"Jean Lorrah - Best of Fools" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lorrah Jean)

Zhag searched for words. "When you were listening, your field matched
every note--before you started singing."
Tonyo pondered. "I was thinking those notes."
"That's it, then, isn't it?" Zhag suggested. "Follow your inner voice."
The Sime played the riff again--then deliberately raised the key. The
Gen met the challenge nagerically, but when he tried to follow with his voice,
it cracked. He waved a hand. "I know. I'll get it. Play it again."
Zhag did...and Tonyo's voice sailed up the scale, well above his normal
range before it cracked again. Unmindful of Zhag's wince, the young Gen
laughed. "This is wonderful!"
"Not to me!" Zhag said through gritted teeth. "You're still thinking
about your voice."
"But it's my voice I'm trying to improve," Tonyo said with impeccable
Gen logic...something that theoretically couldn't happen when he was
speaking Simelan. The boy frequently managed to be equally dense in either
language.
Zhag had no words to explain what he could have demonstrated to
another Sime. "Try again," he said, "and...focus on your field instead of your
throat."
Tonyo echoed the riff in different keys, voice and nager in synch until he
ran out of his range and again shredded Zhag's nageric comfort. Oblivious to
the Sime's reaction, he asked, "What's the rest of the song? Does it have
words?"
"There isn't any more," Zhag told him. "I haven't been able to compose
since-- For a long time now. At this time of month it's not possible anyway."
"Maybe after your transfer," Tonyo suggested. "When's your
appointment?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"No wonder you don't feel creative." Tonyo got up, stretching. "We're
out of food." This close to hard need, the boy's hunger made Zhag faintly ill.
"It's market day," said the Sime. "Come on--let's get you something to
eat."
 Zhag had to wonder how he could keep the Gen. It wasn't so much the
risk of having a high-field Gen nearby--Tonyo was as easy to be near as a
Householding Companion. But Zhag's earnings at the shiltpron parlor would
not pay his Pen Taxes--Selyn Taxes, as they were called since Unity--and also
feed a growing Gen. Until there were new laws, Tonyo was here only as a
visitor. Since using up his small supply of money, he was dependent on
Zhag...unless he became a selyn donor.
It was the obvious solution. Tonyo had donated twice before arriving in
Norlea, but donating selyn, the life energy that Gens produced and Simes
needed to live, would reduce Tonyo's glorious field. No low-field Gen Zhag
had ever zlinned could hold a roomful of Simes spellbound.
They had been performing together for over a month now, drawing
more customers each week. Zhag had wangled a raise out of Milily, but not
enough to keep his Gen fed, let alone clothed. The denims he wore today
were practically threadbare.
In the public forum of Norlea's market, Tonyo kept his nager carefully
neutral. Nevertheless, when the boy stopped at a citrus stand Zhag sensed
bristling annoyance in Sime customers. Tonyo picked up a lemon--