"Alastair Reynolds - Revelation Space 04 - Absolution Gap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

the clouds. P Eridani A and B, except no one ever called them anything
other than Bright Sun and Faint Sun.
In the silver-grey daylight the water was leached of its usual colour,
reduced to a drab grey-green soup. It looked thick when it sloshed around
Scorpio’s boots, but despite the opacity of the water the actual density of
suspended micro-organisms was low by Ararat standards. Vasko had still
taken a small risk by swimming, but he had been right to do so, for it had
allowed them to sail the boat much closer to the shore. Scorpio was no
expert on the matter, but he knew that most meaningful encounters
between humans and Jugglers took place in areas of the ocean that were
so saturated with organisms that they were more like floating rafts of
organic matter. The concentration here was low enough that there was
little risk of the Jugglers eating the boat while they were away, or creating
a local tide system to wash it out to sea.
They covered the remaining ground to dry land, reaching the gently
sloping plain of rock that had been visible from sea as a line of darkness.
Here and there shallow pools interrupted the ground, mirroring the
overcast sky in silver-grey. They made their way between them, heading
for a pimple of white in the middle distance.
“You still haven’t told me what all this is about,” Vasko said.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Aren’t you sufficiently excited about
meeting the old man?”
“Scared, more likely.”
“He does that to people, but don’t let it get to you. He doesn’t get off on
reverence.”
After ten minutes of further walking, Scorpio had recovered the
strength he had expended hauling in the boat. In that time the pimple had
become a dome perched on the ground, and finally revealed itself to be an
inflatable tent. It was guyed to cleats pinned into the rock, the white fabric
around its base stained various shades of briny green. It had been patched
and repaired several times. Gathered around the tent, leaning against it at
odd angles, were pieces of conch material recovered from the sea like
driftwood. The way they had been poised was unmistakably artful.
“What you said earlier, sir,” Vasko said, “about Clavain not going
around the world after all?”
 “Yes?”
“If he came here instead, why couldn’t they just tell us that?”
“Because of why he came here,” Scorpio replied.
They made their way around the inflatable structure until they reached
the pressure door. Next to it was the small humming box that supplied
power to the tent, maintaining the pressure differential and providing
heat and other amenities for its occupant.
Scopio examined one of the conch pieces, fingering the sharp edge
where it had been cut from some larger whole. “Looks like he’s been doing
some beachcombing.”
Vasko pointed to the already open outer door. “All the same, doesn’t
look as if there’s anyone home at the moment.”
Scorpio opened the inner door. Inside he found a bunk bed and a neatly
folded pile of bedclothes. A small collapsible desk, a stove and food
synthesiser. A flagon of purified water and a box of rations. An air pump