"James Patrick Kelly - Fruitcake Theory (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kelly James Patrick)

James Patrick Kelly: Fruitcake Theory

Bjorn is trying to tell me that the rooster isnтАЩt
dumb
as a spoon. Obtuse, maybe. Na├пve, yes. Tedious,
without
a doubt.
The rooster is sitting across the aisle and up two
seats, paying no attention to us. WeтАЩre just
followers.
HeтАЩs staring out the window of the van at the snow.
"HeтАЩs Kuvat, Maggie," says Bjorn. "Aliens think
differently than we do."
"Cranial capacity." I tap the side of my head. "Check
that skull. HeтАЩs got room up there for half a cup of
brains, tops."
"Maybe heтАЩs got some kind of distributed nervous
system," Bjorn says. "How else could they have built
the
starship?"
"The scarecrows built the starship," I say. "The
roosters came along for the ride. You follow long
enough
and itтАЩs obvious."
"Intellectual bifurcation is just a theory."
Nevertheless, Bjorn slides down in his seat, defeated
once again. "All we know is that theyтАЩre Kuvat, both
roosters and scarecrows." He takes out his appetite
pacifier and starts sucking at it. I donтАЩt mean to
upset
him.
The rooster starts eeking to himself.
"Eek eek eeeek, eek eek eeeek! "
He looks like a cauliflower the size of a washing
machine -- with legs. They are bird legs, to be sure,
with scaly shanks and clawed, three-toed feet. But
his
body is an enormous scoop of convoluted flesh. All he
wears is the translator, a golden disk that hangs on
a
cord around his neck like the Noble Prize for
Stupidity.
His skin is as translucent as spilled milk. Beneath
it
are coils of muscle marbled with gray fat. He has
spindly arms and his little head is mostly mouth. We
canтАЩt see the upright ruddy flap, like a roosterтАЩs
comb,
just behind his button eyes, because tonight heтАЩs
wearing a SantaтАЩs cap of red felt.