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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME THREE NUMBER FIVE
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| | ==========================================
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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| ++ | F S F NN N E T
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| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
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| | F S F N NN E T
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|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
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/___________\ ==========================================
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| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
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___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial Orny
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The Acquisition, Conclusion Roman Olynyk
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Review: Soul of the City - TW8 Orny
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Narret Chronicles, Book 2 Mari A. Paulsen
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Narret Chronicles, Book 1 Mari A. Paulsen
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Date: 012086 Dist: 091
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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X-Editorial
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Well, folks here it is, the end of volume 3! In this issue
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conclude both Mari Paulsen's Narret Chronicles and Roman Olynyk's
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Acquisition serials. Sandwiched in between is a short review of
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another new Thieves' World book, "Soul of the City". In the next
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issue, Volume 1, issue 1, the first of the Dargon writing project
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stories will appear, and I'll go into that in more detail in the
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editorial-cum-prologue in that issue.
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I would encourage readers to send in their comments on either
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Narret or the Acquisition, and they will be considered to printing
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in issue 4-1. By the way, Mari is considering writing a sequel
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series for Narret, and Roman is incorporating Banewood and Sod into
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the Dargon writing project, so you can expect more from them, as
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well as the other authors involved with Dargon. And, of course, I'll
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plod on with news, reviews, and featured authors as time and
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submissions permit.
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Thanks for reading, and thanks for sharing. I hope you all enjoy
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the zine and the upcoming fruit of the writing project as much as I
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have enjoyed writing for it. Catch you later...
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-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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The Acquisition
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Part Four: Conclusion
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Banewood and Sod remained awake most of the long night and
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occasionally fed more wood to the pyre. Only when they were sure
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that nothing remained of Kathryn's carcass did they rest for the
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waning hours before dawn. For breakfast, they ate a hasty meal of
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dried meat and bread, and then they departed in the same direction
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from which they arrived. Banewood managed to gather some of the
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strange simples and root stocks from the ancient herb garden he had
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passed on the way in. The path through the tangled thorn brush was
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certainly no easier than it was on the way in. Nature did not go out
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of her way to extend its thanks for a job well done.
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When they passed out of the thorn thicket and reached the
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forest, the two men found the same path they had traveled with the
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Silvan Lord. Surprisingly, the path was actually straighter than
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they thought when they travelled it a couple of nights earlier.
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Lessy, no doubt disheartened, was not to be found on their return
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trip, but Banewood and Sod were not dismayed, for now the dark
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forest seemed more alive than before. Previously somber birds were
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now joyfully singing, and occasional butterflies could be seen
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flitting among the treetops. On their way back home, Banewood and
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Sod found more to talk about. Banewood was excited about the book of
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ancient secrets he had found in the hut of Baba Yaga. He felt that
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this book could unlock the doors blocking his quest for knowledge of
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the Shaman's arts. Already, Banewood was practicing strange, new
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spells that he had translated from the book. His prowess was
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increasing steadily. Sod spoke of his dream to break away from his
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life as a plowman. He wished to sever his roots to the soil and
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become a journeyman, a knight errant of this kingdom upon the
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plains. He found that he now had the confidence to realize his dream.
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When Banewood and Sod arrived once again at the Ludki village,
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they were greeted by the entire population of little people. The
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smiles were upon the round faces and bright and exotic feathers
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dressed the tall caps worn by all. It was a state reception for the
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two heroes. Banewood and Sod walked waist-deep through the cheering
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crowd and stopped directly in front of Stickleburr.
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"Hey Sod, hey Banewood! It seems that you've killed Kathryn, for
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she can no longer be alive. The forest and plains are free again,
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though they've hardly known any freedom. Congratulations, yes, most
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certainly!" Spoke Stickleburr from atop his royal stump.
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The little people all cheered and waved their hats. All around
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the Ludki village stood cloth-covered tables layed out with fragrant
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foods -- all of the delicacies that could be concocted. Kegs of mead
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were everywhere in anticipation of a great feast in honor of the
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slayers of the monster Kathryn.
