"Anderson, Poul - Star Fox" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Poul)

28 November
The Aleriona Craze, already well established in North America, gained so much momentum from delegate Cynbe ru Taren's recent 3V appearance that in the past week it has swept like a meteorite through the upper-class teen-agers of most countries. Quite a few in Welfare have caught the fever too. Now girls blessed with naturally blonde long hair flaunt it past their sisters waiting in line to buy wigs and metal mesh jerkinslike their brothers. No disciplinary measure by parents or teachers seems able to stop the kids warbling every word they utter. You need ear seals not to be assaulted by the minor-key caterwaulings of "Alerion, Alerion" from radio, juke, and taper. The slithering Aleriona Ramble has driven even the Wiggle off the dance floors. On Friday the city of Los Angeles put an educational program on the big screen at La Brea Park, a rebroadcast of the historic interview; and police fought three hours to halt a riot by five thousand screaming high-schoolers.
In an effort to learn whether this is a mere fad or a somewhat hysterical expression of the world's sincere desire for peace, our reporters talked with typical youngsters around the globe. Some quotes:
Lucy Thomas, 16, Minneapolis: "I'm just in hyperbolic orbit about him. I play the show back even when I'm asleep. Those eyesthey freeze you and melt you at the same time. Yee-ee!"
Pedro Fraga, 17, Buenos Aires: "They can't be male. I won't believe they are."
Machiko Ichikawa, 15, Tokyo: "The Samurai would have understood them. So much beauty, so much valor."
Simon Mbulu, 18, Nairobi: "Of course, they frighten me. But that is part of the wonder."
In Paris, Georges de Roussy, 17, threatened surlily: "I don't know what's gotten into those young camels. But I'll tell you this. Anybody we saw in that costume would get her wig cut off, and her own hair with it."
No comment was available from the still hidden delegates.

5 December
Lisa Heim, 14, daughter of manufacturer and would-be exploration entrepreneur Gunnar Heim of San Francisco, disappeared Wednesday. Efforts to trace her have so far been unsuccessful, and police fear she may have been kidnapped. Her father has posted a reward of one million American dollars for "anything that helps get her back. I'll go higher than this in ransom if I have to," he added.

