"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Dancers Like Children" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

mutilated any of the miners.
Dancer preadolescents were gray and motionless, looking more dead than
alive. The human children Latona had taken to the Dancers were fluid and
energetic, as lively as the little creatures I had seen scrabbling in the
dirt.
I set aside the packet, not liking what I was thinking. The Dancers
were a protected species, so they could not be killed or relocated without
interference from Lina Base. The colonists were great botanists and had been
trying for years to learn the way to grow the Salt Juice herbs. The Dancers
were impossible to negotiate with, and they guarded the seeds jealously. What
if a colonist had figured out how to grow an herb from seed? The Dancers were
no longer necessary; were, in fact, a hindrance. The murders allowed Lina Base
to send in one expert instead of a gaggle of people -- and also put the expert
on a strict timetable. Netta had requested an expert with a flawed background,
known for his rash judgments. My impetuous decision making had led one colony
to spray an alkaline solution in an acidic ocean filled with intelligent life.
Perhaps this colony wanted me to make another bad decision, and use that as an
excuse to murder the rest of the Dancers.
I leaned my head on the back of the chair. I had no evidence supporting
my theory, had only suspicions as I had had with the Minarans. I stood up. I
had to go to Communications Central and wire for more help. I could not make
my decision alone.
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VIII
A knock on the door startled me out of a sound sleep. I was lying on
the packet on the couch in the apartment's front room. The knock echoed again.
It sounded loud in the nearly empty room. Before I could respond, the door
eased open and spread a wide patch of yellow light across the floor.
"Dr. Schafer?"
I squinted, and sat up, reaching for a light. As the lights came on, I
closed my eyes, wincing even more. "Yes?"
"We have another one."
I blinked. My eyes finally adjusted to the brightness. D. Marvin
Tanner, the head of the dome's security, stood before me. He seemed calm.
"Another one?"
"Yes," he said. "Netta sent me to get you. We have another dead child."
The flat tone he used to deliver those words sent a shiver down my
back. The security officer on Minar had come to me in the middle of the night,
his hands shaking, his mouth set in a rigid line. His voice would crack as he
spoke of the dead and his own feelings of helplessness. Tanner didn't seem to
care. Perhaps that was because this was no longer his investigation. Or
perhaps he was one of those borderline psychopaths himself, the kind that went
into law enforcement because it provided them with a legal way of abusing
others.
I wondered how he was able to get into the apartment so easily. Netta
had assured me that I had the only key to the lock.
"What happened?" I rubbed my face, adjusted my clothes.
"You'll be able to see," he said. "No one is allowed to work the scene
until the entire team has been assembled."
I got up and followed Tanner outside. The dome filter had changed