"Alan Dean Foster - The Man Who Used the Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

gaudy and elaborately tied multicolored ribbons.
A charming folk, the Orischians. They were very gregarious even across
racial lines and had mixed easily with mankind since the first mutual
encounter several hundred years ago. The one in the cab was male, easily
identified by the bright red jowls which ran down the long neck, and by the
crest of pomaded feathers running from forehead down its back. Various pouches
were slung across the broad back and the long, feather-rimmed fingers were
running through the contents of one.
The cab pulled away, accelerated down a main street. Loo-Macklin leaned
back in his seat. He found the Orischians interesting, but then his appetite
for knowledge had always been nonspecific. He was interested in everything.
_Brrreeeeurrrrppp ..._ the soft, insistent sound came from inside his
left coverall pocket, from the device he'd been holding in the jewelry store,
which the deceased owner had suspected was a weapon. He pulled it out.
The small, flat plate was about two centimeters square. Three LEDs
pimpled the top: red, yellow, and purple. The purple light was blinking
steadily now, in time to the beeping.
Loo-Macklin stared at it, then touched the control on its side. The
beeping and flashing ceased. He thought rapidly for several minutes, then
punched the STANDBY button on the marcar's computer. It flashed READY at him
and he entered a new destination.
He had to detour for one quick stop before returning home. He had an
important pick-up to make. Of course, he might be overreacting, he knew. It
might be nothing.
Considering the activities of the evening, however, all precautions
could be very important. His brows drew together over slightly narrowed eyes.
It wasn't that he hadn't been expecting some new threat, only that he'd hoped
to hold it off for another year or two. He'd be a little better prepared to
deal with it then.
Ah well, if his hand was being forced he would just have to handle it
as best he could. Of course, there was always the chance it was a false alarm.
If that was the case and his detour proved unnecessary, he could restore the
past with little difficulty and only slight chance of being detected.
His apartment was situated on the skin of tube twelve, on the second of
five residential levels. It was a cheap district, populated mostly by factory
workers and minor-status service technicians. The gently curving outside wall
gave him a view, however, though there was little more to see at night than
during the smog-filled day.
A few stars were dimly visible through the lighter nighttime haze,
surrounding one of Evenwaith's two moons. A grove of pollutant-resistant
trees, a special variety imported from Terra, grew nearby. They gave the
otherwise barren landscape an illusion of vitality. At night they gleamed as
they exuded water, washing the day's accumulation of pollutants from the
leaves. Close to Cluria, the only plants that could survive were those that
perspired.
He turned his gaze from the window and reached for the illumination
control near the door.
"Forget the lights," said a harsh, low voice. "Come inside and put your
hands on top of your head."
Loo-Macklin did as he was told and walked into the single room that