"K. D. Wentworth - Tall One" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wentworth K D)

it pressed closer. Its neckfrill was in his face now. The photobiotic
iridescence was more noticeable there, green splotches and lines that separated,
then ran together like a map of some distant place he'd never been. "One's --
"he tried again, then finally gave in and used the human term, even though it
was just meaningless sounds to the khe. "One's spirit, what is inside, goes back
to parent."

The khe whistled something shrill and incomprehensible and pushed him away,
bathing him in a smoldering green gaze before it wandered into the surrounding
purple-gray scrub. He stared after it, rubbing his wrist, then sank to his knees
on the rocks before the crude wooden cross and gripped his hands in prayer until
his knuckles shone white. The chill thin air dried the tears on his cheeks
almost as fast as they fell.

He didn't return to the rectory until the yellow-white sun hung low in the sky,
already half-obscured by the mountains. He limped along the mossy bluff
overlooking the stream, his knees bruised and aching, passing khe after khe
stretched out in the sun like sleek black plants, soaking up radiant energy. He
had to hurry. When the sun sank behind the mountains, the khe would stir
themselves and hunt until twilight deepened into darkness. He found their
cheerful slaughter at that time of day even more disturbing than watching them
like this.

Their photobiotic cells provided a large portion of their daily energy intake,
perhaps as much as fifty percent, according to the exobiologists who had
catalogued Sheah Four several decades ago, but for the rest of their energy
needs, as well as trace elements and certain vital nutrients, the khe hunted
small insects and animals, consuming them in a brief feeding frenzy during the
hours when the light was no longer direct enough to fully stimulate their
photobiotic cells, but darkness had not yet rendered them torpid.

He passed the rows of straggly peas and green beans in Father Gareth's tiny
kitchen garden, remembering the tall, patient blond man. From the moment he had
first set foot in this shimmering silver and violet valley, Father Gareth had
loved the khe, ministering to them tenderly, anointing the soft-skinned, playful
pups with holy water and baptizing them one and all in the name of the Lord. "It
doesn't matter that they don't understand," he'd said. "In time they will, and
the Lord wants them now."

Johannes couldn't repress a shudder. "They look like snakes."

Father Gareth's mild blue eyes narrowed. "Rather more like salamanders, I should
think, if you must speak of Earth, but they are not of Earth. They are
themselves, beautiful in their own right, holy in their perfection as God's
creatures."

Holy.... Johannes shivered and entered the prefabricated one-room bungalow he
had shared with the older priest.
After a miserable dinner of warmed-over beans and rice, he sat down before the
tiny scribe's screen and tried to complete Father Gareth's reports. The ship