"George R. R. Martin - WC 8 - One Eyed Jacks" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

these people, the grief came with the ride. Then, the doors popped wide and Cody
struggled out of the way, to let passengers pass.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the people waiting by the last car
suddenly rush toward the front of the train. A few who'd stepped inside quickly
retreated, faces twisting in embarrassment and disgust. As the tide of
passengers turned and those waiting on the platform bulled their way aboard,
Cody twisted, snaked, finally shoved her way back to the rear connecting door.
To her amazement, the car was empty-except for a gray, shapeless mass plopped on
the bench seats, halfway along the right-hand side. At first, she thought it was
a derelict.
As the train pulled out of the station, it bounced across some switches,
sashay-swaying from side to side and a tentacle dropped out from under the rags.
Without thinking, Cody yanked open her door and stepped across the tiny platform
into the rear car. The smell was like a wall, blocking her way. She remembered
Firebase Shiloh, that last morning, waiting for the dust-off choppers, the air
filled with blood and rot, gasoline-soaked smoke and charred flesh. She'd taken
a twelve-gauge and one of the walking wounded and searched the compound, making
as sure as she could they wouldn't leave any breathers behind. She'd been fine
until they reached divisional headquarters. She'd spent a month in a charnel
house but it wasn't until she walked into the mess hall and smelled fresh food
that it finally struck home how unutterably awful it had been. Two steps in the
door, one decent breath, and she'd doubled over onto her knees, puking her guts
bloody.
This was worse.
The joker made a gargly hiss with each breath, and when it rolled over in its
sleep, she saw that it was naked and male. The legs were more like stumps,
ending in viciously twisted scar tissue, and she realized that they were really
flippers, worn down by years of trudging across concrete and asphalt. The skin
was mottled gray and blue black, gleaming with oily secretions, with two sets of
tentacles attached to the shoulders. The primary was thick as a human arm, but
half again as long, broadening at the end into a flat pad whose inner surface
was covered with cephalopod suckers. Nestled in each armpit was a secondary nest
of limbs, a half dozen each side, shorter and much thinner than the main
tentacle, constantly in motion, writhing among themselves, picking at whatever
came in reach, almost as if they had minds of their own. Its head was little
more than a bump growing out of the top of the torso, but the jagged teeth she
saw when it snored convinced her this was as close as she wanted to get. The
eyes were closed, and for that she was thankful. Maliciously, after twisting so
much else, Tachyon's virus had spared the genitalia; the joker had a very human
penis.
Without realizing it, Cody had slumped down on her heels, unconsciously making
herself as small and inconsequential as possible, afraid without knowing why



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when her rational self told her that all she should be feeling for this poor
creature was pity. Over the rumble of the train, she heard rude