"Rajnar Vajra - Passing the Arboli Test" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vajra Rajnar)

days before the cops showed up with long warrants and short handcuffs. No,
that wasn't right. Many of my best felonies were interstate; the good old FBI
would be here, not the cops, with the same warrants but shinier handcuffs.
I studied the Poker face in my monitor. HIMSA had money and power.
Serious money. The Human International Mobile Society Association had been
formed eight years ago when the Arboli made themselves known on Earth. HIMSA
was dedicated to finding a means for humans to travel the galaxy as the
Tree-people did. This meant learning the secrets of Arboli Rootcraft.
I knew exactly what Ms. Robinson and the other HIMSA members were
hoping: the big Reward promised to the first human who passed the Arboli Test
would be nothing less than complete instructions on building a Rootcraft.
If I earned such a thing, I wouldn't need HIMSA. On the other hand, if
I failed the Test but remained alive, conscious, and non-drooling, I'd get
pulled out of trouble.
Robinson was right: this was a tasty carrot indeed. The well-oiled
wheels of rationalization began turning and I came to a quick decision. After
all, I'd only have to attempt two tests. How bad could they be?
****
The Tree House was set into the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains just out
of Los Gatos, California. It wasn't a long journey from Sunnyvale, but long
enough to give me second, third, and fourth thoughts.
Getting up at three-thirty in the morning to make sure I arrived at the
appointed hour hadn't helped my mood. The Arboli would have surely seen any
tardiness as some kind of sign; I'd probably have failed the Test right there.
The damn Tree-people start their day too damn early.
Even at four thirty-five a few sightseers were gaping at the Tree
House, trying to beat the crowds. The San Jose hills, yellow from summer
dryness, were still invisible this close to sunrise. Smog. I parked my Porsche
in the visitor's lot and walked slowly toward the main gate. My appointment
wasn't for another ten minutes. Smog blotted out the stars, but I knew they
were shining on the Santa Cruz mountain peaks a short drive away.
Three young men were emitting machine-gun Spanish and making obscure
gestures as they stood on the sidewalk before the low gate. As I pulled the
wrought iron doorway aside, one man turned toward me and gently grabbed my
arm. An Arboli lamp placed on a tall post cast a greenish glow that
illuminated his face, but made it look eerie, not quite human.
"Pardon, but are you going in to talk with the Saps? Mira! Look at the
second floor! Is this place on fire? Should we warn someone?"
I glanced up at the thin green smoke oozing from a window and turned
back to reassure the visitor.




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 "Don't worry about it, amigo. One of the Arboli must be smoking itself.
I've read about it. It's how they get rid of parasites." The man released my
arm but still looked so nervous I continued, "Tell you what, I'll mention it.
Just in case."
"Gracias. We weren't sure what to do."