"James Tiptree Jr - The Color of Neanderthal Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

but did nothing. More important, is it a marine animal or an amphibian? Much of Wet's wildlife seems to
be amphibious, their lives and bodies undecided between sea and land—a natural development here. If
my follower stays in the sea, well and good; but if it comes ashore, I won't have a reposeful night.
As I look, the head swivels, apparently spots me, and submerges again. A ripple in the water shows it
coming on in. I float quietly, undecided. Perhaps it is merely curious. That might imply high intelligence.
But what persistence! It has been around me, now near, now farther off, since noon. What should I do?
Then something happens! A swirl in the water behind the creature, and a glimpse of something white.
I have a notion what it is—one of the giant white crabs I have seen (and avoided) on the reefs. Our
passage must have attracted it.
At this moment the creature accelerates to a very respectable speed and heads straight toward me.
The swirl of the crab accelerates, too. I receive a mental flash of excitement, mixed with a trace of fear.
Clearly the creature is racing to get away from the crab; but why toward me? Does it feel I am somehow
a refuge?
I check my impulse to start my motor and take myself out of the path; I feel responsible for my
follower's plight.
I shilly-shally until there is a commotion in the water alongside. The alien creature has arrived right by
me. Then two pale green arms shoot out of the water and grasp the dinghy, and, so suddenly I have no
time to react, the creature boosts itself up and tumbles into the bow of the boat—with a startlingly Human
laugh!
Can it be Human? No—a humanoid, I see as I get a better look at its waving feet. Long membranous
flippers are folding themselves around its toes, and the fingers are webbed. But the form is Human—quite
beautifully so, I notice. And the creature is sending out a wave of excited pleasure.
I have evidently encountered the hominid inhabitants of Wet.
My first reaction is—damn it all. I'm in no condition to exercise my special talents, to do a Contact
routine. But somehow the laugh beguiles me. I don't need to do more than a minimal scan to grasp that
my visitor is in no way hostile.
But there's no time for more—a big white pincer-crab claw has lashed across the boat and is coming
at the alien. I fumble for my harpoon.
Before I can find it, the situation is solved. Still laughing, the alien expertly grasps the claw and whips
out a shell knife from its belt—yes, it is wearing a belt and loincloth—and runs the knife down the claw,
severing its "thumb," or lower pincer. The thumb drops to the bottom of the boat, the now-harmless claw
batters about a bit, and a second, smaller claw comes aboard. The process of de-thumbing is repeated.
For a moment both ex-pincers are battering and waving, and then the great crab, seeming to grasp its
trouble, gives up and slides back into the sea.
The alien, grinning, bends and retrieves the thumbs, shaking its flaming red hair back from its face.
With its knife, it scoops the meat out of their shells and leans aft. It is offering one claw-meat to me! I
take it, puzzled. It is like a big white banana.
The alien pops the other piece into its mouth and bites, nodding and smiling at. me. Good! Cautiously,
I taste it without swallowing. It is delicious—but alien food like this can contain an infinity of hazards. The
crab's flesh could be laced with something lethal to me—as simple as arsenic—to which the locals are
immune.
Regretfully, I lay the luscious white meat down on a thwart and gear my mind up to communicate the
thought, "Thank you. It is very good. But we are very different. I come from another world."
To my inexpressible surprise and relief the alien, its deep blue eyes fixed on mine, sends back, "I
know, I know." So they are natural telepaths! How rare, how wonderful!
 And more is coming: "Other one came from sky a long time past." A foggy picture of what must have
been Pforzheimer forms in my head, evidently a passed-on image. "Are you like that?"
Mind-questions are hard to ask. The alien does it by superimposing a figure I see is me, and flashing
back and forth fast to the Pforzheimer image with an eager feel. "Yes," I send. "We come from the same
world."