"Alan Dean Foster - Flinx 5 - Flinx in Flux" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

bonding with more than one flying snake. One human, one minidrag. That was the
rule. The yearling had to go.
"Go on! Beat it, scram!" He jumped toward it, waving his arms and machete. The
little creature retreated another meter. "Fly away, get lost! Your home's not
with me and your mother anymore. This is good‑bye time." He rushed the minidrag.
It darted back two meters and stopped, hovering half behind the protective bulk
of a tree with blue bark.
Turning decisively, he resumed his march. He had covered another twenty meters
when he heard the humming again. As he spun in exasperation, the yearling
quickly landed on a convenient branch, folding its pleated wings tightly against
its narrow body and curling its tail around the wood.
"What's the matter with you?" He glanced down at Pip, who was staring silently
at her recalcitrant offspring. "You've got a kid who doesn't want to leave the
nest. What ate you going to do about it?"
Flinx was constantly amazed at the complexity of thoughts that could be conveyed
by emotions. Pip understood not a word he had said, but the feeling was clear
enough. She uncoiled herself, spread her wings, and shot toward the adolescent.
The yearling nearly fell out of the tree trying to avoid her attack. Flinx
watched as the two minidrags went around trunks and through branches, panicking
the concealed native life and scattering it in all directions.
Finally Pip returned, breathing hard, and settled back on his shoulder. This
time he simply stood and waited. A minute passed, two, before he heard the
expected ham. The yearling hovered in the crook of two great branches, obviously
exhausted and equally obviously unwilling to be driven away. Feeling Pip stir on


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his shoulder, he put a hand on her neck to calm her down.
"Easy." She felt without understanding. Her breathing slowed. "It's all right."
Her offspring picked up the same feeling and started toward him. He watched
while it coiled itself around his left wrist.
"No, you can't stay. Understand?" He raised his hand and snapped it outward,
tossing the flying snake into the air. As soon as he let it fall, the minidrag
was back clinging to his arm, a brightly colored bracelet with flashing red
eyes.
He flung it away several times. Each time it resumed its grip on his wrist or
lower arm. "What the devil am I supposed to do with you'?" If a flying snake
could cringe, this yearling was doing exactly that. It buried its head beneath
one wing.
Cute, damn it, he thought. All of Pip's offspring had been cute, dainty little
leathery sculptures. Each of them carried enough neurotoxin in its poison sacs
to kill a dozen grown men in as many minutes. Not so cute.
The minidrag's emanations were weak and indistinct, like its mother's.
Affection, confusion, loneliness, fear, puzzlement, all mixed up together. Since
the flying snake's intelligence level was far below that of a human being, he
could never be sure exactly what it was feeling.
This one was very small, even for a year‑old minidrag. Pip was clearly
hesitating, trying to divide her attention between her master and her offspring.