The Armageddon Rag by George R.R. Martin

Author:George R.R. Martin
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction - Science Fiction, Fiction, Science Fiction - General, General
ISBN: 9780671532536
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 1985-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight/

Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight

_____________________________________________|

In the high mountains of western Colorado, Sandy ran into the first onslaught of winter. Cold winds hammered at Daydream and shivered through her door cracks, and a thin powdering of snow covered some of the roads and forced him to slow down. It took him longer than anticipated to get to Denver, and longer still to find the Byrne estate, though he had been there once before, a long time ago. It was an imposing place, occupying a block all its own, sealed off from the grunge of the city by a ten-foot-high wrought iron fence that ended in an intimidating row of black spearheads. Behind the encircling barrier were thickets of old trees that obscured the view of the house from the street, so common eyes might not peer at the Byrnes at play. Behind the trees were broad green lawns, carefully tended flower beds, and four lean and nasty Dobermans that roamed the grounds freely and liked to lunch on unwelcome visitors. The house itself was big, white, and vulgar, with four tall columns in front that gave it the look of an old plantation house. The only thing needed to complete the image was a shuffling darkie or two, and no doubt the lack was deeply felt. There was, Sandy remembered, a lawn statue of a black jockey out front, which Slum’s father in his infinite charm liked to pat and call “Jigaboo Jim.”

Inside, the Byrne house was full of dead animal heads, antique furniture, and guns. It smelled of pipe smoke and money. Northwestern had been an expensive school, but of Sandy’s college chums, only Jefferson Davis Byrne—Slum—had come from real wealth. Maggie had been on full scholarship till she dropped out, Sandy himself had a partial scholarship and a work-study job and a student loan, while Froggy Cohen and Bambi Lassiter and Lark Ellyn had all hailed from affluent upper-middle-class environs. Only Jefferson Davis Byrne had arrived freshman year driving his own Corvette Stingray. Sandy parked Daydream on the cold, sunny street across from the big double gate fronting the drive, got out and walked around the car and stood there a moment, looking up at the house and remembering. It had been Christmas of sophomore year, and Slum had invited Sandy to come for the holidays, and Sandy had accepted. One of the biggest mistakes of his life. The real irony of it was that he had accepted mostly so he could meet Slum’s father. Even then Sandy had wanted to be a writer, and the head of the Byrne clan was a very successful writer indeed, even though Sandy found his books sexist, racist, and semiliterate. Sandy’s opinion made damn little difference, however. Joseph William Byrne was the author of an endless series of big, fat, steamy, bloody novels about mercenaries, all of them full of explicit gore and manly martial virtue and cheerful rape.

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