"James Tiptree Jr. - Your Haploid Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

me I was to come to the councillor's office. Ovancha was standing outside. He
acknowledged me with a curt nod and went in, leaving me to stare at the
antiseptic and cylindrical maiden behind the desk. When I was ushered into the
presence of the white-haired senior councillor Ovancha was looking at a wall
map. I was not offered a chair. "Reshvid lan, your colleague Reshvid Pax is a
criminal. He has committed murder. What have you to say?" I stammered my
bewilderment. Ovancha wheeled about. "Reshvid Goffafa is dead. His body was
found buried in an obvious attempt at concealment. He died by strangulation.
Your colleague Pax has fled." "But why should Pax do such a thing? Why do you
believe he was the murderer? He admires and respects your people, Reshvid
Ovancha!" "The murderer was large and strong. Your friend is strong-and he is
excitable, uncontrollable. Disgustingly silly!" "No-" "He quarreled with
Reshvid Goffafa, killed him and fled." "When Reshvid Pax returns," I said,
fighting for anchorage, "I hope you will listen to his explanation of the sad
death of Goffafa." "He will not return!" Ovancha fairly shouted. "He has
sneaked into a camp of Flenni and is hiding there. Do you dare to suggest he
is not guilty?" The councillor cleared his throat sharply and Ovancha's mouth
snapped shut. "That is all," said the councillor. "You will be so good as to
stay in your quarters until transportation is arranged. I regret that your
laboratory here is closed." The next days passed in that agony of boredom and
worry known only to those who have been alone and in jail on an alien planet.
My field kit was returned to me; I set it up and forced myself to study the
garden flora. There was a sentry outside the gates. There was a nocturnal
scuffle, and no more flowers came over the wall. Then one night the almost-cat
had kittens. I had been pacing the terrace. Senior ISB biologists are not
supposed to get the shakes, the horror alieni. Certainly on the surface I was
in no danger. Pax was in serious trouble, but all I faced was grief from the
Sector over a fouled-up mission. And yet I could not get rid of the notion
that an invisible set of jaws were all around me and about to go crunch.
Something here was wrong; something that killed biologists. Harkness had been
a biologist, and he was dead. I became aware of action by my feet, under the
amber ferns. The pet we called the almost-cat was ''rolling on the ground,
among a heap of small, scuffling, squeaking things. I focused my pocket light,
and the "cat" suddenly sat up, yawned in my face and sauntered off, leaving me
gaping at the wiggling heap on the ground. Kits! But how many were there? A
dozen tiny faces turned up to the light- two dozen-four dozen-and how tiny!
Still more were struggling or still among the fem roots. I picked up a
handful and started up to my lab. In my head all the puzzle pieces which had
fitted themselves so neatly into that damned wrong pattern were again in
motion-coming together in a larger, frightening pattern. One of the items in
the new pattern was the great likelihood that I would be killed. As Harkness
had been when he stumbled on the truth. Could I conceal it? No chance; two
sleepy servants had seen me with the kits, and I had said far too much to
Ovancha. I worked carefully. It was gray dawn when the microscope had
abolished all possible doubts. Outside a sweeper-boy with a box was scrabbling
under the amber ferns. He had some trouble-the kits, four hours old, were
running and biting -but he got them all. He took the box to the back gate and
passed it to the sentry. Even unto the least, I thought dismally. More pieces
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