methods are unpalatable; his goal horrific. So Marc and his co-conspirators continue their work in secret.
Only the very Unity he fears can derail Marc's plans.
And only his brother Jack the Bodiless, and the young woman known as Diamond Mask can attempt the impossible: destroy Marc, Unify humanity and allow the golden age of the Galactic Milieu to begin. Born in , Julian May sold her first short story to John W.