"Vonda N. McIntyre - Little Faces" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntyre Vonda N)

liked the spice of apprehension. Besides, the ship preferred this method. If it thought change necessary, it
would change.

She walked barefoot into the garden, trying not to step on any adventurous worm or careless bug. The
bacteria would have to look out for themselves.

She captured a meal of fruit, corn, and a handful of squash blossoms. She liked the blossoms. When she
was awake, and hunted regularly, she picked them before they turned to vegetables. The neglected plants
emitted huge squashes of all kinds, some perfect, some attacked and nibbled by vegetarian predators.

The companions, reacting to the smell of food, fidgeted and writhed, craning their thick necks to snap at
each other. She calmed and soothed them, and fed them bits of apple and pomegranate seeds.

They had already begun to jostle for primacy, each slowly moving toward her center, migrating across
skin and muscle toward the spot where Zorargul had lived, as if she would not notice. Her skin felt
stretched and sore. No companion had the confidence or nerve to risk detaching from its position to
reinsert itself in the primary spot.

A good thing, too, she thought. I wouldn't answer for my temper if one of them did that without my
permission.

Leaving her garden, she faced the task of welcoming her guests.

I don't want to, she thought, like a whiny girl: I want to keep my privacy, I want to enjoy my companions.
I want to be left alone. To grieve alone.

In the living room, beneath the transparent dome, the ship created a raised seat. She slipped in among the
cushions, sat on her hair, cursed at the sharp pull, swept the long locks out from under her and coiled
themтАФbits of dirt and leaves tangled in the ends; she shook them off with a shudder and left the detritus
for the carpet to take away. She settled herself again.

"I would like to visit Zorar," she said to her ship.

"True."

She dozed until the two ships matched, extruded, connected. A small shiver ran through Yalnis's ship,
barely perceptible.

Yalnis hesitated at the boundary, took a deep breath, and entered the pilus where the fabric of her ship
and the fabric of Zorar's met, mingled, and communicated, exchanging unique bits of genetic information
to savor and explore.

At the border of Zorar's ship, she waited until her friend appeared.

"Zorar," she said.

Zorar blinked at her, in her kindly, languorous way. She extended her hand to Yalnis and drew her over
the border, a gesture of trust that broke Yalnis's heart. She wanted to throw herself into Zorar's arms.

Do I still have the right? she thought.