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"You've done an Immeasurable Service to all of The Ludki by Your
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Slaying of the Great Wolk and Kathryn," said Stickleburr in his
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finest rhetoric, adding: "Since your Service is Most Certainly not
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Measurable to even a single Ludki, and Since It wasn't actually Your
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Slaying of the Great Wolk and Kathryn because the Wolk wasn't all
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that Great and Kathryn wasn't at all Kathryn."
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Sod found it difficult, to say the least, to follow the
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circuitous speech of Stickleburr, but he did manage to glean the
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meaning: Kathryn was not really Kathryn. Did they kill the wrong
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monster? Worse yet, was there actually another monster like Kathryn?
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Stickleburr said: "I know what you're thinking, Sod, even if you
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don't. There is no other monster, for there was only one; Kathryn
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was really Baba Yaga because she was nothing else."
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Once again all of the Ludki cheered loudly. The feast was on and
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the music was struck. Flagons were filled with bubbly mead poured
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from the aged kegs. This was the best of brews, for this was to be
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the best of celebrations-- Kathryn was dead and Baba Yaga was no more.
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Without prompting, the two heroes joined in the merriment. Food
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and drink were both brought to the guests of honor. The large, round
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eyes of the Ludki bulged in disbelief at the sight of Banewood and
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Sod drinking their mead. Surely, the two strangers must have hollow
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legs to hold so much drink. Banewood and Sod could very well have
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had hollow legs, for they drank considerable amounts of mead even
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for men. They had had a long and difficult ordeal, and this was a
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welcome relief from the events of the past several weeks. And most
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certainly, this mead was the best they had ever tasted!
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While Banewood and Sod were enjoying themselves and filling
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their bellies, the Ludki danced furiously, spinning and hopping and
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clapping their little hands. The musicians were adept with their
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instruments-- strange varieties of many-stringed wonders. Suddenly,
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from some occult cue, the music and dancing and laughter all
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stopped. A lone minstrel approached Banewood and Sod, bowed, and
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began to pick his instrument. After several introductory bars, he
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sang a song whose chorus was joined in by all:
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"Tell a tale of Kathryn,
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a tough old sow with tougher skin.
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She razed the fields with flame and fire
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now where did she go? Hey!
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Chorus:
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"They ground her up for sausage links.
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They boiled her down for candle sticks.
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They tanned her hide and sewed some shoes
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so now she's hit the road. Hey!
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Tell a tale of Shaman folk
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who packs himself an awful smoke.
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He smoked a bit with Kathryn
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now where did she go? Hey!
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Tell a tale of a man named Sod
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who found himself a sharp old sword.
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He smote a bit on Kathryn
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now where did she go? Hey!"
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Banewood and Sod were both deeply touched by this tribute. In
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their dim age of little writing, great deeds were memorialized in an
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oral tradition. The song of their deeds could very well outlive any
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scrap of paper or even any memory of just who Sod and Banewood
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actually were.
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Stickleburr once again mounted his royal stump. The thin-haired
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and pot-bellied leader of the Ludki swayed slightly, for it was
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apparent that he'd been sampling his share of the mead. He rubbed
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his bulbous little nose to see if it was still there and then spoke
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to the gathering in long-drawn syllables.
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"My fellow Ludki. We are gathered here, for we aren't elsewhere,
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to Honor these Two Humans whom we don't wish to do dishonor for
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their Deeds. Hic. Since it wouldn't be Right to take them away, I'll
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present these Medallions to Sod and Banewood for their uncowardly
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Courage in defeating Kathryn-Who- Couldn't-Be-Defeated. These
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Medallions make known that which is not unknown: Sod and Banewood
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are forever Friends of the Ludki, for we cannot be your enemies even
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for a short while."
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Stickleburr paused to hang the medallions around their necks. He
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hiccuped and continued: "I must tell you, for it wouldn't do to tell
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another, that both of you will find Greatness, unless Greatness
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cannot be found but rather achieved. Hic! Sod, it is not a
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coincidence, though You may think it is, that You found Wolksmert.
