"Keith Laumer - Hybrid" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

consciousness.
Sluggishly, clarity returned. Now the fie would advance unchecked. Soon
it would by-pass the aborted defenses, advance to consume the heart-
brain itself. There was no other countermeasure remaining. It was
unfortunate, since propagation had not been consummated, but
unavoidable. Calmly the tree awaited its destruction by fifire.

Pantelle put the blaster down, sat on the grass and wiped tarry soot
from his face.
"What killed 'em off?" Malpry asked suddenly.
Pantelle looked at him.
"Spoilers," he said.
"What's that?"
"They killed them to get the dran. They covered up by pretending the
Yanda were a menace, but it was the drnn they were after."
"Don't you ever talk plain?"
"Malpry, did I ever tell you I didn't like you?"
Malpry spat. "What's with this dran?"
"The Yanda have a very strange reproductive cycle. In an emergency, the
spores released by the male tree can be implanted in almost any warm-
blooded creature and carried in the body for an indefinite length of
time. When the host animal mates, the dormant spores come into play.
The offspring appears perfectly normal; in fact, the spore steps in and
corrects any defects in the individual, repairs injuries, fights
disease, and so on; and the life-span is extended; but eventually, the
creature goes through the metamorphosis, roots, and becomes a regular
male Yanda trefiinstead of dying of old age."
"You talk too much. What's this dran?"
"The tree releases an hypnotic gas to attract host animals. In
concentrated form, it's a potent narcotic. That's dran. They killed the
trees to get it. The excuse was that the Yanda could make humans give
birth to monsters. That was nonsense. But it sold in the black market
for fabulous amounts."
"How do you get the dran?"
Pantelle looked at Malpry. "Why do you want to know?"
Malpry looked at the book which lay on the grass. "It's in that, ain't
it?"
"Never mind that. Gault's orders were to help me get the heart-
cuttings."
"He didn't know about the dran."
"Taking the dran will kill the specimen. You can't-"
Malpry stepped toward the book. Pantelle jumped toward him, swung a
haymaker, missed. Malpry knocked him spinning.
"Don't touch me, Creep." He wiped his fist on his pants leg.
Pantelle lay stunned. Malpry thumbed the book, found what he wanted.
After ten minutes, he dropped the book, picked up the blaster, and
moved off.

Malpry cursed the heat, wiping at his face. A many-legged insect
scuttled away before him. Underfoot, something furtive rustled. One