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

“Limalu di,” the guard mumbled apathetically. Jemunu-jah was not
so far removed from the culture of his kind, nor so educated, that
he did not gaze covetously at the long gun that dangled loosely
from the human’s left hand. A single swift snatch and he could
have it, he knew. Then, a quick leap over the side of the deck into
the water below, and he would be gone before the sluggish human
barely knew it was missing.

With a sigh, Jemunu-jah shifted his gaze away from the highly
desirable weapon, away from the ancient calling of his ancestors.
He was here on clan business. He was civilized now. “I am called
Jemunu-jah. I have appointment with Administrator Matthias,” he
responded in terranglo.

Reaching up to wipe away sweat and grime, the guard blinked
uncertainly. “Appointment?”

“Appointment,” the lanky gray-furred visitor repeated.

Eyeing the Sakuntala with slightly more interest, the guard tilted his
head slightly to his left and spoke toward the pickup suspended
there. “There’s a Saki here to see Matthias. Says he has an
appointment.” Jemunu-jah waited patiently while the human
listened to the voice that whispered from the tiny pickup clipped to
his left ear.

A moment later the guard bobbed his head, a gesture Jemunu-jah
knew signified acceptance among humans. Parting his lips and
showing sharp teeth, he stepped past and through the momentarily
deactivated electronic barrier that was designed to keep out
intruders both large and small. Another door, Jemunu-jah reflected
as he entered the building. Humans and Deyzara alike were very
fond of doors. The Sakuntala had no use for them.

Behind him, the guard had resumed his lethargic pose, leaning
back against the wall, his expression having once more gone blank
as a part of him dreamed of other worlds and of the long-forgotten
state of being dry. Rain fell steadily beyond the brown composite
decking and overhang. A few streaks of olive green walus were
visible on part of the porch railing. It had taken only a hundred
years for several of the millions of varieties of fungus and mold that
thrived on Fluva to learn how to survive on the supposedly inedible
specially treated composite.

Chief Administrator Lauren Matthias had red hair, green eyes, a
short and solid (but solidly attractive) build that was growing stouter
with every passing year, a temper to match her contentious official
position, and a desk full of worries. She had been chief
Commonwealth representative and administrator on Fluva for just