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Wolksmert found You. Wolksmert, the wolf-slayer, was crafted many
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hundreds of years ago by the Ludki, for it could have been crafted
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by none other. It seeks the hand which can guide it, unless that
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hand can't be found, then it will evade the unsure hand, though an
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unsure hand is more likely itself to evade the sword! Hic! Sod,
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wield Your Sword wisely, for to do otherwise would be foolish. Hic! Hic!
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"Banewood, you shall be a Powerful and a Good Sorcerer, though
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You may not think You are either. In Your lifetime You will undo
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much of the evil that has already been done by the Evil Sorceress,
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for You can't undo that which hasn't already been done. Hic!"
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Stickleburr was quite obviously reeling now and finding it
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difficult to keep his balance. He continued to feel for his nose,
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but he couldn't find it for the numbness.
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"So let Me say, unless you say I can't say it, that You Two have
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found Greatness that you never lost because you sought to acquire
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it. Hic! It was there-- it wasn't anywhere else. Hic! I... I... I
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must stop now, for I think I've had too much to drink, though if I
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start on it, hic, I'd say it wasn't the drink that I drunk-- the
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drink's not drunk, rather, I drank the drink, unless I drunk it. It
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was already drunk, but now I'm the one who's drunk-- Hic!"
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With that, Stickleburr spun off his stump, much to the relief of
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the other Ludki, who had become almost as confused as Banewood and
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Sod. While Stickleburr lay passed-out with a smile upon his numb
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lips, the other Ludki-- those who weren't also passed-out--
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endeavored to follow their leader. Banewood and Sod joined in the
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twirling, leg-kicking dance of the Ludki and shouted "Hey!" The
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dancing, music and magic lasted long into the night, and remained in
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the memories of the two humans long after many things had passed.
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A warbler's song awoke Sod from his slumber. Rosy morning rays
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penetrated the covering of trees and illuminated the Ludki village
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with radiance. All around the beehive ovens and little houses and
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strewn-about kegs lay the supine bodies of Ludki, some still wearing
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their pointed hats and bright feathers. Sod's pre-breakfast mind
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pondered over the many events that had recently come to pass. He'd
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seen so many things that he'd never thought he'd see-- the Ludki and
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the Silvan Lord and parts of the great countryside surrounding
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Gorod. Things he'd wished he'd never seen-- the Great Wolk, Kathryn
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and Baba Yaga's hut. Stories from his childhood had come to life,
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and all he had to do was to brave seldom-travelled paths. How many
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more wonders lay waiting to be seen? He didn't know, but now he
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would endeavor to find them, for his curiosity had finally been aroused.
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After they had both broken fast, the two journeymen washed away
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the grime of the last few days and bid farewell to their friends,
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the Ludki. Banewood and Sod promised to respect the privacy of the
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little people; they would not divulge the existence and location of
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the Ludki, who wished to maintain their distance from the human
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race. As Stickleburr explained, once upon a time, many thousands of
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years ago, the Ludki lived near humans. It was Ludki adroitness with
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smithing that led humans to request from them weapons of iron --
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weapons the Ludki had no wish to forge. The few weapons they did
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make, the Ludki imbued with a magic that would not allow their use
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without purpose or good intent. Wolksmert was one such weapon which
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had survived that golden age of metal working.
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By the time Banewood and Sod reached the center of Gorod, they
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had acquired a persistent throng of followers eager to hear news of
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their adventures. Most expressed murmured amazement that Banewood
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and Sod returned alive, uninjured and not white with fright. If
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anything, they even looked healthier than when they had originally
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undertaken their quest. Banewood's Ludki-crafted arrows were hidden
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away and both of their medallions lay hidden beneath their tunics.
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Banewood and Sod only offered unembellished details of Kathryn's
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final moments. They didn't mention Baba Yaga's hut or even the great
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wolk. There was considerable rejoicing among the populace at the
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news of Kathryn's death. Regardless of how little the two travelers
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told, they were highly regarded by the folks of Gorod. They were heroes.
