"Walter Jon Williams - Dinosaurs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

DINOSAURS
By Walter Jon Williams
[05 feb 2001 тАУ scanned for #bookz, proofread and released тАУ v1]

Let us not deceive you--this is not a tale of the prehistoric and there are no dinosaurs as such in it. This
is a tale of a very far future and of a highly evolved and changed human being. It is also, in its own
subtle way, a tale that lives up to its deceptive title.

The Shars seethed in the dim light of their ruddy sun. Pointed faces raised to the sky, they sniffed the
faint wind for sign of the stranger and scented only hydrocarbons, far-off vegetations, damp fur, the
sweat of excitement and fear. Weak eyes peered upward, glistened with hope, anxiety, apprehension,
and saw only the faint pattern of stars. Short, excited barking sounds broke out here and there, but
mostly the Shars crooned, a low ululation that told of sudden onslaught, destruction, war in distant
reaches, and now the hope of peace.

The crowds surged left, then right. Individuals bounced high on their third legs, seeking a view, seeing
only the wide sea of heads, the ears and muzzles pointed to the stars.

Suddenly, a screaming. High-pitched howls, a bright chorus of barks. The crowds surged again.

Something was crossing the field of stars.

The human ship was huge, vaster than anything they'd seen, a moonlet descending. Shars closed their
eyes and shuddered in terror. The screaming turned to moans. Individuals leaped high, baring their teeth,
barking in defiance of their fear. The air smelled of terror, incipient panic, anger.

War! cried some. Peace! cried others.

The crooning went on. We mourn, we mourn, it said, we mourn our dead billions.

We fear, said others.

Soundlessly, the human ship neared them, casting its vast shadow. Shars spilled outward from the spot
beneath, bounding high on their third legs.

The human ship came to a silent rest. Dully, it reflected the dim red sun.

The Shars crooned their fear, their sorrow. And waited for the humans to emerge.

---

These! Yes. These. Drill, the human ambassador, gazed through his video walls at the sea of Shars, the
moaning, leaping thousands that surrounded him. Through the mass a group was moving with purpose,
heading for the airlock as per his instructions. His new Memory crawled restlessly in the armored
hollow atop his skull. Stand by, he broadcast.

His knees made painful crackling noises as he walked toward the airlock, the silver ball of his translator
rolling along the ceiling ahead of him. The walls mutated as he passed, showing him violet sky, far-off
polygonal buildings; cold distant green . . . and here, nearby, a vast, dim plain covered with a golden
tissue of Shars.