"James Tiptree Jr. - Love is the Plan the Plan is Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tiptree James Jr)

trying not to hear the crunches, the gulps and gurgling The world is ending,
all is terrible, terrible.

And yet, my fireberry, even then I almost understood. Great is the Plan!

Presently Mother stops feeding and begins to move. The rocky ground jolts by
far below. Her stride is not
smooth but jerks me, even her deep hum is strange. On! On! Alone! Ever alone.
And on! The rumbling ceases. Silence. Mother is resting.

"Mother!" I whisper. "Mother, it's Moggadeet. I'm here!"

Her stomach plates contract, a belch reverberates in her vaults.

"Go," she groans. "Go. Too late. Mother no more."

"I don't want to leave you. Why must I go? Mother!" I wail, "Speak to me!" I
keen my baby hum, Deet! Deet! Tikki-takka! Deed hoping Mother will answer,
crooning deep, Brum! Brrumm! Brumaloobrum! Now I see one huge Mother-eye glow
faintly but she only makes a grating sound.

"Too late. No more . . . The winter, I say. I did speak. . . Before the
winter, go. Go."

"Tell me about Outside, Mother," I plead.

Another groan or cough nearly shakes me from my perch. But when she speaks
again her voice sounds gentler.

"Talk?" she grumbles. "Talk, talk, talk. You are a strange son. Talk, like
your Father."

"What's that, Mother? What's a Father?"

She belches again. "Always talk. The winters grow, he said. Oh, yes. Tell them
the winters grow. So I did. Late. Winter, I spoke you. Cold!" Her voice booms.
"No more! Too late." Outside I hear her armor rattle and clank.

"Mother, speak to me!"

"Go. Go-o-o!"

-Her belly-plates clash around me. I jump for another nest of fur but it comes
loose in my grip. Wailing, I save myself by hanging to one of her great
walking limbs. It is rigid, thrumming like rock.

"GO!" She roars.

Her Mother-eyes are shrivelling, dead! I panic, scramble down, everything is
vibrating, resonating around me. Mother is holding back a storm of rage!