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Inside the Antlers, Sod and even Banewood were offered seats of
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honor and given drinks of crude tavern mead. As the days went by,
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Banewood and Sod would often meet there to discuss their plans for
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travel. This time they were going across the plain in search of
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distant cities. Tales were told of men in the far away cities who
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rode upon the backs of four-legged beasts, and Banewood and Sod both
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agreed that they would like to explore more of their world. It was
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now late autumn, and what little harvest there was that was spared
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by Kathryn's harsh breath was stored away. The daily work routine
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was slowing in pace. The time was ripe for travel.
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A few large bottle flies were marauding about within the
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Antlers, enjoying the late warmth and making a general nuisance of
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themselves with the few customers. One daring fly kept alighting
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near Sod, trying to divert the normally stolid plowman. The air
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intermittently cracked with the resounding whack of Sod's large hand
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upon the table. He couldn't kill the pesky fly.
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"Yeauh, Sod," yelled the Miller from across the tiny room. "Why
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don't you let Banewood give the fly some of his smoke. The little
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critter'd get so dizzy it would burn itself into a hole! Harr! Harr!"
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Banewood cast a glance at the bottle fly buzzing around their
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heads and sent it to the great beyond with a tiny, explosive pop.
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The Miller, who saw this, inhaled part of his mead and coughed.
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Banewood and Sod laughed.
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-Roman Olynyk <VM0BA9 @ WVNVM>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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REVIEW: The Soul of the City
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Thieves' World Book 8
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When I first saw the new Thieves' World book on the shelf, I
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thought to myself: Oh, boy, another TW book to drudge through and
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review for FSFNet. Well, the seventh book (which also came out only
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recently), "The Dead of Winter" was good, so I jumped in, even
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though it takes too much time to read and go to school. Folks, if
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you haven't read "the Dead of Winter" and the most recent book,
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"Soul of the City", you're in for a TREAT!
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After Aspirin's third or fourth book, I had lost interest, due
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to a stagnation in the characters and events in Sanctuary. As if
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reading my mind, these most recent books each seem to focus on one
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aspect of the authors' writing styles that had been lacking. "The
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Dead of Winter" contains superb characterization, and each character
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portrayed leaves a lasting image on the reader. The book reads like
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several short stories about Sanctuary's inhabitants.
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The new book, "Soul of the City" is it. For all you people who
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knew that it would eventually come down to war in the streets, here
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it is: the resolution of all the conflicts of Ischade and Roxanne,
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and everyone who's anyone is town, including the new Rankan emperor.
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In contrast to the style that "the Dead of Winter" was written in,
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this book flows and has excellent continuity. It is an action-packed
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novel, not a collection of short stories, and despite my schoolwork,
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I had a very difficult time putting the book down. This book,
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written entirely by Lynn Abbey, C.J. Cherryh, and Janet Morris, is
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supposedly the lead-in to a forthcoming book by Abbey entitled
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"Beyond Sanctuary".
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I encourage any Thieves' World fans out there,as well as fans
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who have become disenchanted with the series, to pick up books 7 and
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8. Each is in a different style, but both are well worth the time.
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-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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The Narret Chronicles
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Book the Second
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"The forum you requested is waiting Dr. Ht" said Colonel Roberts
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as they escorted Samo to a waiting helicopter. "Both the president
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and the premier are anxious to meet with you."
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"They should be, I've come a long way to meet them." Samo
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replied rather smugly.
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"Ladies and gentlemen," Samo began, "I have been sent here by a
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very costly effort on behalf of my people. By the words "my people"
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I do not mean the people of my country, or even the people of my
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planet, Amrif Arret. By those words I mean the people whose lives
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you will destroy, those people whose advanced knowledge and advanced
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technologies may never be shared with any of you in this room, or
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with any human.
