"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 2 - Cachalot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

was aged. She was no taller than an average adolescent
and slim to the point of boyishness. A surprisingly deep
voice, coupled with a vivacity that was anything but
matronly, was all that kept her from being mistaken
for a child.

Even when she was quiet, as she was now, her hands
and shoulders seemed always in motion, her body lan-
guage elegant and personal. She came from stock that
included both slaver and slave, both of whose destinies
had been molded and sacrificed to the recovery of the
sap of a certain tree. Slavers and slaves were part of
history long past now. For the most part, sadly, so
were the trees.

She commented frequently on the beauty of the
world they were steadily approaching. Her descriptions




CACHALOT 7

were intended for the younger woman seated next to
her. For the most part, they were accepted with an air
of helpless resignation by the taller, far more volup-
tuous shadow of herself. Where Cora's movements
were frequent and full of nervous energy, those of the
younger woman were all languorous stretchings and
physical sighs. She cradled a peculiar and very special
musical instrument in her arms and made no attempt to
appear anything other than bored.

"Isn't it beautiful, Rachael?" Cora leaned back in
her deceleration lounge. "Here—lean over and you
can see, too." The enervated siren made no move to
peer outward. "Don't you want to see? We're going to
be living down there, you know."

"Only temporarily." She sighed tiredly. "I know
what Cachalot looks like. Mother. God knows how
many tapes of it you've made me study since you found
out we were being assigned there. Maybe I have got a
year's work left to finish at the Institute, but I still
know how to do homework." Her eyes turned to
study the narrow aisle running down the center of
the shuttle. "The sooner we get this over with, the
sooner we can get back to Terra and the better I'll
like it!"