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

He supposed Kenkeru-jah was right. Chiefs usually were. But for
the life of him, he could not understand how the death of a missing
human, and a self-demonstrably reckless one at that, could affect
the clan’s mula. But the chief had made a decision. As a result, he
now found himself directed to present himself to the female in
charge of the human community on Fluva. Since Lauren Matthias’s
status was equivalent to that of a senior Hata, or High Chief of the
Sakuntala, Jemunu-jah would be obliged to put his own feelings
aside while showing her proper respect. He smoothed his long
stride. Actually, he ought to be proud. He had been selected as a
representative of his people, the best that Taulau Town had to
offer. But if given a choice, he would gladly have declined the
honor.

At slightly under two meters tall and a wiry eighty kilos, he was of
average height and weight for a mature male Sakuntala. Though
smaller than those of a Deyzara, his eyes provided vision that was
substantially more acute. From the sides of his head the base of
his flexible pointed ears extended out sideways for several
centimeters before curving sharply upward to end in tufted points.
The outer timpanic membrane that kept rain from entering his right
ear was in the process of renewing itself, slowly being replaced by
a new one growing in behind it. As a result, the hearing on his right
side was at present slightly diminished. It would stay that way for
another day or two, he knew, until the old membrane had
completely disintegrated and the new one had asserted itself.

His short, soft fur was light gray with splotches of black and umber.
The pattern identified an individual Sakuntala as sharply and
distinctly as any of the artificial identity devices the humans carried
around with them. In that respect he felt sorry for the humans.
Despite some slight differences in skin color, it was often very
difficult to tell one from another.

His cheek sacs bulged, one with the coiled, whiplike tongue that
was almost as long as his body, the other with a gobbet of khopo
sap he alternately chewed and sucked. Today’s helping was
flavored with gesagine and apple, the latter a flavor introduced by
the humans that had found much favor among the Sakuntala. He
wore old-style strappings around his waist to shield his privates,
while the bands of dark blue synthetics that crisscrossed his chest
were of off-world manufacture. Attached to both sets of straps
were a variety of items both traditional and modern, the latter
purchased from the town shops with credit he had earned from
providing services to various human and Deyzara enterprises.

Now it seemed that despite his reluctance he was about to provide
one more such service. Despite the prospect of acquiring mula as
well as credit, he would just as soon have seen the task given to
another. But Kenkeru-jah had been adamant. He was as stuck with