"Larry NIven - The Legacy of Heorot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niven Larry)

sun-cured leather. His body was as young as a daily hour of intensive exercise could make it. He
could remember when he hadn't needed regular exercise to maintain the natural tone. Now, at the
adjusted age of forty-two, he was seriously considering nudging that up to an hour and a half. I'm
slowing down, he thought. She's carrying another man's baby, and I'd rather be with her than . . .
Mary Ann Eisenhower? He thought of four or five women who had made their intentions clear. Phyllis
McAndrews. Jean Patterson, willowy blond agronomist rumored to give the best massage on the
planet. He just wasn't interested. Time wounds all heels. The glands must be drying up.
Sylvia grinned back. "Only real gentlemen refuse to notice when a lady is slowing them down."
Ernst stood carefully out of earshot. His intelligence was gone, but not his manners. She jerked
her thumb at the pair of freshly caught silver-and-black torpedo shapes hanging over Ernst's back.
Fifteen and twenty pounds, at a guess. One still gaped; the gills still fluttered, too far back on
its body . . . they didn't look that much like earthly salmon, but no other creature of Earth fit
either . . . "Tell you what. I'll fix dinner tonight. Everybody to the beach for a samlon roast."
She linked her arm with Cadmann's as they marched down the side of the hill. He grinned
maliciously. "Are you sure Terry won't mind that?"
"Oh, come now. I'm just a poor pregnant lady biologist who appreciates the presence of a
strong man--and Terry's known you for years."
"I may not be as safe as you think."
She snorted. "Fat chance. When I'm sure you want my body and not my mind, I'll faint."
He looked at her appraisingly. "Which way will you fall?"
"Hush."
They laughed. The sun shone more brightly than usual.
"Golden fields. Silver rivers."
Cadmann laughed. "I suppose. I see a year-round water supply and fertile croplands."
"You would."
Somebody 'd better.
The stream flowed past the camp and over the bluff above Miskatonic River, the greatest body
of running water on the island. Eight kilometers to the south the grasslands ended in a burnt,
blackened semicircle of firebreak and beyond that the crest of giant brambles began. The colonists
had chosen a beautiful place to start a new world, lovely enough to make him feel . . . almost at


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peace. Times like this confused him. It was a fight not to shut down his thoughts and find some
project totally involving, and preferably a little risky.
Slender fingers dug into his arm. "Hey, big guy. Don't go brooding on me. This was supposed to
be our walk day. Stay with me for a while, hmm?" He was still quiet. "Tau Ceti Four. Avalon." She
rolled the words over her tongue.
"It's a good name."
"But?"
"Don't know."
"Not poetic enough?"
He helped her over a rock. It took effort to focus on the game she was inviting him to play.
"I've read poetry--"
"Kipling." She laughed. "It's all right. I know you're better read than me. And I'll keep your
secret. I don't know, Avalon's all right. But there are others. Beautiful, exciting places from
history, or legend. Shangri-La, Babylon . . ."
"Xanadu?"