"Alan Dean Foster - With friends like these." - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

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Visual observation at the organic level became possible as the great ship cut the orbit of the
last gas giant. Those of the vessel's complement took the never dull opportunity to rush the ports
for a glimpse of a new solar system; those whose functions did not include the actual maneuvering
of the craft. Curiosity was a fairly universal characteristic among space-going races. The crew of
the Tpin, although a grim lot, were no exception.
Within the protected confines of the fore control room of the half-kilometer-long bubble of metal
and plastic, Communicator First Phrnnx shifted his vestigial wings and asked Commander First
Rappan for the millionth time what-the-hell-equivalent they hoped to find.
"Phrnnx," Rappan sighed, "if you haven't been sufficiently enlightened as to the content of the
legends by now, I fail to see how I can aid you. Instead of repeating yourself for the sake of
hearing yourself oralize, I suggest you bend a membrane to your detection apparatus and see if you
can pick up any traces of that murfled Yop battleship!"
Phrnnx riffled his eyelids in a manner indicative of mild denial, with two degrees of respectful
impatience. "We lost those inept yipdips five parsecs ago, sir. I am fully capable of performing
my duties without any well-intentioned suggestions from the bureaucracy. Do I tell you how to fly
the ship?"
"A task," began Rappan heatedly, "so far beyond your level of comprehension that... !"
"Gentlebeings, gentlebeings, please!" said the Professor. Subordinate and commander alike quieted.
The "Professor"тАФhis real title was unpronounceable to most of the crewтАФwas both the guiding force
and the real reason behind the whole insane expedition. It was he who rediscovered the secret of
breaking the Terran Shield. He came from a modest three-system cluster nearly halfway to the
RimтАФfar removed from their own worlds. Due to the distance from thing's and to their own quiet,
retiring nature, his folk took little part in the perpetual cataclysm of the Federation-Yop wars.
What smallтАФif importantтАФrole they did deign to play in the conflict was not determined by choice.
Rather, it was engendered by the Yop policy of regarding all those peoples, who were not allies of
the Yop, as mortal enemies of the Yop. There was room in neither Yop culture, nor Yop language,
for the concept of a "neutral." Yop temperament was such that their total complement of allies
came to a grand total of zero. The members of the Federation had matured beyond prejudice, but it
was admitted in most quarters that the Yops were not nice people. Possibly some of this attitude
stemmed from the Yop habit of eating everything organic that moved, without regard for such minor
inconveniences as, say, the intelligence of the diner, or his desire to be not-eaten.
Against them was allied the total remaining strength of the organized galaxy; some two hundred and
twelve federated races.
HoweverтАФdue to diet, perhapsтАФthere were a lot of Yops.
The avowed purpose of the expedition was to make that latter total two hundred and thirteen.
The Professor continued in a less stern tone. "H you must fight among yourselves, kindly do so at
a civilized level. At least out of deference to me. I am an old being, and I possess a perhaps
unreasonable allergy to loud and raucous noises."
The others in the room immediately lowered their voices in respect. In the Federation age was a
revered commodity, to be conserved as such. And there was the Professor's age. His antennae
drooped noticeably, his chiton was growing more and more translucent, losing its healthy purple
iridescence, and his back plates were exfoliating in thin, shallow flakes. That he had held up as
well as he had on this trip, with its sometimes strenuous dodging of Yop warships, was in itself
remarkable. He seemed to grow stronger as they neared their objective, and now his eyes, at least,
glowed with a semblance of vitality.
All eyes were trained on the great mottled sphere turning slowly and majestically below them.
"Planet Three," intoned Navigator First. "Primary colors-blue, white, brown, green. Atmosphere..."
and he dropped ofi to a low mumbling. At last, "It checks, sir."