"Thomas Easton - Organic Future 03 - Woodsman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

Traffic slowed to a crawl when they finally left the greenways for paved
city streets. Frederick swore, and Renny pointed with his nose. "Over there.
That's why." The dog was staring toward a Mr. GreenGenes franchise. Behind the
glass were Roachsters, Slugabeds, hanky bushes, padplants, flytraps,
condombers, snackbushes, garbage disposals, litterbugs, fluorescent
philodendrons, and other products of the gengineer's art. Spilling across the
sidewalk and into the street was a milling crowd of people in blue coveralls.
Golden cogwheels were embroidered on patches that decorated their chests and
shoulders. Many had small brass springs and gears dangling from their
earlobes. They carried signs that screamed in vivid colors, "MACHINES NOT
GENES!!"

Frederick felt the muscles of his neck and shoulders suddenly cramp with
tension. There were, he saw, police officers hovering near the fringes of the
crowd, with a pair of lobster-clawed police Roachsters waiting on a side
street. They were a necessary precaution, and he wished that the Engineers'
threat had been appreciated so well when he had been a pig.

He sighed with relief when he left the scene of the demonstration behind
and traffic speeded up.




CHAPTER 3



Sam Nickers was basking in his living room when the doorbell chimed. He
was naked, his green skin exposed to the array of sunlamps mounted on the
ceiling, his chloroplasts churning out a flood of sugar that he found more
satisfying than any pre-dinner drink had ever been. The greengenes had been
his wife's third anniversary present, just the year before. He had given
Sheila a similar outfit, ornamented by a sleek cap of feathers that replaced
her hair.

He lay on a padded lounge. Beside him, a second lounge lay empty,
separated from his by a narrow bench-like table. A flatscreen veedo hung on
one wall, its face half obscured by leaves and branches; a forest of small
palms and other tropical vegetation filled the room with green. Orchids and
bromeliads furnished splashes of color, as did the three small birds that
perched and sang among the foliage. New droppings and older stains marked the
short-piled carpet, a geometric array of brown and green; he told himself that
it was time again to scrub; vacuuming never did the trick. The walls were
painted white.

One of the birds swooped through the air and a buzzing he had not noticed
suddenly became conspicuous by its absence. He stared toward the open window.
The birds routinely tried to escape, but all they managed was...The half-drawn