"Zach Hughes - Seed of the Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hughes Zach)

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Seed of the Gods by Zach
Hughes
Chapter One

The flying saucer picked up the Volkswagen that had yellow flowers
painted on its dented fenders as it crossed the causeway, rattled the loose
boards of the swing bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway and sputtered
in acceleration up the narrow asphalt road between the Flying Saucer
Camp on the left and the newly cleared pulpwood land on the right.

"Hello, dum-dum," Sooly said to it, but there was a little lifting feeling
in her stomach as adrenal activity belied her calm. The flying saucer, in
the form of a symmetrical lightglow, posted itself on her port bow and
paced her through the pre-dawn dark. She watched it with one wary eye.
It was too early in the morning for her to be in the mood to play games
with it, but she knew that if she slowed it would slow, and that if she
accelerated it would accelerate, and that it would not, if it adhered to the
usual pattern, eat her.

"My daughter, Sue Lee," her father would say when introducing her to
people. "She sees flying saucers."

It was all a grand joke. Unless you were the one the damned things
glommed onto every time you stuck your head out of the house at night.

There were two blinking red lights atop the storage tanks at the Flying
Saucer Camp. It was still too dark to count the tanks to see if there were
six or seven of them.

The lightglow off the port quarter followed her chugging Volkswagen
past the sod-strip airport, the location of which had dictated the
installation of one red blinking light on the tallest cylindrical storage tank
at the Flying Saucer Camp. It lowered slightly as the car moved through
an area of sparse population. Frame houses alongside the road showed
lights here and there as someone prepared for an early fishing trip or,
more unluckily, for early work, Sooly turned on the radio, pointedly
ignoring the flying saucer. She was sick of the whole mess.

Someone had left the radio on the country music station. She was
blasted by the gut-bucket voice of Johnny Cash and silenced his tuneless
growlings with a quick flip of the dial. The more pleasing sounds of hard
rock came from the Big Ape, far to the south. The light of dawn was