"Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 6 - The howling stones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

was hard enough to sustain intimacy when one was sent to different parts of the same world and
well-nigh impossible when constantly on the move from world to world.
Other men and women managed to establish and maintain long-term unions, but they usually worked
together. Pulickel preferred to operate alone, with his thoughts his sole companion. Or so he
frequently strove to persuade himself. While the sociology of other beings opened for him like
ripening fruit, the actions and reactions of representatives of the opposite gender of his own
species remained as impenetrable as the core of a neutron star, and often weighed on him equally
as heavy.
There was a lurch as the shuttle skewed sideways and the pilot's voice sounded apologetically over
the cabin speaker. A couple of passengers grumbled. Senisran being a frontier world, there weren't
many of them. Save for a few barely developed diplomatic communities and a smattering of isolated
scientific outposts linked by satellite relay, the world expanding in the viewport off to his left
was populated solely by a substantial but scattered native population. The locals raised no
objections to the relay system because they couldn't see it and didn't know it was there anyway,
their knowledge of astronomy being limited to that which could be observed by the naked seni eye.
Pulickel shifted in his seat as much as the landing harness would allow. He was shorter than the
Commonwealth average, slim but well built, his olive-hued skin reflective of his ethnic heritage.
His features were small, fine even, and distinctly non-threatening. Similar in appearance to the
superb wood carvings his Javanese ancestors had turned out in quantity, he revealed his inner
humanity only when he smiled, his teeth a slash of perfect white like an ivory inlay set among
paduk wood. He did not turn the eyes of attractive women, but neither did they find him
displeasing to look upon. His desert-dry personality generally took care of any initial interest,
filtered through speech that was always proper, polite, and reflective of an advanced education.
His eyes were small, black, and active, his hair black, long, and combed straight back. Pressed as
if in preparation for a formal dinner, his field shorts and short-sleeved shirt collapsed in a
jumble of angles against the less disciplined curves of his body. An experienced traveler, he'd
brought one case only. It rested snug in back, in the cargo bay, and if properly looked after
contained everything he would need no matter the length of his stay.
He spared yet another glance for the attractive middleaged woman seated on the aisle two rows in
front of him. It was always difficult when they were taller than you, he reflected, and many were.



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Unfortunately, he did not possess the drive necessary to overcome his perceived handicap. As a
result, he had not spoken to her since boarding, and doubtless would not speak to her when they
disembarked. Experience had shown him that attractive single women preferred their men tall,
muscular, slightly uglified, and dangerous. He was none of those things.
With a sigh he turned to the port and studied the atmosphere through which the shuttle was
dropping rapidly. One day he'd find someone, he told himself. One day when he had time to look and
his work didn't interfere. Meanwhile he would have to content himself with the accolades of
superiors and colleagues, which he received in ample quantity.
The sky outside darkened and Pulickel thought immediately of inclement weather. Again the shuttle
bounced and for a second time the pilot was apologizing.
"Sorry. We just ran past a flock of cemacerotic gliders. At least, that's what I'm told they were.
Minor evasive maneuvers were in order. We're descending and now they're slightly above us and to
port. Those of you on that side may still be able to see them."
Everyone on the left side of the shuttle leaned up against their respective ports. Among the thick