"Frank Herbert - Escape Felicity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

 Beirut took a moment to study them and his surroundings. There was a freshness to the air that even his
nose filters could not diminish. It was morning here yet and the sun threw flat light against the low hills and
clumps of scrub. They stood out with a clean chiaroscuro dominated by the long blue spear of the ship's
shadow wavering across the prairie.

Beirut looked up at his B-ship. She was a red and white striped tower on his side with a gaping hole
where the nose should have been. Her number - 1107 - stenciled in luminous green beneath the nose had
just escaped the damage area. He returned his attention to the natives.

They remained stretched out on the grass, their stalked eyes stretched out and peering up at him.

'Let's hope you have a good metal-working industry, friends,' Beirut said. 'Otherwise, I'm going to be an
extremely unhappy visitor.'

At the sound of his voice, the five grunted in unison: 'Toogayala ung-ung.'

'Ung-ung?' Beirut asked. 'I thought we were going to toogaya-la.' He brought out the linguapack, hung it
on his chest with the mike aimed at the natives, moved toward them out of the ship's shadow. As an
afterthought, he raised his right hand, palm out and empty in the universal human gesture of peace, but
kept his left hand on the Borgen.

'Toogayala!' the five screamed.

His linguapack remained silent. Toogayala and ung-ung were hardly sufficient for breaking down a
language.

Beirut took another step toward them.

The five rocked back to then: knees and arose, crouching and apparently poised for flight. Five pairs of
stalked eyes pointed toward him. Beirut had the curious feeling then that the five appeared familiar. They
looked a little like giant grasshoppers that had been crossed with an ape. They looked like bug-eyed
monsters from a work of science fantasy he had read in his youth, which he saw as clear evidence that
what the imagination of man could conceive, nature could produce.

Beirut took another step toward the natives, said: 'Well, let's talk a little, friends. Say something. Make
language, huh.'

The five backed up two steps. Their feet made a dry rustling sound in the grass.

Beirut swallowed. Their silence was a bit unnerving.

Abruptly, something emitted a buzzing sound. It seemed to come from a native on Beirut 's right. The
creature clutched for its tunic, gabbled: 's'Chareecha! s'Chareecha!' It pulled a small object from a
pocket to the others gathered around.

Beirut tensed, lifted the Borgen.

The natives ignored him to concentrate on the object in the one creature's hands.

'What's doing?' Beirut asked. He felt tense, uneasy. This wasn't going at all the way the books said it