"Brunner, John - The Repairmen of Cyclops" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brunner John)

His mind darkened briefly. He never cared to recall
the circumstances that had brought him back from space
to a planet-bound existence, and forbidden him to com-
bine his lust for danger with valuable work. There was
nothing of value to anyone but himself in this single-
handed hunting; men had shared Cyclops with wolf-
sharks for long enough to determine the limits within
which they could be a nuisance, and if the necessity
arose, the species was culled efficiently and with preci-
sion by teams working from the air.
In fact, thought Kolb greyly, there's damned little
value to anybody in anything I've done with my life
lately. Least of all to me...
Slowly, as the wing-glints came closer, following a line
that would pass him within some four or five miles and
if extended would eventually approach the island where
the Corps Galactica maintained its repair base, a kind of
muted exultation filled him. He could see now that the
buzzards were too full already to make more than token
swoops on what the wolfshark killed, yetas though ad-
miring the energy of the beastthey none of them made
to flap back to the south and their breeding-mats.
It'll break all the records. I never even heard of such a
giant!
He put aside the unlined harpoon which his hand had
automatically sought for the first shot. With fingers as
exact as a surgeon's, he loaded a harpoon with line at-
tached, and laid the gun in its firing-notch.
Then he closed his left hand on the control levers, and
without a tremor fed power to the reactor.
The skimmer leapt up on its planes with a shriek loud
enough to startle a wolfshark at twice this range, and in-
stantly the wheeling buzzards disgorged the last food
they had eaten and climbed a safe hundred feet into the
sky. Just audible over the thrum of power from his
craft, Kolb heard their whickering cries, like the neigh-
ing of frightened horses.
And one of his questions was answered, anyway. This
wolfshark had been attacked before, often enough to
recognise a skimmer for the danger it represented. It for-
got its business of stitching a line of destruction across
the peaceful ocean, and spun around in the water to con-
front the fragile boat. It lowered its tail and spread its
fans, and its head rose to the surface.
Kolb's self-possession wavered, so that he had to cling
desperately to his unverbalised decision: it 'doesn't matter
if I die or not! Thinking of it as huge, and seeing how
huge it was, were two different things.
How big, then? Fifty feet from fan-tip to fan-tip, os-
cillating in the water like a manta ray, but having a ta-