"Edward M. Lerner - Moonstruck" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lerner Edward M)

his companions can enlighten you on F'thk orbital preferences."
***
Something was odd about the ballroom, thought Kyle, something other than the green aliens making
chitchat with Washington's elite. What was it? He settled, at last, on the absence of hors d'oeuvres. The
F'thk would not eat in public: they said that trace elements in their food were toxic to terrestrial life.
White House protocol officers had then decreed that the humans wouldn't eat either.
Some dinner! He wished someone had mentioned this decision before he'd arrived. He'd gone home to
change into a tux; any nuke 'n puke meal from his freezer, if not up to White House banquet standards,
still would've beaten fasting.
He sipped his wine; the F'thk with whom he and a gaggle of civil servants were talking held tightly to a
glass of water. The microcassette recorder in Kyle's pocket was hopefully catching the entire
conversation. If not, well, he'd handed out others.
"You've been very quiet, Dr. Gustafson. I'd expected more curiosity from a man in your position."
Kyle needed a moment to realize that the comment had come from the alien. Earth's radio and TV
broadcasts had served not only as beacons but also as language tutorialsтАФlessons the F'thk had learned
extremely well. "Lack of curiosity is not the problem, K'ddl." Despite his best efforts, a hint of vowel
crept into the name. "Quite the opposite. I have so many questions that I don't know where to begin."
"Oh, God," whispered a State Department staffer behind him. "He's going to babble in nanobytes per
quark volt."
Kyle ignored the crack, his mind still wrestling with the afternoon's conversation about the mother ship.
"I'm puzzled about one thing. Why keep the F'thk mother ship in lunar orbit? It seems excessively
cautious."
Swelling violins from the chamber orchestraтАФMozart, Kyle thoughtтАФdrowned out the alien's response.
He shrugged reflexively, realizing even as he did it how foolish it was to expect the alien to understand
the gesture.
Except K'ddl did. "I said, it's not F'thk. The mother ship is Aie'eel-built. They fly it, as well." The alien
made a periodic rasping noise which, Kyle decided, must be a form of laughter. "You thought it
coincidental that the Commonwealth's representatives were so humanlike? You would consider the
Aie'eel so many headless, methane-breathing frogs. The Zxk'tl and the #$%^&"тАФKyle couldn't even
begin to organize that last sound burst into English lettersтАФ"and other crew species aboard the mother
ship would seem less human still.
"We F'thk were chosen as the emissary species because we so closely resemble you. We are accustomed
to similar gravity, temperature, sunlight, and atmosphere." He hoisted his still-filled glass and took a
drink. "We are even both water-based."
That was when too much wine on an empty stomach betrayed Kyle. The room spun. His ears rang.


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 - Chapter 2

Visions of . . . things . . . too inhuman even to lend themselves to description assailed him. All thought
of orbits and exotic energy sources fled. He missed entirely the last comment K'ddl made before turning
his attention to another White House guest.
The tape recorder in Kyle's pocket, however, was made of sterner stuff. K'ddl had added, "I do not wish
to offend, but no F'thk would ever invent such dark nights or such a paltry number of moons."
***
Two sandwiches and four cups of coffee later, Kyle felt almost himself again. He ignored the
disapproving sniffs of the White House chef. It was unclear, in any event, whether the criticism dealt
with Kyle's plebeian taste for peanut butter or his part in that afternoon's delivery to the kitchen of so
much bulky equipment. So many instrument-covered counters . . . perhaps it was just as well that dinner