"Robert Reed - Due" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

face," I say."Not pretty," she warns. "Gorgeous. The whole package is.
Handsome andstrong...but not too strong...!""Which means?""He's delicious,"
she purrs, and that from a woman who has tasted more than afew. "Am I right,
Tannie? Tell him I'm right!"Tannie works across from Mollene. The women are
old, nearly as old as thisplant, and while they're both durable, it's a
durability built in differentways. Tannie is small, quiet and glum, not prone
to courage or her partner'shyperbole. Yet even she admits, "He's one of the
most beautiful creatures thatI've ever seen.""I told you, Jusk!" cackles
Mollene."You did. You did."The women are a good team. A great team, even. When
I was made line foreman, Ihad an inspiration, putting them together at the bug
oven's mouth. It takes goodhands and balance to handle the freshly made bone,
and it takes experience. Andnearly two thousand shifts have passed since my
inspiration. Much has gone wrongon the line, but nobody's better than Mollene
and Tannic when it comes to givingour bone its first look and delicate
touch."A glorious, gorgeous man, and he didn't look at me," Mollene sings.
"You liketo have your looks at me. Don't you, Jusk?"Her mock-flesh is old and
often-patched. The knees and elbows are worn thin, aband of softness encircles
her waist, and her big strong confident hands areshiny where the real Mollene
peeks through. Yet even still, she is spectacular.Broad thighs and hips serve
to carry her central features -- two jungles ofshaggy black mock-hair, and
between the jungles, a pair of enormous, endlesslyvigorous breasts complete
with fat nipples that she paints a shouting red at thestart of every shift."I
love looking at you," I tell the magnificent woman.She giggles, and in thanks,
gives me a few good bounces.As I recall, Mollene fashioned herself around the
partial Memory of an earlylove-- an insatiable older woman from His long-ago
youth. By contrast, Tanniebased herself on the wife of one of His current
deputies -- the kind of womanwho has said perhaps five words to Him in His
life, if that.But of course everyone is important to Him.He treasures every
face, no matter how small the person behind it.As I think, a sheet of hot
white bone emerges from the oven, built of fibers andresins and a maze of
finger-thick pores. Together, in a single motion, the womenlift the bone and
place it gently, gently onto the aerogel belt. It looks likeperfect bone, at
first glance. Mollene lifts a laser pen, ready to sign her namewhere it won't
be too obvious. Every worker does it; a signature is a harmlessway to leave a
trace of yourself. But she pauses, noticing several coagulatedmasses of bugs
clinging to the far side. To Tannie's side. Each mass looks likea drop of
honey -- a gooey golden substance that I've seen only in His memories-- but
unlike honey, the clusters are hard as jewels, and in a glancing
fashion,alive."How's the bone?" Mollene calls out.Tannie is prying off the
bugs. Sometimes they're just stragglers, and the bonebeneath is fine. Is
perfect. "It looks all right," says the old woman. But thenshe touches it, and
shudders, jerking back her hand in pain."What is it?" I ask.Tannie cradles the
hand with its mate, her tiny brown eyes staring off into thedistance. "The
bone's bad," she says. "Something's wrong...in the oven..."Mollene curses
enough for three people, and with a relentless strength, shejerks that sheet
of bone off the belt, getting beneath it and carrying it to thepallet where
she's been stacking Scrap, her substantial ass jiggling in time toher quick
steps.I take her place, for the moment.The next bone is even worse. Instead of
a seamless snowy white, it's a pissyyellow, and the pores are more like
out-and-out holes. Something's very wrong inthe bug oven. Which isn't new