"Foster, Alan Dean - With Friends Like These... - uc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

The female eyed them speculatively,
"I don't suppose any of you gentlemen play bridge?"
Phrnnx was wandering through the nearby forest, following the path made by a cheerful stream. He had quickly grown bored with studying the simple native household, and, unlike the Professor or Commander Rappan, the intricacies of Terran "bridge" were a touch more intellectual a pastime than he wished for. The two scientists had found plenty to keep them occupied profitably, but after reporting to the ship their accumulated data and the word that
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With Friends Like These ...
things seemed to be progressing satisfactorily, there had remained little for a communicator to do.
The dense undergrowth led away from the house at a right angle. With the sense of direction his kind possessed he was not afraid of getting lost, and the damp coolness of the place was the closest thing he'd found to the rain forests of home. It was full of interesting sounds and new smells. The native female had assured Hm that no dangerous creatures lurked within its inviting shadows. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Orinthorphs and small invertebratesЧ"insects," they were calledЧflitted rapidly from growth to growth. He could have snatched them easily in midair with his long suckers, but was mindful of strange foods despite the Professor's assurance that the native organics were edible. Besides, he was not hungry. He strode on in high spirits.
The hike was about to come to an unpleasant end.
The trees appeared to cease abruptly ofi to one side. Espying what seemed to be a glint of sunlight on water, he turned in that direction. His supposition was correct. In front of him was a large clearing which bordered on a good-sized lake. In the foreground stood the diminutive figure of Flip, the native's offspring. He was gazing at a pair of massive, glowering figures in space armor. These did not fit into the picture.
Yops!
Phrnnx stood paralyzed with shock. The Yop battleship that he thought they had lost near that red dwarf sat half-in, half-out of the blue-green lake. He assumed it was the same one. Its gunports were wide , open. Troops were clustering around a landing portal on one side of the kilometer-and-a-half-Iong monster. Dirt had been gouged out on all sides by the sheer mass of the huge vessel. These two figures in the foreground were doubtlessly scouts.
How in the central chaos had they slipped in past the cruiser's screens? Unless they, too, had found a way to negate the ShieldЧand this seemed unlikelyЧ
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ,,
then they must have entered by way of the temporary hole made by the Tpin. A quick glance at the sky showed the now familiar gold tinge still strong. So they hadn't destroyed the generating equipment on the planet's satellite, then. Yop invisibility screens were known to be good, but this good? . . . His speculations were interrupted by what happened next.
The nearest Yop reached down and lifted the Rip in one massive, knobby claw. It held it like that, steady, while it examined the youngster along with its partner. The boy, in turn, appeared to be examining them with its wide, deep-gray eyes. Both were making the motions and gestures which Phrnnx knew indicated Yop laughter.
What followed occurred so rapidly that Phmnx, afterward, had difficulty in reconstructing the incident.
The Yop raised the youngster over its horned head and swung it toward the ground with every intention of smashing the child's brains out. But the boy abruptly slowed in midair, turned, and landed gently on its feet. The Yop was staring at its now empty hand in surprise. The expression of placid innocence, which had heretofore been the child's sole visage, shifted all at once into a strong frown that was somehow more terrifying than any contortion of rage could have been. It said, in a very unchildlike tone of voice, two words:
"Bad mans!"
And gestured with the twig.
The two Yops glowed briefly an intolerable silver-white, shading to blue. It was the color of novaЧa chrome nova. The two scouts "popped" loudly, once, and disappeared. In their places two clouds of fine gray ash sifted slowly to the ground. The boy pointed his stick at the multiton Yop warship. "More bad mans," he said. The ship abruptly glowed with the same intolerable radiance. It "popped" with a considerably louder and much more satisfying bang. The boy then turned and went over to the brook. He began slowly stirring the water with his stick.
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"With Friends Like These . . .
Phrnnx found he could breathe again. The feathers on his 'back, however, did not lie down. All that remained of the invincible Yop battlewagon was the faint smell of ozone and a very large pile of fine multicolored ash. This was patiently being removed by a small breeze.
The boy suddenly looked up, turned, and stared straight at where Phrnnx was crouching behind the bole of a large pine. He started to stroll over.
