"Foster, Alan Dean - Flinx - Bloodhype" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

white crystal onto the board.

"Since you've both, presumably, `read the manual,' perhaps you can tell me
what this is?" Both junior officers leaned forward.

The Tolian sniffed once, gently. "Odorless. Clear, rhombehedric crystals
with a glassy luster." The Tolian crushed one of the largest pieces to
powder in a sharp, trimmed claw. He sniffed again, careful not to inhale
the dust. "Concoidal fracture, no odor released on pulverizing ... yes, I
think I know what it is, Major." He turned and looked at Kitten. "The lines
of fracture turn blue, they turn blue."

Her eyes widened, and she couldn't help but whisper when she spoke to
Orvenalix. "Bloodhype. Very high grade, too, if the fracture line turns
that dark."

The antennae dipped slightly. "Almost pure. Also known as faster, brain?up,
phinto, silly?salt, and many other names the mere mention of which are
sufficient to inspire thoughts of regurgitation among intelligent, feeling
beings."

"I thought I read that the Hyperion forests on Annubis were sterilized and
wiped out ten years ago," Kitten said.

"As indeed they were," the intelligence officer continued. "Naturally, that
was the first place the Service checked. We found nothing to indicate that
any of the plants had survived the holocaust. At that time it was believed
that the Hyperion plant could grow only on Arbutus. Transplanting was
attempted for scientific purposes, but the seedlings and mature plants died
rapidly as soon as they were removed from the planet. Fertilized seeds
likewise transshipped did not sprout. In wiping out the supply it turned
out that the species had been effectively exterminated for all purposes!"

"I wouldn't imagine anyone raising a fuss over that," said Porsupah.

"Other than a few masochistic botanists, no one did."

"It seems, though, that someone, somewhere, has gotten hold of some seeds
and found a way to make them sprout, and worse, reproduce."

"What sort of ... of creature, would want to restart the traffic in
bloodhype?" said Kitten, shuddering.

"Soft?angles, I remember you to be a brilliant student. Someday I hope you
will make an even better agent, but in many ways you are still an immature
grub. The galaxy contains a high volume of pure loathsomeness. Of which I
have seen far more than is good for one's sleep. There are plenty of beings
nominally labeled 'intelligent' who would sell their own eggs, and worse,
for a few credits. The thing here that makes me marvel is not the
perpetrators, but their science.