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

Lizard nodded briskly. "Ready and anxious. They've been practicing for a long
time. They're eager for the chance to finally do something."
"They'll have their chance. We'll all have our chance." Spider's brooding gaze
swept around the table. "No more clinging to shadows. No more limiting ourselves
to issuing manifestos and inserting tracts in obscure faxes. No more begging for
public service time on the major tridee services. After Longtunnel our name will
be on everyone's lips. The entire Commonwealth will know what we stand for. The
undecided will rally to our cause. Then we can begin in earnest to reverse the
tide of exploitation which has dominated government policy for far too long!"
They would have raised a toast to their decision and to themselves save for the
fact that none of them consumed alcohol or indulged in other narcotic
substances. How could you preach the purity of the natural world if you could
not keep your own body clean? They got high on one thing only: the passion for
the Cause. The true Cause, the holy war against the rapacious despoilers of
multiple environments, against the polluters and DNAnarchists.
There were other organizations that professed to work for that end, but the six
knew them for what they were: weak, feeble, and uncommitted. Only those around
the table were the true shock troops of the coming ecological jihad.
Lizard did something, and the holo vanished as though it had never been. They
rose from their seats and began to leave the meeting room, whispering among
themselves, excited but under control. Everyone knew what he or she had to do to
make the operation a success. And it had to be a success. The robber barons and
their Frankensteinian servants had been given a free hand too long. Now it was
time to amputate.
They kept their voices down and dispersed rapidly. Time had taught them
patience; experience had taught them caution. As they filed out of the
nondescript structure into waiting vehicles or walked to the nearest public
transport, they were already rehearsing their next moves, each concentrating on
his or her assigned duty.
They certainly did not look much like the members of the ruling clique of a
burgeoning terrorist organization.
Chapter Two

While Alaspin attracted its share of visitors, few of them were tourists. The
majority were scientists for whom an unpleasant climate was merely a minor
impediment to research. Here, at least, it was a consistent impediment. The
weather in the broad, high‑grassed savannas and the dense jungle that bordered
them changed little from month to month. There were only two seasons: wet and
not so wet.
The scientists came to study the thousands of temples and ruins left by an
advanced civilization too shy even to name itself, which was thus called
Alaspinian by default. They had left extensive records of their travels
throughout this portion of space, but practically nothing about themselves. Yet
they had chosen to live and work in primitive structures of stone and wood.
Nothing was known of their disappearance, though the theory of racial suicide
had numerous adherents. It was almost as if, embarrassed by their achievements,
they had simply disappeared some seventy thousand years ago. Moved
away somehow, others said. For if they had committed racial suicide, where were
the remains?