"Steve Perry - Aliens 03 - The Female War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

"So do you dream of her? The mother alien?"
 Billie looked up from her tray, startled.

Ripley watched her intently. "I do," she continued. "At least I did, before my memory lapse." She
took another bite of soypro.

"IтАФyeah. I do, too. I've heard that others have dreams...." Billie trailed off. Yeah, she had heard

stories, mostly about fanatics, people who had turned their dreams of the aliens into some kind of
religion; the Chosen who had realized that Judgment Day had already come. She'd mostly kept quiet
about her own dreams, but recently ... "I have them often. Almost every night."

Ripley nodded. "It got that way with me, too. They started with her reaching out, expressing love,
and turned into these. I felt a connection. They were transmissions. I knew where she was, that she
wanted to gather her children to her. The queen of the queens, the driving force behind the whole
goddamned species. I knew where to find her!"

She pushed her tray aside abruptly. "And I lost her."

Billie nodded. "I knew I wasn't the only one, but I haven't had a lot of time to think about it lately
and this station doesn't offer a whole lot in the way of group therapy sessions."

Ripley smiled, a short, bitter expression. "I think I know what she's waiting for," she said, "and I
have an idea. We need to find more dreamers ... what about Wilks?"

Billie shrugged. "I know he dreams, but I don't think it's the same way I do. That doesn't mean
much. He keeps to himself. We could ask him." She glanced around, although she figured he had gone
for a workout. In their two weeks at the station, Wilks had spent most of his time in some gym or
another. "I'm supposed to meet him later for a drink."

"I'd like to come alongтАФif it's not intruding," Ripley said. It seemed she chose her words with care.

"No problem. You're welcome." Billie smiled, and Ripley smiled back, a much easier expression
than before. Billie found herself liking this woman more and more.



Wilks had been cycling for the better part of an hour, working up a real good sweat, when he
noticed the young boy sitting in the corner with his head resting on his hands. He had been concentrating
on the vid screen in front of him, a level-nine cycle run that was going to make him hurt like hell
tomorrow, or he might have seen the boy earlier.

It was one of the station's smaller gyms, and he liked it that way; the larger workout rooms could
hold 200, and that many people sweating in one place wasn't particularly appealing, especially given the
smell of recycled air. And he didn't care much for crowds.

The kid was maybe ten or eleven, a thin, pale boy with dark hair and a neutral expression. He
stared at nothing, his chin resting on his knees.