"Robert Onopa - Area Seven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Onopa Robert)

I made a mental note to do a grid count. тАЬExperiencing spurious audio.тАЭ

I raised my specimen hammer-I was trained as a geologist, and my first impulse is to chip away a bit and
look beneath the surface. But that day I hesitated, then touched the strange shape before me with my
glove. тАЬStructurally variated skin,тАЭ I said. тАЬNot metallic or obviously mineral. You can get your fingers
around small segments. . . .тАЭ
TessaтАЩs voice- тАЬNeed any instrumentation down there?тАЭ

тАЬLet me first try to just . . . collect a sample.тАЭ

Beneath my thick gloves, I felt a rough section, half the size of my hand, give slightly, then snap through,
like boxwood.

It was the strangest experience IтАЩve ever had in space. The background murmur IтАЩd been hearing
became a voice, and the voice became comprehensible.

Why do you break me?it said.

тАЬTessa,тАЭ I said, тАЬdid you copy that?тАЭ

A pause. She sounded exhausted. тАЬCopy to, тАШcollect a sample.тАЩ тАЭ

I stepped back. Where IтАЩd fractured the trunk, a red liquid oozed like quicksilver. While I watched, it
filled the bowl of the wound and darkened, like blood in air.

As it did so, I heard the voice again, a girlтАЩs voice.

Why do you tear me? Is there no pity in your soul?

тАЬYour vitals are spiking,тАЭ Tessa said in my helmet.

тАЬNo problem,тАЭ I lied, feeling my skin crawl. IтАЩll tell you how far gone I was-I didnтАЩt want to talk to
Tessa. I didnтАЩt want to talk to anybody. In that bleak place, I just wanted to sink into the blanketing,
apocalyptic darkness that I heard in that voice, some quality in it that touched me like the song of an icy
Siren. тАЬSomething I want to . . . sort out here,тАЭ I mumbled. тАЬShutting down audio.тАЭ

тАЬSerge. . . .тАЭ

I found the line and toggled out.

тАЬAnyone there?тАЭ I whispered, and touched the wound with my hammer.

We were beings before we were changed into sticks.

Your hand might have been more merciful

Had we been souls of rats or ticks.

As I watched, my mind was flooded with another home-planet memory. We were camping, the night had
become chilly, and my younger brother had put a log into the fire, a green log that had been set aside to