Phrnnx ran. He ran hard, fast, and unthinkingly. He was not sure what a "bad mans" was, but he had no wish to be included in that categoryЧnone whatsoever. No sirree. He ran in a blind panic with all four legs and a great sorrow that his ancestors had traded their wings for intelligence. Ahead, a dark, cavelike depression appeared in the ground. Without breaking stride, he instinctively threw himself into the protective opening.
And into the closet of the world.
Phrnnx awoke with the equivalent of a throbbing headache. He almost panicked again when he remembered that last moment before blacking out. A touch of the hard, unresisting metal underneath reassured and calmed him. He had thrown himself in a caveЧ only it hadn't been a cave. It had been a hole. A hole filled with machinery. Yes, that's right! He remembered falling past machineryЧlevels and levels and levels of it. He did not know it, but he had fallen only a mile before the first of the automatic safety devices had analyzed his alien body chemistry, pronounced him organic, alive, and reasonably worth saving, and brought him to a comfortable resting place at the fifty-third level.
He staggered to his feet, becoming aware of a faint susurration around him. Warm air, and the faint sounds of the almost silent machines. A slow look around confirmed the evidence of his other senses . . . and he almost wished it hadn't. Machines. Machine
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
upon machine. Massive and unnoticing, they throbbed with life and power all around him. He could not see the end of the broad aisle he stood on. He turned and staggered over to the edge of the shaft he had obviously fallen into, following the current of fresh air.
A quick look over the side made him draw back involuntarily. His race was not subject to vertigo, but there are situations and occasions where the reality transcends the experience. There is too much relativity in a cavern, even an artificial one.
Above stretched over a mile of levels, seemingly much like this one. Very faintly and far away he could just make out the tiny circle of light that marked the surface and his entranceway to this frighteningly silent metal world.
He could not see the bottom.
He found himself giggling. Oh yes, pastoral indeed! Quite. Not prepared to turn out war materiel. Certainly not. No capability whatsoever. No cities, remember? Handmade furniture. Quaint way to live. Didn't say by what kind of hands, though. Poor, degenerated natives! Cannon fodder, he'd seen it in Commander Rappan's eyes.
But the commander hadn't peeked in the basement.
When the hysteria had worked itself out, he took several deep gulps of the fresh air. There had to be a manual way out. Stairs, a lift, something! He had to get back and warn the others. He tried his pocket communicator, suspecting that it wouldn't work. It didn't. A communicator who couldn't communicate. He almost started giggling again, but caught himself this time. He began to search for a way out. He did not know it, and probably would not have cared anyway, but his situation was remarkably analogous to that of a very ancient and very imaginary Terran female named Alice.
"I am pleased to say," began the native known as Alexis Jones, "that the committee . . . government . . .
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With Friends Like These . . .
ruling body? I forget the relevant term. Anyway, we have agreed to do what we can to aid your Federation. These Yops . . ." and he paused momentarily, "do not sound like very nice peopleЧ"
"They're not!" interrupted Zinin fervently.
"And even if we only add a bit of manpower to your gallant effort, we will 'be happy to be of assistance. We are a bit," he added apologetically, "out of practice."
"That's all right," beamed the commander. At first he had regarded these disgustingly peaceful and soft-seeming bipeds more of a liability than an asset. Then it occurred to him that the Yops, too, were familiar with the Terran legends. Could be the materialization of a real legend might disconcert them a bit. Of course these peaceful mammals would have to be thoroughly instructed, or their appearance would merely make the Yops go into fits of laughter, but ... "We appreciate your desire to aid in this great crusade. I am certain this historic arrangement will go down in history as one of exceptional benefit to all the races concerned. As a prelude to further discussion, I have ordered ..."
He paused, open-mouthed, concentration broken. The Terran was staring upward. His face had . . . changed. It was brightening, expanding, opening hitherto unsuspecting vistas to their startled gaze, like a night-blooming flower. Within those two small oculars, previously so gray and limpid, there now glowed a deep-down fire that seemed to pierce upward and spread over all present like a nerve-deadening drug. It made the commander draw back and Zinin hiss involuntarily.
"The Shield Is Down!" shouted the native, flinging its arms wide.
"The Shield Is Down!" answered his wife.
And all over the planet, among all the members, large and small, of the Brotherhood of Warmblood; the dogs, the mice; the cats and orcas, birds and
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