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"Why? Not because there are no longer any humans to understand
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us. Why? Not because we are unable to communicate with you, or to
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bridge the gap of space between us. But simply because you would
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rather collect a set of nuclear playtoys for winning childish
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squabbles over masses of dirt to put your under-populated, over-fed,
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fat human bodies on. And go about praising your documents of law,
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your 'Declarations of Independence' your 'Constitution' and its
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'Bill of Rights' with their claims of perfect unions, the
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establishment of justice, and most of all the self-evidence of all
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men being created equal. Those were noble thoughts. Thoughts, far
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more they were than words, they were the Ideals upon which this
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great country was founded. These thoughts, these ideals of peace,
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equality, and justice came from men far nobler than those before me.
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"Surely you may grow impatient with my gruffness, please hear me
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out I implore you for your own sakes and the sakes of my people,
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hear me out.
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"I cannot understand how two adults can even think to begin
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compiling the weapons you have compiled while there are thousands,
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no, millions of your brethren dying throughout your world. How much
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can these rights mean to you? How much does the equality of creation
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mean, when you will tomorrow blow each other off of your precious
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land masses and ruin your world for those who had nothing but hope
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anyway, all for naught.
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"All because you worried that you may not be free tomorrow to
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have all your own little worries and troubles taken care of, that
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tomorrow you may not be as comfortable as today. Soon, very soon, if
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you continue this deadly and insane weapons compilation, there may
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not be that tomorrow you're so desperately worried about today.
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"If you were to continue, and had a last and final war, you
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gentlemen should be congratulated. For you gentlemen would be
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responsible for the ultimate extermination of entire solar systems
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in not one, but two universes at the same time.
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"You see, what you've failed to realize is that if you blow your
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planet to the fifth physical dimension, you'll be blowing my people
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up with you. And not only will the destruction of good old Terra
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Firma have an effect on the Solar System, but it will have an
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equally disastrous effect on the Losar System. Our entire planet
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will merely "go out of existence" as you know it. In addition, my
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people will have no say whatsoever in that event. Is that within
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your concept of fairness equality, and justice? If so then how about
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within your forefathers?
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"Furthermore, who knows what may be said will happen at the
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unbalancing of energies within this universe itself. How many other
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life-forms' chances of survival will you destroy, in that solitary
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instant of selfishness?
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"I came here hoping to find some reasonable men. Men of a
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knowledge of peace, and instead I found the ignorance that breeds
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belligerence. I did find hope though, and that hope lies where I
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knew it would, in the men of science. The hope lies in those who
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were bright enough to create weapons of war, and it rests in those
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men with talents to make the weapons of mankind's enemy, disease.
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Your physicians are those within whom your hope lies now.
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"Before I came here, I met with two of your physicians to better
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the knowledge of mankind in defeat of Cancer. You will find, if you
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take the time to decrease your stockpile of weaponry, that if you
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give your doctors the insurance that their efforts will not be in
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vain and the assurance that there will be a world full of people to
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help tomorrow, they may just be able to find a cure. The hope of
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peace, and of life itself lies in your hands. Why don't you give it
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back to the men who deserve it most. The men in both your countries
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who have been fighting for years for the same thing, the prolonging
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not the extinguishing of life--your physicians."
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-Mari A. Paulsen
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The Narret Chronicles
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Book the First
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Samo stood there in silence as his last words echoed throughout
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the auditorium. Then suddenly his ears were filled by the tremendous
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sound of applause by third world countries while both the
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president's, and the premier's eyes welled with tears as they looked
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at each other realizing how right he was...
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"<<<AUTOSTARTING FUTURE ANALOG TAPE--RUNNING DOWN ENDER TO START>>>"
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"Catabilizer--Load Future Analog tape running from last approach
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to Terran planet number three." Samo replied to his onboard computer.
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"Well, so it was..." Samo said to himself, wondering if he was
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going to be as successful on this trip to Earth. He sat there
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wondering, in the quiet of his spacecraft, rather dazed by the
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immensity of it all, as a great light appeared in the heavens in
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front of him. And at once he new he was late. Ignorance had won, and
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greed had gone too far.
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-Mari A. Paulsen
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e too far.
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-Mari A. Paulsen
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