"Julian May - Jack the Bodiless" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

The old man in the pool leapt like a speared sturgeon. "Bordel de merde!"
It's only me, Uncle Rogi.
"Dammit! One of these days you're going to give me cardiac arrest doing that!"
[Laughter.] I apologize. It was the old college song. I had been thinking of it myself just
as I arrived. It brought back all kinds of memories.
"Now look what you made me do." Rogi was accusing. His eruption had splashed hot water over
the onion animals and they were flailing in wild distress, the tiny teeth of the flowers
chattering like elfin castanets. "You know the park rules about disturbing the native lifeforms!
These little chompers are sensitive. If any of 'em decide to croak, I could be blamed and end up
paying a helluva fine—"
Calm yourself. Look. I've restored them.
"Damn good thing," Rogi muttered, climbing out onto the not-quite-lichens. The clumps of red
onions were swaying luxuriously now, and a delicate humming sound filled the grotto. "Don't often
hear that. It's their full-tummy serenade."
It was the least I could do.
Rogi chuckled. Naked and steaming, he retrieved the brandy flask, which fortunately hadn't
spilled, and tucked it into a safe place. "I'm feeling pretty hungry myself. Want to share some
chili cagado with me, mon fantome?"
Thank you. But no.
"Too substantial for your Lylmik guts, eh? You used to love it."
Unifex's thought was wistful: I don't suppose you brought along any Habitant pea soup . . . ?
"Ate the last of it two days ago."
The Lylmik's mind sighed.
Rogi squatted and set up a small microwave campstove. He dipped a pot of water from the
spring, peered into it, and extracted a black gelatinous blob and a glass-shrimp that were
swimming languidly about the container's bottom. The invertebrates were returned to the pool and
the pot set inside the stove to boil. Rogi had tossed in two Aqua Pura tablets for seasoning,
since Denali bred tough microorganisms as well as tough colonials.
"So you couldn't resist coming after me." The old man dried himself with a diminutive towel
and put his long Johns and socks back on.
Unifex said: It was a species of sentimental journey. I had felt compelled to avoid Denali
during her first-cycle sojourn here.
Rogi hesitated. "You want to tell me about the two of you? All I know is the little bit
Cloudie and Hagen told me—and they didn't know all that much."
Not now. Perhaps later.
"M'mm." Rogi took the seething pot out of the stove and filled two bowls and a large cup,
adding a different-colored cube to each container of water. After four seconds of effervescence,
the highly compressed food reconstituted and the pungent aroma of chili rose from the first bowl,
and the smell of cinnamon-apple cobbler from the second. The cup was full of black coffee. Rogi
added five lumps of sugar and a shot of Armagnac to the latter, and sprinkled almost 200 grams of
grated natural-state Tillamook cheddar onto the chili.
A sibilant, yearning chorus came from the crab holes, and there was a frantic blinking of
eyes. Rogi chuckled wickedly. "Cheeky little bastards. Remember how they used to eat Adidas if you
left 'em outside the tent in these snow caves?"
Unifex laughed. It said: I note that you wear inedible Salomon ski boots now. Very
comfortable-looking. I like the new Rossi boards, too. But isn't it rather imprudent of you not to