"George R. R. Martin - Dying of the Light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Gwen had filled three of the four mugs with beer and foam. She set one in front of Vikary's place, the second by
Dirk, and took a long draft from the third. Then she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, smiled at Janacek, and
handed him the empty mug. "If you're going to threaten poor Dirk because of my habits," she said, "then I suppose I
must challenge Jaan for all the years I've had to suffer yours."
 Janacek turned the empty beer mug in his hands and scowled. "Betheyn-bitch," he said in an easy conversational
voice. He poured bis own beer.
Vikary was back an instant later. He sat down, took a swipe from his own mug, and they began to eat. Dirk
discovered very soon that he liked having beer for breakfast. The biscuits, smeared over with a thick coating of the
sweet paste, were also excellent. The meat was rather dry.
Janacek and Vikary questioned him throughout the meal, while Gwen sat back and looked bemused, saying very
little. The two Kavalars were a study in
contrasts. Jaan Vikary leaned forward as he spoke (he was still bare-chested, and every so often he yawned and
scratched himself absently) and maintained a tone of general friendly interest, smiling frequently, seemingly much
more at ease than he had been up on the roof. Yet he struck Dirk as somehow deliberate, a tight man who was
making a conscious effort to loosen; even his informalities-the smiles, the scratching-seemed studied and formal.
Garse Janacek, while he sat more erect than Vikary and never scratched and had all the formal Kavalar mannerisms
of speech, nevertheless seemed more genuinely relaxed, like a man who enjoyed the restrictions his society had laid
on him and would not even think of trying to break free. His speech was animated and abrasive; he tossed off insults
like a flywheel tossing sparks, most of them directed at Gwen. She tossed a few back, but feebly; Janacek played the
game much better than she did. A lot of it gave the appearance of casual, affectionate give-and-take, but several
times Dirk thought he caught a hint of real hostility. Vikary tended to frown at every exchange.
When Dirk happened to mention his year on Prometheus, Janacek quickly seized on it. "Tell me, t'Larien," he said,
"do you consider the Altered Men human?"
"Of course," Dirk said. "They are. Settled by the Earth Imperials way back during the war. The modern
Prometheans are only the descendants of the old Ecological Warfare Corps."
"In truth," Janacek said, "yet I would disagree with your conclusion. They have manipulated their own genes to
such a degree that they have lost the right to call themselves men at all, in my opinion. Dragonfly men, undersea
men, men who breathe poison, men who see in the dark like Hruun, men with four arms, hermaphrodites, soldiers
without stomachs, breeding sows without sentience-these creatures are not men. Or not-men, more precisely."
"No," Dirk said. "I've heard the term not-man. It's
common parlance on a lot of worlds, but it means human stock that's been mutated so it can no longer interbreed
with the basic. The Prometheans have been careful to avoid that. The leaders-they're fairly normal themselves, you
know, only minor alterations for longevity and such-well, the leaders regularly swoop down on Rhiannon and
Thisrock, raiding, you know. For ordinary Earth-normal humans-"
"Yet even Earth is less than Earth-normal these past few centuries," Janacek interrupted. Then he shrugged. "I
should not break in, should I? Old Earth is too far away, in any event. We only hear century-old rumors. Continue."
"I made my point," Dirk said. "The Altered Men are still human. Even the low castes, the most grotesque, the
failed experiments discarded by the surgeons-all of them can interbreed. That's why they sterilize them, they're afraid
of offspring."
Janacek took a swallow of beer and regarded him with those intense blue eyes. "They do interbreed, then?" He
smiled. "Tell me, t'Larien, during your year on that world did you ever have occasion to test this personally?"
Dirk flushed and found himself glancing toward Gwen, as if it were somehow all her fault. "I haven't been celibate
these past seven years, if that's what you mean," he snapped.
Janacek rewarded his answer with a grin, and looked at Gwen. "Interesting," he said to her. "The man spends
several years in your bed and then immediately turns to bestiality."
Anger flashed across her face; Dirk still knew her well enough to recognize that. Jaan Vikary looked none too
pleased either. "Garse," he said warningly.
Janacek deferred to him. "My apologies, Gwen," he said. "No insult was intended. T'Larien no doubt acquired a
taste for mermaids and mayfly women quite independently of you."
"Will you be going out into the wild, t'Larien?"