"Julian May - Rampart Worlds 3 - Sagittarius Whorl" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

My name! If I could just remember that, all the rest of it would come back.
Wrapping the blanket around my dainty middle to hide the disgusting alien sex organs
that had captivated the female medical technician, I struggled to stand up. Exerted long-
unused muscles and shuffled creakily across the room to the other bed. Stared down at
the guy who lay there, asleep or unconscious, with tiny alien-type medical sensors stuck
to his forehead, temples, and neck.
Recognized him.
I inhaled sharply, found myself pitching forward in a sudden fit of vertigo, shocked to
the depths of my being. My blue fingers caught at the bedclothes and I saved myself from
falling, pushed my trembling body upright and stood there swaying and gasping for
breath.
The man was tall and heavy-boned, with a physique less well-developed than it should
have beenтАФalthough that flaw could be mitigated through appropriate clothing or even
judicious doses of steroids. The face would need work, too. The skin was pasty from his
long sojourn in the tank, and the features were too fresh and regular. He lacked a certain
distinctive scar at the top of his left cheekbone. His nose had never been broken in a Big
Beach brawl and coaxed back into shape by a defrocked Throwaway plastic surgeon
suffering a cosmic-class hangover from Dana├лan rotgut. His hair was pretty authentic, the
color of bread crust, springing from his forehead in a distinctive widow's peak. It was a
little too long, but a barber would fix that. When his eyes opened, I was positive they'd be
cold green with an inner ring of amber.
I knew him, all right.
He was me.
My demiclone, the alien imposter who was going to take my placeтАФor rather the
place of Demiclone Number One, already secretly machinating. We would help conquer
humanity on behalf of the Haluk race.
 My name was Asahel Ethan Frost. Called Asa by my family, Helly by my friends, and
Helmut Icicle by assorted crooks, ne'er-do-wells, and disenfranchised wretches of the
Perseus Spur. My father was Simon Frost, the founder of Rampart Interstellar
Corporation, which had now become Rampart Amalgamated Concern. My mother was
the late Katje Vanderpost, gentle philanthropist, whose murder I had yet to avenge. Her
gift had made me a zillionaire. My siblings were Eve, Bethany, and the matricidal Daniel.
My wifeтАФmy former wife, for we had been divorced for nearly eight yearsтАФwas Joanna
DeVet, Morehouse Professor of Political Science at Commonwealth University, Toronto
Campus.
I remembered it all, including details of my anti-Haluk political activities, my legal
triumph for Rampart Concern, and the ill-advised escapade in the Sagittarius Whorl that
had brought me to this pretty pass.
So, what are you going to do about it, you sorry Halukoid piece of shit?
The back of my neck tingled as a wave of fury washed over me, and I jumped as if I'd
been goosed. Whatever I did, I knew I'd better do it mighty damned fast.
Fake Helly looked so peaceful, lying there. For an instant I wondered what kind of
sweet alien dream they'd programmed for him while he was in dystasis. Then I twitched
the pillow out from under his head, pressed it over his face, and held it down while he
writhed feebly under me and uttered muffled cries.
The medical monitor standing beside the bed let out a shriek of alarm. Simultaneously,
the gizmo implanted in my neck began to administer a series of increasingly severe
shocks at intervals of about five seconds. If they were intended to deter me from
homicidal rage and other adrenaline-driven misdeeds, someone had badly miscalculated
the human pain threshold.