"Gwyneth Jones - Saving Tiamaat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Gwyneth)

their own breakfast raided the culturally neutral trol-ley. I sipped my
Mocha/Colombian, took my carbs in the form of a crisp cherry-jam tartine; and let
the dayтАЩs agenda wash over me, as I reviewed what I knew about Baal and
TiamaatтАЩs relationship.

They were not related by blood, except in the sense that the An gene pool was
very restricted: showing signs of other population crashes in the past. They were not
тАЬmarriedтАЭ either. The Ki and the An seemed to be sexually dimorphic on the Blue
model (though they could yet surprise us!); and they liked opposite-sex partnerships.
But they did not marry. TiamaatтАЩs family had been swift to embrace the changes,
sheтАЩd been educated on Balas/Shet. Baal had left KiAn for the first time when war
broke out. TheyтАЩd lost family mem-bers, and theyтАЩd certainly seen the horrific
transmissions smuggled off KiAn before the end. Yet here they were, with the
genocidal Ki: thrown together, suddenly appointed the rulers of their shattered
nation, and bound to each other for life. Tiamaat looked as if she were feeling the
strain. She sat with her eyes lowered, drawn in on herself, her body occupying the
minimum of space. Beside her, Baal devoured a culturally neutral doughnut, elbows
sprawled, with a childтАЩs calm greed. I wondered how much my alien percep-tion of a
timid young woman and a big bold young man was distorting my view. I wondered
how all that fine physicality translated into mind. Who are you, Baal? How will it feel
to know you?

****

From the meeting we proceeded to a DP reception and lunch, from thence to a
concert in the Nebula Immersion Chamber: a Blue Planet symphony orchestra on
virtual tour, the Diaspora Chorus in the flesh, singing a famous masque; a solemn
dance drama troupe bilocating from Neuendan. Pel├й and I, humble Social Support
officers, were in the background for these events. But the An had grasped that we
were their advocates: as was proved when they pounced on us, eagerly, after the
concert. They wanted to meet тАЬthe nice quiet people with the pretty curly facesтАФтАЭ

They spoke English, language of diplomacy and displacement. TheyтАЩd both
taken the express, neurotech route to fluency: but we had trouble pin-ning this
request down. It turned out they were asking to be introduced to a bowl of orchids.

Appearances can be deceptive; these two young people were neither calm nor
cowed. They had been born in a medieval world, and swept away from home as to
the safety of a rich neighborтАЩs house: all they knew of the interstellar age was the
inside of a transit lounge. The Ki problem they knew only too well: Speranza was a
thrilling bombardment. With much laughter (they laughed like Blue teenagers, to
cover embarrassment), we explained that they would not be meeting any bizarre
life-forms. No tentacles, no petals, no intelligent gas clouds here; not yet!

тАЬYou have to look after us!тАЭ cried Baal. He grabbed my arm, softly but I felt
the power. тАЬSave us from making fools of ourselves, dear Debra and Pel├й!тАЭ

Tiamaat stood back a pace, hiding her giggles behind her hand.

****