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

from whom she had selected a couple on intuition and
recommendation of past service.

Outside, the downpour was becoming heavier, sealing off the view
across the town and into the dense Viisiiviisii beyond. With a sigh
and conflicting thoughts of Jack and a certain free-ranging explorer
in her mind, she turned and resumed her seat behind the curving
desk. Like everything else in the administration building, it was
fashioned of resolutely nonbiodegradable materials.

Everything else, that is, except the people.

“Send him in.” The desk’s omnipickup identified her voice and
relayed the request to Sanuel Pandusky, her administrative
assistant. It took several tries before Pandusky responded. Pity it
wasn’t Case, she thought. I’d have to get on his case.

Stop that, she told herself firmly. Settling herself into the chair and
letting it mold itself against her, she rested elbows on the desk and
steepled fingers in front of her. They pressed against one another
more tightly than was necessary.

The doorway barrier dissolved to admit a Sakuntala of average
height. As the portal had been designed to accommodate his kind,
he did not have to bend in order to enter. His waist strappings and
chest straps, she noted, were particularly stylish and well
equipped. This was a prosperous local who stood before her. She
knew that Personnel would not have sent her anything else.

A couple of empty chairs reposed nearby. She didn’t offer him
one. In the absence of the traditional suspended seat, the
Sakuntala preferred to squat rather than sit. At a gesture from her,
her visitor eased back onto his lean but powerful haunches.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before. I am called Lauren Matthias.”
She stuck out her tongue and braced herself. Though the
traditional Sakuntala method of greeting had become second
nature to her by now, that did not make the nature of it any less
disconcerting.

“I know your status.”

His mouth opened and her visitor’s remarkable tongue shot out to
curl once completely around her face before the end touched the
tip of her own protruding organ. Although the raspy eating surface
was turned away from her and only the smooth, wet back side
made contact with her skin, she still found herself wincing slightly at
the contact. That was a considerable improvement over the first
time the gesture had been extended. No one had bothered to warn
her, and her screaming, shocked reaction had been a source of