"Scott Westerfeld - Uglies 03 - Specials" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)

"One party-load of uglies up ahead." Shay's words cut through the music, caught by a chip in her
jaw and carried through the skintenna network, whisper-close. "You sure you're ready for this,
Tally-wa?"
Tally took a deep breath, drinking in the brain-clearing cold. Her nerves still tingled, but it would
be totally random to back out now. "Don't worry, Boss. This is going to be icy."
"Should be. It is a party, after all," Shay said. "Let's be happy little uglies."
A few of the Cutters chuckled, glancing at each other's fake faces. Tally became aware again of
her own millimeters-thick mask: plastic bumps and lumps that made her face zitted and flawed, covering
the gorgeously spinning web of flash tattoos. Uneven dental caps blunted her razor-sharp teeth, and even
her tattooed hands were sprayed with fake skin.
A glance in the mirror had shown Tally how she looked: just like an ugly. Ungainly, crook-nosed,
with baby-fat cheeks, and an impatient expression—impatient for her next birthday, the bubblehead
operation, and a trip across the river. Another random fifteen-year-old, in other words.
This was Tally's first trick since turning special. She'd expected to be ready for anything now—all
those operations had filled her with icy new muscles and reflexes tweaked to snakelike speed. And then
she'd spent two months training in the Cutters' camp, living in the wild with little sleep and no provisions.
But one look in the mirror had shaken her confidence.
It didn't help that they'd come into town through the Crumblyville burbs, flying over endless rows
of darkened houses, all the same. The random tedium of the place she'd grown up in gave her a sticky
feeling along the inside of her arms, which wasn't helped by the feel of the recyclable dorm uniform
against her sensitive new skin. The manicured trees of the greenbelt seemed to press in around Tally, as if
the city were trying to grind her down to averageness again. She liked being special, being outside and
icy and better, and couldn't wait to get back to the wild and strip this ugly mask from her face.
Tally clenched her fists and listened to the skintenna network. Fausto's music and the noises of
the others washed over her—the soft sounds of breathing, the wind against their faces. She imagined their
heartbeats at the very edge of hearing, as if the Cutters' growing excitement were echoing in her bones.
"Split up," Shay said as the lights of the bash grew close. "Don't want to look too cliquey."
The Cutters' formation drifted apart. Tally stayed with Fausto and Shay, while Tachs and Ho
broke off toward the top of Cleopatra Park. Fausto adjusted his soundbox and the music faded, leaving
only rushing wind and the distant rumble of the bash.
Tally took another nervous breath, and the crowd's scent flashed through her—ugly sweat and
spilled alcohol. The party's dance system didn't use skintennas; it blasted music crudely through the air,
scattering sound waves into a thousand reflections among the trees. Uglies were always noisy.
From her training, Tally knew that she could close her eyes and use the merest echoes to
navigate the forest blind, like a bat following its own chirps. But she needed her special vision tonight.
Shay had spies in Uglyville, and they'd heard that outsiders were crashing the party—New Smokies
giving out nanos and stirring up trouble.
That's why the Cutters were here: This was a Special Circumstance.
The three landed just outside the strobing lights of the hoverglobes, jumping off onto the forest's
floor of pine needles, which crackled with frost. Shay sent their boards up into the treetops to wait, then
fixed Tally with an amused stare. "You smell nervous."
Tally shrugged, uncomfortable in her ugly-dorm uniform. Shay could always smell what you were
feeling. "Maybe so, Boss."
Here at the party's edge, a sticky bit of memory reminded her how she always felt arriving at a
bash. Even as a beautiful bubblehead, Tally had hated the trickle of nerves that visited whenever crowds
pressed in around her, the heat of so many bodies, the weight of their eyes upon her. Now her mask felt
clingy and strange, a barrier separating her from the world. Very unspecial. Her cheeks flashed hot for a
second beneath plastic, like a rush of shame.
Shay reached out to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Tally- wa."
"They're only uglies," Fausto's whisper sliced through the air. "And we're right here with you." His