"Frank Herbert - The Green Brain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

'Step along now! Lively now!' the fellow said.
A gloved hand propelled him toward two bandeirantes standing on the right side of the
line.
'Name?' That was a voice behind him.
'Antonio Raposo Tavares,' he rasped.
'District?'
'Goyaz.'
'Give that one an extra treatment,' the blond giant called. 'He's from the upcountry for
certain.'
The two waiting bandeirantes had him now, one jamming a breather mask over his face,
the other dropping a plastic bag over him. A tube trailed from the bag and out toward the
sound of machinery somewhere in the street beyond the corridor.
'Double shot!' one of the bandeirantes called.
Fuming blue gas puffed out the bag around him, and he inhaled a sharp, gasping breath
through the mask, astonished at that unanimous demand for poison-free air.
Agony!
The gas drove through every multiple linkage of his being with needles of pain.
We must not weaken, he thought. Hold fast.
But it was a deadly pain, killing. Linkages began to weaken.
'Okay on this one,' the bag handler called.
The bag was slipped off, breather mask pulled away. Hands propelled him down the
corridor toward the sunlight.
'Lively now! Don't hold up the line.'
The stink of the poison gas lay all around him. It was a new one - a dissembler. They
hadn't prepared him for this poison. He'd been ready for the radiations and the sonics and
the old chemicals ... but not for this.
Sunlight beat down on him as he emerged from the corridor into a street. He veered left
through a passage lined by fruit stalls, merchants bartering with customers or standing fat
and watchful behind their displays.
In his extremity, the fruit beckoned with the promise of sanctuary for a few parts of him,
but the integrating totality of him knew the emptiness of that thought. He fought off the
lure, shuffled fast as he dared, dodging past customers, through the knots of idlers.
 'You like to buy fresh oranges?'
An oily dark hand thrust two oranges into his face.
'Fresh oranges from the green country. Never been a bug near these.'
He avoided the hand, but the odor of the oranges came near to overpowering him.
Now he was clear of the stalls, around a corner down a narrow side street. Another corner
and he saw far away to his left the lure of greenery in open country, the free area beyond
the town.
He turned toward the green, increased his speed, measuring out the time still available to
him. He knew it would be a near thing. Poison clung to his clothing, but clean air filtered
through the fabric - and the thought of possible victory was like an antidote.
We can make it yet!
The green drew closer and closer - trees and ferns beside a river bank. He heard running
water, smelled wet soil. There was a bridge thronging with foot traffic from converging
streets.
No help for it - he joined the throng, avoided contact where possible. His leg and back
linkages were beginning to slip, and he knew the wrong kind of blow, a chance collision
could dislodge whole segments.
The bridge ordeal ended and he saw a dirt track leading off the path to the right and