"Alan Dean Foster - Damned 1 - Call to Arms" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

long-range detectors were much more useful for locating objects outside the vessel. The transparency
was a testament to Amplitur-allied manufacturing techniques. Within certain physical limits they had
achieved perfection, of which the wall was one demonstration. One-who-Decides studied the streaking
stars, the staff responsible for safely convoying a craft full of living organisms between them, and abruptly
nudged a control. The sickle shot upward. Many Amplitur were afraid of heights, but not
One-who-Decides. It was a thing which could be conquered. One responsible for the safety of many
ships could not be dominated by psychological weakness. It had been driven out through introspection
and sheer determination, the kind of determination which had raised One-who-Decides to commander.
Modest gratification for much hard work.

It was only a matter of having confidence in the supportive technology, in the padded sickle and the
woven fiber armature and the motors that enabled it to move freely above the command center. Not
everyone could do it, One-who-Decides knew. Slitted eyes regarded the efficient bustle below the
hovering perch. A dozen different races worked side by side in the Command room while others
executed vital functions elsewhere on the ship. None felt superior to its neighbor. Tiny Acaria assisted
massive Molitar. Spindly Segunians made way graciously for fluid Ashregan. All were united by the
Purpose. All save perhaps a few degenerate individuals, for there were individual exceptions in every
species. The crew was a tight unit, their thoughts and actions devoted to a single end.

That was all the Purpose was. An end. There was nothing exotic about it, nothing even a simpleminded
Vandir could fail to understand. The Purpose was integration: utter and complete physical, cultural, and
mental integration. When a race reached a certain level of technological and sociological sophistication, it
either self-destructed or began a long slide leading to complete cultural degeneration. Voices of promise
that might have contributed to a great multiracial civilization vanished in mindless orgies of barbaric
self-indulgence or atomic immolation. They were forever lost to the Purpose. When that happened the
Amplitur sorrowed, and their allies in the Purpose sorrowed with them. On such occasions something
distinct and unique went out of the cosmos, never to be shared or enjoyed by others. Once, the Amplitur
had actually intervened in a desperate attempt to save a psychotic race from itself, so great was its
promise. Such had been the fury, the blind hopelessness, and the depth of self-loathing to which that
people had sunk that not even the Amplitur with their peculiar abilities had been able to forestall the
cataclysm. In spite of all that could be done, the species perished, destroying itself utterly and rendering
its exquisite planet uninhabitable.

One-who-Decides raised the front part of its body, aware that the eight tips of its tentacles had been
clenched almost painfully during its thoughts. This was an improper time for such musings. There was
work of Purpose to be done. Sometimes logic and reason were not enough. On such occasions it was
necessary to employ primitive but graphic methods to demonstrate new realities to the unenlightened. The
Amplitur always regretted this, but not as much as they would have regretted abandoning an intelligent
race to the inevitability of self-destruction. As a people, the Amplitur had dedicated their very existence
to the prevention of such disasters. As long as they had the will and the strength to help, no species
would fail to realize its full potential. For this sacrifice the Amplitur did not expect even gratitude. Their
sole reward lay in the knowledge that by their work they were furthering the Purpose. Merely to be
Amplitur meant to be ready to sacrifice oneself. From time to time members of other races and even the
occasional Amplitur would question it all. What was the Purpose? What might be its end? With unfailing
logic it was pointed out that the Purpose was the end unto itself. When the work was done, when all had
been unified, something greater would manifest itself. For now it was enough to do the work, secure in
the knowledge that it was the right work to do. Reason was a wonderful thing, One-who-Decides knew.

But when would an end be made to it all? When every intelligent being in the galaxy had been integrated
into the service of the Purpose, it was declared with the certitude of obviousness. And, if Amplitur