"Alan Dean Foster - Lost and Found" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

the light purple flesh visible outside the creatureтАЩs attire revealed that its epidermis was pebbled, like a
golf ball.

As a partially paralyzed Walker looked on, the creature administering the ophthalmological treatment to
its ocularly challenged companion noticed the astounded simian gawking at them from the confines of
its small, flexible sanctuary. Raising one boneless arm (or cartilage-stiffened tentacle), it fluttered the
end of its sucker flap in WalkerтАЩs direction and uttered something in a deep, nasal (particularly
interesting, given the absence of visible nostrils) voice that sounded like an imploding garbage disposal.

тАЬSikrikash galad vume!тАЭ



file:///E|/mIRC/download/Alan%20Dean%20Foster%20-%20L...02004%20[html,%20jpg]/Fost_0345461266_oeb_c02_r1.html (2 of 13)1-2-2008 13:11:04
 LostandFound

Having no intention of being vumed, Walker slapped his left front pocket one time to make sure his car
keys were still there, burst out of the tent, heart pounding, and raced for the SUV. Despite his mostly
sedentary job, as an ex-athlete he had stayed in very good shape, and he covered the intervening gap at
impressive speed. The vehicleтАЩs comforting bulk beckoned to him like the heated entryway of a
downtown shopping mall in mid-January.

Aliens!he thought wildly to himself as he ran. Real, honest-to-God, out-of-this-world, from-off-this-
planet extraterrestrials. They didnтАЩt look like E.T. They werenтАЩt slim and short and big-headed, bald, and
naked. He was willing to bet, based just on the little he had seen and heard and smelled, that they
werenтАЩt genital-less, either. They were solid, loud, oversized, and focused. Nothing about them was in
the least bit ethereal. And he had (temporarily, he hoped) blinded one.

Confronted with the same situation, he had friends back home who would probably have moseyed over,
raised a hand or two, smiled ingenuosly, and chirped, тАЬWelcome!тАЭ Not Marcus Walker. There were
backstreets in Chicago where it would be unwise to do that, too, and instinct told him that it would be
unwise to do so now. If these nocturnal visitors wanted company, they could head down the hill to Bug
Jump, where their passing resemblance to some of the locals ought to better facilitate any encounter.

Wrenching open the driverтАЩs side door, he threw himself into the front seat and behind the wheel,
slamming the door shut behind him and thumbing its power lock. Clutching the keys, his right hand
stabbed at the ignition as if he were trying to gouge the mechanical life out of the steering column. He
cursed silently, having occasionally had a similar problem with women.

A massive shape appeared next to the door and blocked out the moon. Horizontally stretched eyes, like
dark rubber bands with pupils, gazed unblinkingly in at him. An actual chill ran down the middle of his
back, but he had no energy to spare for shivering.

The key finally found its way into the ignition. As he jammed it forward, the engine roared to life. The
lights came on to reveal two more of the flap-armed purplish giants standing directly in front of the
vehicle. They wore what looked in the SUVтАЩs lights like tight-fitting clothes fashioned of pounded
pewter. One raised both upper appendages to shield its ghastly longitudinal eyes against the glare of the
headlights. The other pointed something at the 4X4тАЩs windshield.

With a groan of protesting metal, the driverтАЩs side door was yanked open as if he had never locked it. A