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

Yet these Deyzara knew nothing of Tharce IV. Some were fourth-
and even fifth-generation Fluva-born. The consequent conundrum
constituted a mess and morass of a different kind. One that fell
squarely in the lap of the resident administrator. Her lap. As if that
weren’t enough, she also had to deal with the plants and animals
that were constantly evolving in their attempts to penetrate the
perimeter of Taulau Town and the other tentative Commonwealth
outposts that were scattered around the planet. Not to mention the
problems she had with Jack and Andrea. Her husband, a plant
physiologist with the Commonwealth’s research and taxonomy
division, seemed reasonably content lately. On the other hand,
Andrea had decided last month, on the occasion of her twelfth
birthday and for no discernible reason (at least, none that an adult
could discern), that from then on her given name would be
Fitzwinkle.

And then there was the unnerving problem of Sethwyn Case.
“Sethwyn Case—always on the chase,” the other women posted to
Administration were fond of murmuring and sometimes of giggling.
One of many independent contractors who had come to seek their
fortune on Fluva, Bioprospector Sethwyn was tall, handsome, bold,
with a grin that induced uncommon tremors in parts of her that she
had long thought tectonically stable. He would be gone for weeks
at a time, always returning with this or that fascinating new
specimen or information or, hopefully, profitable discovery.

Once he had checked in, he would always report dutifully in person
to Administration. It was not necessary for him to see her to render
his report, but he always did so. At such times he would grin and
joke and make light of the dangers he had faced. Once or twice, he
had brushed up against her. Accidentally, she chose to believe.
But there was nothing accidental about that grin or what she felt
she saw in his eyes. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

And now this fool—what was his name?—she checked the hard
copy. Shadrach Hasselemoga. This Hasselemoga person, another
freelance bioprospector not six months arrived on Fluva, had gone
and gotten himself lost in the depths of the Viisiiviisii. One more
irritation to add to a list that was already far too big. It was her job,
as administrator, to send someone to try to find him. Apparently,
and remarkably, the man’s emergency beacon had been
completely destroyed or, at the least, damaged beyond repair.

She would have sent Case, but he was out somewhere in the
foothills of the Varaku mountains. Jillis Noufoetan was on leave at
the orbiting station, and Nicolo Manatinga had been laid up with a
fever and an infection that mutated as fast as the doctors tried to
isolate it. All of which meant she would have to send out a search
team consisting entirely of locals. It had been done before,
successfully. Staff had presented her with several possibilities,