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

only intermittently and some where water fell from the sky not at all.
If forced to live on such a world, he knew he would shrivel up and
die like a gulou nut in the cooking fire or in one of those marvelous
portable cooking devices that could be bought from the humans or
the Deyzara. Rain was life. There would be no flooded forest, or
varzea, as the humans called it, without the rain that fell
continuously for 90 percent of the year.

With the water from the many merged rivers of the varzea swirling
ten meters below the suspended walkway and the surface of the
land itself drowned twenty to thirty meters below that, he lifted
himself up onto another crossway. This strilk-braced major avenue
was strong enough to support multiple paths and was hectic with
pedestrians. Humans mixed freely with Sakuntala and Deyzara,
everyone intent on the business of the day. Nearby, a spinner team
was busy repairing a damaged walkway, extruding the strilk that
kept the town’s buildings and paths suspended safely above the
water. The silvery artificial fiber was attached to huge gray
composite pylons that had been driven deep into the bedrock that
lay far below the turbid waters and saturated soil. On the outskirts
of the sprawling community a carnival of lesser structures whose
owners were unable to afford pylons hung from the largest,
strongest trees.

The single-story building in front of him was the administrative
headquarters of the Commonwealth presence on Fluva. Jemunu-
jah had been there a few times before, on official business for the
greater A’Jah clan. That particular business being of lesser
importance, it had not given him the opportunity to meet Lauren
Matthias. He had heard that she was very good at her work, not
unlike Naneci-tok, and could speak fluent S’aku. Matthias would not
have to strain her larynx in his presence. His command of
terranglo, he had been told, was excellent.

A single human stood guard outside the building. He looked bored,
tired, and, despite his protective military attire, very, very wet.
Visible beneath a flipped-up visor, his face was frozen in that
faraway expression many humans acquired after they had spent a
year or more on Fluva. He was nearly as tall as a Sakuntala.
Drawing himself up to his full height, Jemunu-jah announced
himself.

The guard seemed to respond to his presence only with great
difficulty. Water ran down the human’s face. It was not rainwater, as
both of them were standing under the wide lip of the roof overhang
that ran completely around the front and sides of the administration
building. Jemunu-jah recognized the facial moisture as a
phenomenon humans called perspiration. It was a condition
unknown to the Sakuntala, although the Deyzara suffered from it as
well.