VII
Uthg-a-K'thaq twisted his face downward as far as he could, which wasn't much, and pointed his four chemosensor tendrils directly at Heim. In this position the third eye on top of his head was visible to the man, aft of the blowhole. But it was the front eyes, on either side of those fleshy feelers, that swiveled their gray stare against him. A grunt emerged from the lipless gape of a mouth: "So war, you say. We 'rom Naqsa know lit-tle ow war."
Heim stepped back, for to a human nose the creature's breath stank of swamp. Even so, he must look upward; Uthg-a-K'thaq loomed eighteen centimeters over him. He wondered fleetingly if that was why there was so much prejudice against Naqsans.
The usual explanation was their over-all appearance. Uthg-a-K'thaq suggested a dolphin, of bilious green-spotted yellow, that had turned its tail into a pair of short fluke-footed legs. Lumps projecting under the blunt head acted as shoulders for arms that were incongruously anthropoid, if you overlooked their size and the swimming-membranes that ran from elbows to pelvis. Except for a purse hung from that narrowing in the body which indicated a sort of neck, he was naked, and grossly male. It wasn't non-humanness as such that offended men, said the psychologists, rather those aspects which were parallel but different, like a dirty joke on Homo sapiens. Smell, slobbering, belching, the sexual pattern
But mainly they're also space travelers, prospectors, colonizers, freight carriers, merchants, who've given us stiff competition, Heim thought cynically.
That had never bothered him. The Naqsans were shrewd but on the average more ethical than men. Nor did he mind their looks; indeed, they were handsome if you considered them functionally. And their private lives were their own business. The fact remained, though, most humans would resent even having a Naqsan in the same ship, let alone serving under him. And ... Dave Penoyer would be a competent captain, he had made lieutenant commander before he quit the Navy, but Heim wasn't sure he could be firm enough if trouble of that nasty sort broke out.
He dismissed worry and said, "Right. This is actually a raiding cruise. Are you still interested?"
"Yes. Hawe you worgotten that horriwle den you wound me in?"
Heim had not. Tracking rumors to their source, he had ended in a part of New York Welfare that appalled even him. A Naqsan stranded on Earth was virtually helpless. Uthg-a-K'thaq had shipped as technical adviser on a vessel from the planet that men called Caliban, whose most advanced tribe had decided to get into the space game. Entering the Solar System, the inexperienced skipper collided with an asteroid and totaled his craft. Survivors were brought to Earth by the Navy, and the Calibanites sent home; but there was no direct trade with Naqsa and, in view of the crisis in the Phoenix where his world also lay, no hurry to repatriate Uthg-a-K'thaq. Damnation, instead of fooling with those Aleriona bastards, Parliament ought to be working out a distressed-spaceman covenant.
Bluntly, Heim said, "We haven't any way of testing your mind in depth as we can for our own sort. I've got to trust your promise to keep quiet. I suppose you know that if you pass this information on, you'll probably get enough of a reward to buy a ride home."
Uthg-a-K'thaq burbled in his blowhole. Heim wasn't sure whether it represented laughter or indignation. "You hawe my word. Also, I am wothered awout Alerion. Good to strike at them. And, suq, will there not we loot to share?"
"Okay. You're hereby our chief engineer." Because the ship has got to leave soon, and you're the only one I could get who knows how to repair a Mach Principle drive. "Now about details"
A maid's voice said over the intercom, which was set for one-way only: "Mail, sir."
Heim's heart shuddered, as it daily did. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll be back. Make yourself comfortable."
Uthg-a-K'thaq hissed something and settled his glabrous bulk on the study couch. Heim jogged out.
Vadisz sat in the living room, bottle to hand. He hadn't spoken much or sung a note in the past few days. The house was grown tomb silent. At first many came; police, friends, Curt Wingate and Harold Twyman arrived at the same hour and clasped hands; of everyone Heim knew well only Jocelyn Lawrie had remained unheard from. That was all a blur in his memory; he had continued preparations for the ship because there was nothing else to do, and he scarcely noticed when the visits stopped. Drugs kept him going. This morning he had observed his own gauntness in an optex with faint surpriseand complete indifference.
"Surely the same null," Vadбsz mumbled.
Heim snatched the stack of envelopes off the table. A flat package lay on the bottom. He ripped the plastic off. Lisa's face looked forth. His hands began to shake so badly that he had trouble punching the animator button. The lips that were Connie's opened.
"Daddy," said the small voice. "Endre. I'm okay. I mean, they haven't hurt me. A woman stopped me when I was about to get on the elway home. She said her bra magnet had come loose and would I please help her fix it I didn't think anybody upper-class was dangerous. She was dressed nice and talked nice and had a car there and everything. We got in the car and blanked the bubble. Then she shot me with a stunner. I woke up here. I don't know where it is, a suite of rooms, the windows are always blanked. Two women are staying with me. They aren't mean, they just won't let me go. They say it's for peace. Please do what they want." Her flat speech indicated she was doped with antiphobic. But suddenly herself broke through. "I'm so lonesome!" she cried, and the tears came.
The strip ended. After a long while Heim grew aware that Vadбsz was urging him to read a note that had also been in the package. He managed to focus on the typescript.
Mr. Heim:
For weeks you have lent your name and influence to the militarists. You have actually paid for advertisements making the false and inflammatory claim that there are survivors at large on New Europe. Now we have obtained information which suggests you may be plotting still more radical ways to disrupt the peace negotiations.
If this is true, mankind cannot allow it. For the sake of humanity, we cannot take the chance that it might be true.
Your daughter will be kept as a hostage for your good behavior until the treaty with Alerion has been concluded, and for as long thereafter as seems wise. If meanwhile you publicly admit you lied about New Europe, and do nothing else, she will be returned.
Needless to say, you are not to inform the police of this message. The peace movement has so many loyal supporters in so many places that we will know if you do. In that event, we will be forced to punish you through the girl. If on the other hand you behave yourself, you to receive occasional word from her.
Yours for peace and sanity.

He had to read three or four times before it registered.
"San Francisco meter," Vadбsz said. He crumpled the plastic and hurled it at the wall. "Not that that means anything."
"Gud i himlen." Heim stumbled to a lounger, fell down, and sat staring into the unspeakable. "Why don't they go straight after me?"
"They have done so," Vadбsz answered.
"Personally!"
"You would be a risky target for violence. A young and trusting girl is easier."
Heim had a feeling that he was about to weep. But his eyes remained two coals in his skull. "What can we do?" he whispered.
"I don't know," Vadбsz said like a robot. "So much depends on who they are. Obviously not anyone official. A government need only arrest you on some excuse."
"The Militants, then. Jonas Yore." Heim rose and walked toward the exit.
"Where are you going?" Vadбsz grabbed his arm. It was like trying to halt a landslip.