-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Алан Дин Фостер
-
- Чужой
-
- Стр. 2/241
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Direct
they
were
,
and
occasionally
ugly
.
In
wakefulness
this
deeply
buried
offal
rarely
showed
itself
,
when
the
engineer
became
irritated
or
angry
.
Most
of
the
ooze
and
contempt
fermenting
at
the
bottom
of
his
soul
’
s
cistern
were
kept
well
hidden
.
His
shipmates
never
saw
beyond
the
distilled
Parker
floating
on
top
,
never
had
a
glimpse
of
what
was
bubbling
and
brewing
deep
inside
.
Lambert
was
more
the
inspiration
of
dreamers
than
dreamer
herself
.
In
hypersleep
her
restless
musings
were
filled
with
intersystem
plottings
and
load
factors
canceled
out
by
fuel
considerations
.
Occasionally
imagination
entered
into
such
dream
structures
,
but
never
in
a
fashion
fit
to
stir
the
blood
of
others
.
Parker
and
Brett
often
imagined
their
own
systems
interplotting
with
hers
.
They
considered
the
question
of
load
factors
and
spatial
juxtapositions
in
a
manner
that
would
have
infuriated
Lambert
had
she
been
aware
of
them
.
Such
unauthorized
musings
they
kept
to
themselves
,
securely
locked
in
daydreams
and
nightdreams
,
lest
they
make
her
mad
.
It
would
not
do
to
upset
Lambert
.
As
the
Nostromo
’
s
navigator
she
was
the
one
primarily
responsible
for
seeing
them
safely
home
,
and
that
was
the
most
exciting
and
desirable
cojoining
any
man
could
imagine
.
Brett
was
only
listed
as
an
engineering
technician
.
That
was
a
fancy
way
of
saying
he
was
just
as
smart
and
knowledgeable
as
Parker
but
lacked
seniority
.
The
two
men
formed
an
odd
pair
,
unequal
and
utterly
different
to
outsiders
.
Yet
they
coexisted
and
functioned
together
smoothly
.
In
large
part
their
success
as
both
friends
and
coworkers
was
due
to
Brett
never
intruding
on
Parker
’
s
mental
ground
.
The
tech
was
as
solemn
and
phlegmatic
in
outlook
and
speech
as
Parker
was
voluble
and
volatile
.
Parker
could
rant
for
hours
over
the
failure
of
a
microchip
circuit
,
damning
its
ancestry
back
to
the
soil
from
which
its
rare
earth
constituents
were
first
mined
.
Brett
would
patiently
comment
,
’
right
.
’
For
Brett
,
that
single
word
was
much
more
than
a
mere
statement
of
opinion
.
It
was
an
affirmation
of
self
.
For
him
,
silence
was
the
cleanest
form
of
communication
.
In
loquaciousness
lay
insanity
.
And
then
there
was
Ash
.
Ash
was
the
science
officer
,
but
that
wasn
’
t
what
made
his
dreams
so
funny
.
Funny
peculiar
,
not
funny
ha
-
ha
.
His
dreams
were
the
most
professionally
organized
of
all
the
crew
’
s
.
Of
them
all
,
his
came
nearest
to
matching
his
awakened
self
.
Ash
’
s
dreams
held
absolutely
no
delusions
.
That
wasn
’
t
surprising
if
you
really
knew
Ash
.
None
of
his
six
crewmates
did
,
though
.
Ash
knew
himself
well
.
If
asked
,
he
could
have
told
you
why
he
could
never
become
a
prodreamer
.
None
ever
thought
to
ask
,
despite
the
fact
that
the
science
officer
clearly
found
pro
dreaming
more
fascinating
than
any
of
them
.
Oh
,
and
there
was
the
cat
.
Name
of
Jones
.
A
very
ordinary
housecat
,
or
,
in
this
instance
,
shipcat
.
Jones
was
a
large
yellow
tom
of
uncertain
parentage
and
independent
mien
,
long
accustomed
to
the
vagaries
of
ship
travel
and
the
idiosyncrasies
of
humans
who
travelled
through
space
.
It
too
slept
the
cold
sleep
,
and
dreamt
simple
dreams
of
warm
,
dark
places
and
gravity
-
bound
mice
.
