"Brin, David - Natulife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

Bliss crossed Gaia's face. "M-m-m, crunchy!" She smacked, revealing a
still-twitching tail.

I found enough manly dignity to raggedly chastise her.

"Don't . . . talk with your mouth full."

Turning away, I added -- "If you need me, I'll be in my workout room."

Gaia had rearranged our sleep quarters again. Now the cramped chamber merged
seamlessly with a tropical paradise, including raucous bird calls and mist from
a roaring waterfall. The impressive effects made it hard navigating past the
bed, so I ordered the hologram blanked. Silence fell as the vid-wall turned
gray, leaving just the real-life portion of her pocket jungle to contend with --
a tangle of potted plants warrantied to give off purer oxygen than a pregnant
woman could sniff from bottles.

Wading through creepers and mutant ficuses, I finally found the moss-lined
laundry hamper and threw in my work clothes. The fragrant Clean-U-Lichen had
already sani-scavenged and folded my exercise togs, which felt warm and
skin-supple when I drew them on. The organo-electric garment rippled across my
skin as if alive, seeming just as eager for a workout as I was.

I'd been through hell at the office. Traffic on the commuter-tube was miserable
and the smog index had been red-lining for a week. Termites had only been the
last straw.

"Let's go," I muttered. "I haven't killed anything all day."

Long Stick spotted a big old buck gazelle.

"It limps," my hunting partner said, rising from his haunches to point across a
hundred yards of dry savannah. "Earlier, it met a lion."

I rose from my stretching exercises to peer past a screen of sheltering
boulders, following Long Stick's gnarly arm. One animal stood apart from the
herd. Sniffing an unsteady breeze, the buck turned to show livid claw marks
along one flank. Clearly, this prey was a pushover compared to last Sunday's
pissed-off rhino. The virtual reality machine must have sensed I'd had a rough
day.

My hands stroked the spear, tracing its familiar nicks and knots. An illusion of
raw, archetypal power.

"The beaters are ready, Chief," my hunting partner said. I nodded.

"Let's get on with it."

Long Stick pursed his lips and mimicked the call of a bee-catcher bird. Moments
later, the animals snorted as a shift in the heavy air brought insinuations of