"William C.Dietz - Sam McCade 2 - Imperial Bounty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dietz William)

he reached down to turn up the internal temperature of his heatsuit. Eventually he'd run out of power for
it. Maybe he'd freeze to death while waiting for an icecat to kill him. The thought struck him as funny
somehow, so why wasn't he laughing? "You're losing it, Sam old boy," he said to himself. "Pull yourself
together. You've been in worse spots."
And it was true. In his days as a professional bounty hunter he'd come close to death many times. But
somehow those encounters were different. He'd been in control, always the hunter, never the hunted.
Here that was reversed; the icecat was in control. It could fight or disappear, and whichever it chose,
there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Suddenly he stopped, his eyes riveted to the snow in front of him. The icecat was close. There was no
mistaking the huge plate-sized paw prints which overlaid the cross-hatched pattern of his own boots. The
sonovabitch was following him! And had been for some time. Together they'd made a large figure eight.
With a sinking feeling McCade realized how far he'd come. The aircar was miles away.
He glanced over his shoulder one more time, and started up a nearby slope, instinctively seeking
higher ground. Perhaps he could find a better vantage point toward the top. Eventually his path was
blocked by the sheer face of a cliff. Locating a small crevice which would protect his back, he forced his
way in, and did his best to make himself comfortable.
During his climb, the already dim sun had sunk farther in the overcast sky, making it even colder.
McCade reached down to turn up the gain on his heatsuit, and then thought better of it. Even on its
present setting the power pak wouldn't get him through the night. He did his best to settle down and
concentrate on the task at hand. "All right you flea-bitten sonovabitch... I'm ready when you are... come
and get it."
Another hour passed. He scanned the area below for the umpteenth time. Even under his visor's high
mag setting, there wasn't much to see. He was about to give up when he saw something move out of the
corner of his eye. Or had he? Maybe it was just a trick of evening's half light. No, there it was again, a
shadow among shadows, a momentary blur only half seen.
Then he had it, a long low body, winter white giving way to summer gray, almost invisible against the
volcanic rock. A strong neck supported a large triangular head, with two fan-shaped ears that twitched
slightly as they sampled the evening breeze. Huge eyes moved this way and that, each independently
scanning the area for any signs of danger. If they looked his way would they see him? And what about
the animal's ability to sense radiated heat? Could it detect him?
McCade felt a lead weight drop into his gut as the beast's hideous head swiveled toward him and
stopped. How good was his heat shielding? Maybe there was some leakage that the icecat could detect.
The icecat snarled, the thin lips of its false mouth pulled back to reveal razor-sharp teeth. The sound
echoed back and forth off the cliffs.
The last echo of the icecat's snarl was still dying away when the animal vanished into the shadows.
McCade thought about all those teeth and shuddered. The ones he'd seen were bad enough, but he
knew there were still others located in its abdomen. Icecats have two mouths. A false mouth used for
breathing and killing, and a real mouth, exclusively devoted to eating. Having made a kill, icecats
immediately drape themselves over the body to keep it from freezing, thus bringing their real mouths into
contact with the carcass. By sliding this way and that, icecats can efficiently strip a man-sized carcass in
minutes, all the while keeping their false mouths and sensory organs available for defense. It is, the
biologists like to point out, a very efficient adaptation to conditions on Alice. McCade didn't doubt it, but
had no desire to take part in the process himself.
Nonetheless he stood up. To hell with waiting. If he didn't move soon he'd freeze to death. So if the
icecat wouldn't come to him... he'd go to it. He felt the muscle in his left cheek twitch as he shifted the
comforting weight of the slug thrower from one arm to the other. The weapon had a rotary magazine
filled with alternating hollow point slugs and shot shells. As the planet's only police officer, it was just one
of the many weapons McCade carried in his aircar. Properly handled it could take out a squad of
Imperial Marines. Unfortunately, he thought, icecats are tougher than marines, and probably smarter.
Carefully he eased his way out of the rocky crevice. There wasn't much cover as he moved