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

beautiful eyes with their sardonic, hyperintelligent glint.
The perfluorocarbon bath had rendered me mute, but I snarl-mouthed: You friggin'
xeno bastard! Damned right I know you. You 're the Servant of the Servants of Luk, the
head honcho of the Sovereign Haluk Confederation.
"Bravo," he said dryly. The Haluk aren't telepathic, but my response had evidently
been clear enough. "Please accept the profound gratitude of this one and of the Council of
Nine. Thanks to you"тАФhe nodded toward the tenantless second tankтАФ"and to the
turncoat rascal with whom you shared your vital substance, one has high hopes of an
accelerated schedule for our Grand Design."
Suddenly, a surprisingly concrete recollection popped into my skull. The alien leader
and I had had a nasty confrontation a couple of years ago outside the Assembly Chamber
of the Commonwealth of Human Worlds in Toronto. At the invitation of Liberal Party
members sympathetic to Reversionist principles, I had finally testified about... something
important having to do with the Haluk and their trade treaty with humanity. My speech
had really pissed off the Servant of Servants and the members of his alien entourage, as
well as a sizable percentage of the Assembly Delegates.
But what had I said? And who the hell was I?
I hadn't a clue.
The Servant said, "Feeling all right, are you? Archiator Malotuwak assures one that
you came through the human-to-human genetic exchange in fine fettle. Unfortunately, we
can't let you out of the dystasis tank just yet. We require a second demiclone."
Demiclone?... What the hell are you talking about, huckleberry balls?
"Take one's advice, human. Cooperate willingly when you're called upon later for
tutorial duties. Extracting the pertinent information by means of psychotronic
interrogation machines is so uncomfortable. Who knows? If you do well, one might even
allow you to live. Common laborers are always in demand on our newly colonized
planets."
Screw you. With a magnum drill press!
The second male Haluk spoke up. Short and stocky, he wore a plain mustard-colored
smock tightly cinched about his slender middle and carried an elaborate Macrodur mag-
slate of the type favored by hotshot human scientists. "He's becoming excited, Servant of
Servants. This is not a good thing for a dystasis subject. It could delay initiation of the
second demiclone procedure. One will program a calming medication for him."
He prodded the slate and a warm woozy feeling began to seep into my body, dulling
anxiety and slowing my thoughts. I fought the desire to relapse into sleep.
Demiclone! I should know what that meant. I did know. It was a highly illegal genetic
engineering procedure. The Haluk had stolen some of my DNA and used it toтАФtoтАФ
To duplicate me. To morph some other guy into a replica of my precious person. I
mouthed helpless obscenities. The Servant of Servants had already lost interest in me and
turned his attention to the Haluk woman standing beside him.
She was elderly, her skin faded to the color of wellwashed denim, and she wore robes
of glistening black with a hood that nearly concealed her mane of pale hair. A very
important-looking polished fossil on a long chain hung about her neck.
"Is it certain, Archiator Malotuwak," she inquired of Mustard Smock, "that the newly
created duplicate of this individual retains his own mentality? It would be disastrous to
the Servant's Grand Design if the demiclone were to be ... contaminated, as it were, by
the mind-set of this template life-form."
"That is quite impossible, Council Locutor Ru Kamik. Only the physical aspect of the
demiclone has been altered." A grimace of distaste. "That other human's mindтАФsuch as it
isтАФremains his own. One might mention that he was most uncooperative during the