"Philip Jose Farmer - The Book of Philip Jose Farmer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

single tremendous leaf of the umbrella tree.
When Lane had first seen them from the glider as it hurtled over them, he had
thought they looked like an army of giant hands uplifted to catch the sun. Giant they
were, for each rib-supported leaf measured fifty feet across. And hands they were,
hands to beg for and catch the rare gold of the tiny sun. During the day, the ribs on the
side nearest the moving sun dipped toward the ground, and the furthest ribs tilted
upward. Obviously, the daylong maneuver was designed to expose the complete area
of the membrane to the light, to allow not an inch to remain in shadow.
It was to be expected that strange forms of plant life would be found here. But
structures built by animal life were not expected. Especially when they were so large
and covered an eighth of the planet.
These structures were the tubes from which rose the trunks of the umbrella
trees. Lane had tried to drill through the rocklike side of the tube. So hard was it, it
had blunted one drill and had done a second no good before he had chipped off a
small piece. Contented for the moment with that, he had taken it to the dome, there to
examine it under a microscope. After an amazed look, he had whistled. Embedded in
the cement-like mass were plant cells. Some were partially destroyed; some, whole.
Further tests had shown him that the substance was composed of cellulose, a
lignin-like stuff, various nucleic acids, and unknown materials.
He had reported his discovery and also his conjecture to the orbital ship. Some
form of animal life had, at some time, chewed up and partially digested wood and
then had regurgitated it as a cement. The tubes had been fashioned from the cement.
The following day he intended to go back to the tube and blast a hole in it. But
two of the men had set out in a tractor on a field exploration. Lane, as radio operator
for that day, had stayed in the dome. He was to keep in contact with the two, who
were to report to him every fifteen minutes.
The tank had been gone about two hours and must have been about thirty
miles away, when it had failed to report. Two hours later, the other tank, carrying two
men, had followed the prints of the first party. They had gone about thirty miles from
base and were maintaining continuous radio contact with Lane.
"There's a slight obstacle ahead," Greenberg had said. "It's a tube coming out
at right angles from the one we've been paralleling. It has no plants growing from it.
Not much of a rise, not much of a drop on the other side, either. We'll make it easy."
Then he had yelled.
That was all.
Now, the day after, Lane was on foot, following the fading trail. Behind him
lay the base camp, close to the junction of the two canali known as Avernus and
Tartarus. He was between two of the rows of vegetation which formed Tartarus, and
he was traveling northeastward, toward the Sirenum Mare, the so-called Siren Sea.
The Mare, he supposed, would be a much broader group of tree-bearing tubes.
He walked steadily while the sun rose higher and the air grew warmer. He had
long ago turned off his suit-heater. This was summer and close to the equator. At
noon the temperature would be around seventy degrees Fahrenheit.
But at dusk, when the temperature had plunged through the dry air to zero,
Lane was in his sleeping tent. It looked like a cocoon, being sausage-shaped and not
much larger than his body. It was inflated so he could remove his helmet and breathe
while he warmed himself from the battery-operated heater and ate and drank. The tent
was also very flexible; it changed its cocoon shape to a triangle while Lane sat on a
folding chair from which hung a plastic bag and did that which every man must do.
During the daytime he did not have to enter the sleeping tent for this. His suit