"Bova, Ben - Orion 05 - Orion among the Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bova Ben)

And they were watching me intently. Each of them possessed two giant, solemn eyes that seemed focused on me.
"You are... beautiful," I managed to croak.
"We are glad you think so. After your experience in the swamp we were afraid that you would be biased against us. Xenophobia is one of the deepest traits of your species."
"We were created to be warriors," I replied. "It makes it easier to kill your foes if you are frightened of them."
"And yet the dolphins vouched for you."
"The dolphins?" I blurted. "Are they here?"
"Not in this era," the voice answered.
I realized that these Old Ones could travel through time the way the Creators could. The way I had myself.
"When we first made contact with you, Orion," the voice continued, "we sensed nothing but a warrior intent on slaying his enemies. But the dolphins told us you were a good friend to them, so we probed deeper."
It was the Old Ones whom I had sensed earlier, then. Yet I had no memory of how I got to be a good friend to the dolphins. Was I sent on a mission into the ocean, in another era?
"We find that although your basic instincts are those of a warrior, there are other desires struggling within you."
"I have a will of my own," I told them, "even though my Creator looks upon me as nothing more than a tool for his use."
"That is a part of the problem you present to us." The voice sounded slightly perturbed despite its silky smoothness. "We have been observing your kind since you first arrived. You humans are bloodthirsty as well as xenophobic."
"We were made that way," I admitted. "Although some of us have tried to rise above it."
"Have you?"
"Some of us have. There are humans at the Skorpis base who are scientists. They are not warriors, not killers."
"Why do you not regard the Skorpis as humans?" Although I heard only one voice, I got the impression that more than one of these sea creatures was speaking to me, or perhaps they were all speaking, and what I heard was a blend of their individual thoughts and questions.
"The Skorpis come from another world," I answered. "They are descended from felines."
"While your kind are patterned after primate apes."
"That's right," I said.
"What makes you think that the Skorpis come from a different origin than your own?"
"They couldn't..." I hesitated. "Do you mean that they were also—"
"Produced by your Creators? Why do you find that difficult to believe?"
"Not difficult. Just—a new idea. I hadn't considered it before."
"The universe is old, Orion. And your Creators have been very busy."
"But if the Skorpis were also made by the Creators, why are they fighting against us?" I asked.
"Whatever your Creators touch degenerates into violence," the Old Ones said. "They are a plague among the stars."
"But you," I asked again. "Who are you? What have you to do with the Creators?"
"We are a very old race, Orion. Older than your Creators by tens of millions of years. We have no desire to be dragged into the slaughters that your kind are perpetrating."
"Why should you be?"
"Because your fellow humans have discovered us. They have tried to make contact with us. They want us to ally ourselves with them against their enemies."
"I don't even know who our enemies are," I said.
"Other humans, of course. And species of similar levels of development, such as the Skorpis and the Tsihn."
I felt confused, stunned almost, at all this new information they were throwing at me. They sensed my mental turmoil.
"Do not feel anxious, Orion. We will explain everything to you so that you can understand it fully."
Why? I wondered. What do they want?
As if in answer, the silky voice told me, "You are going to be our ambassador, Orion. You will give our message to your Creators."

Chapter 12
The city of the Old Ones, down at the abyssal depths of the ocean, was a vast wonderland of delights. Actually, the term city is a misnomer, for the Old Ones had no need for buildings or structures. Yet they clustered together in this sea-bottom aggregation of lights and patterns, exchanging thoughts like very old and very wise philosophers. Aristotle would have been happy here; Plato would have found his republic of intellect.
For countless days I wandered through the city, buoyed in an invisible sphere that somehow always was filled with fresh air. I neither ate nor drank, yet I was nourished and refreshed. My wounds healed completely as I learned of the Old Ones, their origins and history, their place in the continuum, their relationship to the Creators and the war that was spanning this region of the galaxy.
The Old Ones had evolved from octopus-like invertebrates living in the early seas of their home planet. We humans have a prejudice that a species cannot become fully intelligent until it masters energy sources beyond its own muscular power. For a land-dwelling species such as ourselves, that first energy source was fire. Since fire is impossible underwater, we tend to dismiss the possibilities of intelligent sea creatures. Even the dolphins would not have reached true intelligence if human scientists had not augmented their native brains.
The Old Ones had manipulating organs: ten tentacles that could grasp and maneuver as well as human hands or better. They had large, intelligent brains and exquisitely subtle sensory organs. Instead of fire, they developed the abundant electrical energies they found in many species of fish and eels. Where we humans built tools and learned engineering, the Old Ones learned biology and incorporated the living forms they needed into a symbiotic existence within their own bodies.
They learned about the world around them. Over the millennia, over the eons, they slowly built up a body of knowledge about the sea and, eventually, the land and even the sun and stars. Long before the dinosaurs ranged across Mesozoic Earth, the Old Ones discovered the energies of space-time and learned how to move through the continuum.
By the time the primate apes of Earth began to develop into the earliest hominids, the Old Ones had explored the galaxy. By the time Aten and the other Creators decided to build their human tools and send them to the Ice Age strongholds of the Neanderthals on a mission of genocide, the Old Ones had decided to keep to themselves, content to contemplate the universe without tampering with it.
Where we humans, driven by our Creators, are constantly meddling with the flow of space-time, constantly trying to alter the continuum to suit our needs and desires, the Old Ones have withdrawn to their oceans and their thoughts. They are to us as a giant sequoia tree is to a chittering squirrel.
All this I learned from them.
"Friend Orion," said the silky-voiced one to me, "the moment has come for you to return to your own kind."
The Old One who addressed me was swimming alongside my sphere as we gently glided through an avenue of blue-white lights that flickered like fireflies through the dark water. In all the time I had spent with them I had never heard any of the Old Ones refer to one another by a name. They had no need of names, it seemed. I could tell them from one another by differences in their coloration and in the sound of their voices, although I never did learn how they produced sounds that I could hear.
"You know now who we are and what we are," said my companion and teacher. "Please tell your Creators that we refuse to be drawn into their slaughters. Our only desire is to live in peace."