"Kevin O'Donnel Jr. - The Journeys of McGill Feighan 01 - Caverns" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Jr Kevin)

and voluptuous women and early morning mists when the factories forgot
their pollution-control equipment and the acid reek burned through choking
throats. Fresh fish and soy sauce and ketchup on a charcoal-grilled steakтАж
"Ohhhh," he moaned.
"Jussst ssso," soothed the alien. "Relax, relax, reтАж"
And then silence blew in to clear out the noise like the wind cleans dead
leaves off a lawn. Buzz saws sputtered to a halt. The hyena slunk into the
night. Police sirens dopplered down the road. The hurricane, moving out to
sea, let the breakers fall into a gentle susurras. Audiences hushed.
"God, that feels good," he breathed.
"Doesn't it, though?" The Occleftian claws left his skin, tugged his coat
back over his shoulders.
Schwedeker sat up and pressed his elbows against the chilly wall. He
didn't dare move, not yet. His legs couldn't support him. "I needed that."
"I know. You're very Sensitive. You must need it twice a day."
"Used to get it, too, till you all raised your prices." He said it without
rancor. "Now I can only afford one."
"Supply and demand, my dear." It raised a gentle claw to stroke the
stubble on Schwedeker's cheeks. "Until we recover from the plagueтАж" It
lifted his chin, brought up a specialized limb, and began to shave him.
Another limb, a hollow one, sucked up the whiskers. "You're new in town."
"I'm Searching. Got in from Cincinnati last night." Half a step ahead of
Tobbins the ubiquitous, he thought. Have to get there first!
"You must have met my podder, Arkorninu B212." It combed his hair
and trimmed it. "B212 must have been very busy to send you out so
shaggy."
"No, it wanted to, but I heard the bell." And staggered into the night, he
remembered, trying to get a fix on it, listening to it recede to the northeast,
probably up 71, limpracing to the bus depot, fuming, pacing, extorting
cigarettes from strangers by the implicit threat of standing next to them if they
wouldn't hand them overтАж then sitting alone in the back, still hearing, far
ahead, the long-lived echoes, the haunting reverberationsтАж and far behind, the
sullen untuned clunk of Tobbins on the trailтАж
"Bronze?" asked X83.
He shook his head. "Silver." Honesty made him add, "I think."
"I would have heard if they'd found it here," buzzed the alien. "Are you
sure it hasn't moved on? Silvers are generally loud."
"I know, I know." Fear caught at him, made him hug himself for safety. If
Tobbins rang its changes firstтАФ but no, he couldn't think that way. When
sanity depends on being the first to flush the ghost of a promise in the night,
one can't afford to contemplate coming in second. "It was small, though.
AndтАФ"
"And you're inordinately Sensitive. What a Flinger you must have been!"
Patting him on the head, it offered its carapace as a handhold, so he could
pull himself to his feet. "You really must go now, dear. I have other
customers."
He dug his knuckles into his eyes until the itch went away. "Thanks," he
said, reaching for the door.
"One question, Searcher," called the alien.
"What's that?"