"Eric Frank Russel - Symbiotica" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

The boat did a hectic belly-slide.

"I wouldn't grieve," I told Wilson. "Those emulsified
window-panes never fry you a chicken or shove a
strawberry shortcake under your drooling mouth."

"No," he admitted. "They don't" Struggling out of his
harness, he gave me the sour eye and growled, "How'd you
like me to spit in the needlers?"

"I'd break your neck," I promised.

"See?" he said, pointedly, and forthwith beat it to find
out whether his stuff had survived intact.



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Sticking my face to the nearest port I had a look through
its thick disc and studied what I could see of the new world.
It was green. You'd never have believed any place could
be so thoroughly and absolutely green. The sun, which had
appeared a primrose colour out in space, now looked an
extremely pale green. It poured down a flood of yellow-
green light.

The Marathon lay in a glade that cut through a mighty
forest. The area immediately around us was lush with green
grasses, herbs, shrubs and bugs. And the forest itself was
a near-solid mass of tremendous growths that ranged in
colour from a very light silver-green to a dark, glossy green
that verged upon black.

Brennand came and stood beside me. His face promptly
became a spotty and bilious green as the eerie light hit it.
He looked like one of the undead.

"Well, here we are again." Turning away from the port,
he grinned at me, swiftly wiped the grin off his face and
replaced it with a look of alarm. "Hey, don't you be sick
over me!"

"It's the light," I pointed out. " Take a look at yourself.
You resemble a portion of undigested haggis floating in the
scuppers of a Moon-tripper."

"Thanks," he said.