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World Of Ptavvs :: Нивен Ларри
Страница: 30 из 127All he had to do was relax. "It's a digging or cutting tool, or a shaping instrument. Nothing more."
Masney stared. "Greenberg," he whispered, as if he were afraid of the answer, "who do you think you are?"
Kzanol tried to tell him. He almost strangled doing it. Overtalk didn't fit human vocal cords. "Not Greenberg," he managed. "Not a… slave. Not human."
"Then what?"
He shook his head, rubbing his throat.
"Okay. How does this innocuous tool work?"
"You push that little button and the beam starts removing surface material."
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Well, it suppresses the… charge on the electron. I think that's right. Then whatever is in the beam starts to tear itself apart. We use the big ones to sculpture mountains." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We did." He started to choke, caught himself. Masney frowned.
Garner asked, "How long were you underwater?"
"I think between one and two billion years. Your years or mine, they aren't that much different."
"Then your race is probably dead."
"Yes." Kzanol looked at his hands, unbelievingly. "How in-" he gurgled, recovered, "how under the Power did I get into this body? Greenberg thought that was only a telepathy machine!"
Garner nodded. "Right. And you've been in that body, so to speak, all along. The alien's memories were superimposed on your brain, Greenberg. You've been doing the same thing with dolphins for years, but it never affected you this way. What's the matter with you, Greenberg? Snap out of it!"
The slave in the travel chair made no move to kill himself. "You," Kzanol/Greenberg paused to translate, "whitefood. You despicable, decaying, crippled whitefood with defective sex organs. Stop telling me who I am! I know who I am!" He looked down at his hands. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and ran itching down his cheeks, but his face remained as expressionless as a moron's. Garner blinked at him. "You think you are what's-his-name, the alien terror from Outer Space? Nuts. The alien terror is down on the first floor of this building, and he's perfectly harmless. If we could get him back to normal time he would be the first to call you an impostor. Later I'll take you down and show him to you.
"Part of what you said is true. I am, of course, an old man. But what is a, er, whitefood?" He made the word a separate question.
Kzanol had calmed down. "I translated. The whitefood is an artificial animal, created by the tnuctipun as a meat animal. A whitefood is as big as a dinosaur and as smooth and white as a shmoo.
Masney stared. "Greenberg," he whispered, as if he were afraid of the answer, "who do you think you are?"
Kzanol tried to tell him. He almost strangled doing it. Overtalk didn't fit human vocal cords. "Not Greenberg," he managed. "Not a… slave. Not human."
"Then what?"
He shook his head, rubbing his throat.
"Okay. How does this innocuous tool work?"
"You push that little button and the beam starts removing surface material."
"That's not what I meant."
"Oh. Well, it suppresses the… charge on the electron. I think that's right. Then whatever is in the beam starts to tear itself apart. We use the big ones to sculpture mountains." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We did." He started to choke, caught himself. Masney frowned.
Garner asked, "How long were you underwater?"
"I think between one and two billion years. Your years or mine, they aren't that much different."
"Then your race is probably dead."
"Yes." Kzanol looked at his hands, unbelievingly. "How in-" he gurgled, recovered, "how under the Power did I get into this body? Greenberg thought that was only a telepathy machine!"
Garner nodded. "Right. And you've been in that body, so to speak, all along. The alien's memories were superimposed on your brain, Greenberg. You've been doing the same thing with dolphins for years, but it never affected you this way. What's the matter with you, Greenberg? Snap out of it!"
The slave in the travel chair made no move to kill himself. "You," Kzanol/Greenberg paused to translate, "whitefood. You despicable, decaying, crippled whitefood with defective sex organs. Stop telling me who I am! I know who I am!" He looked down at his hands. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and ran itching down his cheeks, but his face remained as expressionless as a moron's. Garner blinked at him. "You think you are what's-his-name, the alien terror from Outer Space? Nuts. The alien terror is down on the first floor of this building, and he's perfectly harmless. If we could get him back to normal time he would be the first to call you an impostor. Later I'll take you down and show him to you.
"Part of what you said is true. I am, of course, an old man. But what is a, er, whitefood?" He made the word a separate question.
Kzanol had calmed down. "I translated. The whitefood is an artificial animal, created by the tnuctipun as a meat animal. A whitefood is as big as a dinosaur and as smooth and white as a shmoo.