"Alan Dean Foster - Drowning World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

Noufoetan was on leave at the orbiting station, and Nicolo Manatinga had been laid up with a fever and
an infection that mutated as fast as the doctors tried to isolate it. All of which meant she would have to
send out a search team consisting entirely of locals. It had been done before, successfully. Staff had
presented her with several possibilities, from whom she had selected a couple on intuition and
recommendation of past service.

Outside, the downpour was becoming heavier, sealing off the view across the town and into the dense
Viisiiviisii beyond. With a sigh and conflicting thoughts of Jack and a certain free-ranging explorer in her
mind, she turned and resumed her seat behind the curving desk. Like everything else in the administration
building, it was fashioned of resolutely nonbiodegradable materials.

Everything else, that is, except the people.

“Send him in.” The desk’s omnipickup identified her voice and relayed the request to Sanuel Pandusky,
her administrative assistant. It took several tries before Pandusky responded. Pity it wasn’t Case, she
thought. I’d have to get on his case.

Stop that,she told herself firmly. Settling herself into the chair and letting it mold itself against her, she
rested elbows on the desk and steepled fingers in front of her. They pressed against one another more
tightly than was necessary.

The doorway barrier dissolved to admit a Sakuntala of average height. As the portal had been designed
to accommodate his kind, he did not have to bend in order to enter. His waist strappings and chest
straps, she noted, were particularly stylish and well equipped. This was a prosperous local who stood
before her. She knew that Personnel would not have sent her anything else.

A couple of empty chairs reposed nearby. She didn’t offer him one. In the absence of the traditional
suspended seat, the Sakuntala preferred to squat rather than sit. At a gesture from her, her visitor eased
back onto his lean but powerful haunches.
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“I don’t believe we’ve met before. I am called Lauren Matthias.” She stuck out her tongue and braced
herself. Though the traditional Sakuntala method of greeting had become second nature to her by now,
that did not make the nature of it any less disconcerting.

“I know your status.”

His mouth opened and her visitor’s remarkable tongue shot out to curl once completely around her face
before the end touched the tip of her own protruding organ. Although the raspy eating surface was turned
away from her and only the smooth, wet back side made contact with her skin, she still found herself
wincing slightly at the contact. That was a considerable improvement over the first time the gesture had
been extended. No one had bothered to warn her, and her screaming, shocked reaction had been a
source of considerable amusement to her coworkers. Not informing newcomers to Fluva of the nature of
the habitual Sakuntala greeting was always a surefire laugh producer.

As quickly as it had emerged, the tongue recoiled, zipping in reverse around her head to disappear back
into the visitor’s bulging right cheek pouch. Pitiful as they were, Jemunu-jah reflected, at least the humans