"Foster, Alan Dean - Alien Nation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

drew together when he lifted his head.
"I remember where I was. You don't forget something
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like that, right? I was pissing off my balcony at the neighbor's dog! "
Since all those seated at the bar near Fedorchuk were of a similar mindset
and attitude toward life, they found this pious reminiscence uproariously
funny. Alterez only smiled. He was used to his partner's witticisms.
Instead of commenting or replying to the joke, he turned his attention to
the brightly lit TV. It did not matter that Duncan Crais couldn't hear him.
What mattered to Alterez was that he could hear himself.
"Get to the goddamn ball scores!"
"You tell 'em, partner." Fedorchuk's eyes narrowed as he devoted all his
attention to his glass. Locating the rim with his lips alone was always a
trying challenge. He prided himself on accepting challenges, particularly
those which were self-imposed.
A glance upward revealed that Crais had metamorphosed into a middle-aged
professor from Cal Tech. She looked uncomfortable in her starched blue
suit, her movements suggesting that her natural habitat was a white lab
smock. But all bowed down to and complied with the demands of the
all-powerful television tube. She was willing to sacrifice for science.
Fedorchuk found himself wondering what she looked like beneath the suit.
"From the time mankind first gazed up at the stars there had been
speculation about a visit by people from 'out there.' How ironic that when
the first contact was finally made, the two hundred and sixty thousand
occupants aboard the starship were as surprised as we were about their
arrival. They awakened from frozen hibernation, a kind of extended deep
sleep, only to find that a malfunctioning autopilot had landed them on our
world by mistake. They were many degrees off course and many hundreds of
light-years from their intended destination."
She looked as though she might have more to say, but something offiscreen
caught her attention and she went silent. The man seated on Alterez's left
made a rude noise. Crais reappeared, taking the scientist's place. He was
rr-
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laxed, immaculately coiffured, secure in his position and fame.
"These 'Newcomers,' we soon learned, were genetically engineered people,
created to perform hard labor under difficult environmental conditions.
It would not be appropriate to call them slaves, but they had been given
no choice in their future. Their destiny had been determined elsewhere,
without their consent. Destiny, however, did not count on a
malfunctioning autopilot. Instead of their intended planetfall, they
found themselves stranded here on Earth, their vessel's peculiar and so
far incomprehensible fuel system exhausted, with no way to return where
they came from nor to contact those who had sent them on their way so
long ago. . . ."
Beer glasses rattled noisily nearby. Annoyed, a couple of the patrons
glanced in the direction of the busboy, as quickly forgot his clumsiness
to return to their own conversations, or to the documentary running