"Brin, David - Uplift 5 - Infinity's Shore" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

I guess anything beats death, but there have been moments since that impact when my back hurt so much that I just wanted to rumble one last umble through my battered throat sac and say farewell to young Alvin Hph-wayuo- junior linguist, humicking writer, uttergloss daredevil, and neglectful son of Mu-phauwq and Yowg-wayuo of Wuphon Port, the Slope, Jijo, Galaxy Four, the Universe.

а

But I stayed alive.

а

I guess it just didn't seem hoonish to give up, after every thing my pals and I went through to get here. What if I was sole survivor? I owed it to Huck and the others to carry on,

а

My cell--a prison? hospital room?--measures just two meters, by two, by three. Pretty skimpy for a hoon, event one not quite fully grown. It gets even more cramped whenever some six-legged, metal-sheathed demon tries to squeeze inside to tend my injured spine, poking with what, I assume (hope!) to be clumsy kindness. Despite their efforts, misery comes in awful waves, making me wish desperately for the pain remedies cooked up by Old Stinky--our traeki pharmacist back home.

а

It occurred to me that I might never walk again . . . or see my family, or watch seabirds swoop over the dross ships, anchored beneath Wuphon's domelike shelter trees. I

а

I tried talking to the insecty giants trooping in and out of my cell. Though each had a torso longer than my dad is tall--with a flared back end, and a tubelike shell as hard as Buyur steel--I couldn't help picturing them as enormous phuvnthus, those six-legged vermin that gnaw the walls of wooden houses, giving off a sweet-tangy stench.

а

These things smell like overworked machinery. Despite, my efforts in a dozen Earthling and Galactic languages, they seemed even less talkative than the phuvnthus Huck and I used to catch when we were little, and train to perform in a miniature circus.

а

I missed Huck during that dark time. I missed her quick g'Kek mind and sarcastic wit. I even missed the way she'd snag my leg fur in her wheels to get my attention, if I stared too long at the horizon in a hoonish sailor's trance. I last glimpsed those wheels spinning uselessly in the sea dragon's mouth, just after those giant jaws smashed our precious Dream and we spilled across the slivers of our amateur diving craft.

а

Why didn't I rush to my friend, during those bleak moments after we crashed? Much as I yearned to, it was hard to see or hear much while a screaming wind shoved its way into the chamber, pushing out the bitter sea. At first, I had to fight just to breathe again. Then, when I tried to move, my back would not respond.

а

In those blurry instants, I also recall catching sight of Ur-ronn, whipping her long neck about and screaming as she thrashed all four legs and both slim arms, horrified at being drenched in vile water. Ur-ronn bled where her suede colored hide was pierced by jagged shards-remnants of the glass porthole she had proudly forged in the volcano workshops of Uriel the Smith.

а

Pincer-Tip was there, too, best equipped among our gang to survive underwater. As a red qheuen, Pincer was used to scampering on five chitin-armored claws across salty shallows-though our chance tumble into the bottomless void was more than even he had bargained for. In dim recollection, I think Pincer seemed alive ... or does wishful thinking deceive me?

а

My last hazy memories of our "rescue" swarm with violent images until I blacked out ... to wake in this cell, delirious and alone.

а

Sometimes the phuvnthus do something "helpful" to my spine, and it hurts so much that I'd willingly spill every secret I know. That is, if the phuvnthus ever asked questions, which they never do.