"Foster, Alan Dean - Flinx 1 - For Love of Mother-Not" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

"We're going into that?" Flinx pointed toward the herd.
"Have to," she said. "There's no other way. It ought to be okay. They're asleep and unafraid."
"That's more than I can say," he muttered as the skimmer dipped into the trees. Lauren maneuvered it carefully, trying to break as few branches and make as little noise as possible. "What do we need with a mare in heat?"
"Musk oil and blood," Lauren explained as the skimmer gently touched down.
Up close, the herd was twice as impressive: a seething, rippling mass of shaggy black hair broken by isolated clumps of twisted, massive horns, it looked more like a landscape of hell than an assembly of temporarily inanimate herbivores. When Lauren killed the engine and popped open the cabin door, Flinx was assailed by a powerful odor and the steady sonority of the herd's breathing. Earth humming, he thought.
Lauren had the dart rifle out and ready as they approached the herd on foot. Flinx followed her and tried to pretend that the black cliffs that lowered over them were basalt and not flesh.
"There." She pointed between a pair of slowly heaving bulks at a medium-sized animal. Picking her spot, she sighted the long barrel carefully before putting three darts behind the massive skull. The mare stirred, coughing once. Then the head, which had begun to rise, relaxed, slowly sinking back to the surface. Flinx and Lauren held then- breath, but the slight activity had failed to rouse any of their target's neighbors.
Lauren fearlessly strode between the two hulks that formed a living canyon and unslung her backpack next to the tranquilized mare. Before leaving the skimmer, she had extracted several objects from its stores. These she now methodically laid out in a row on the ground and set to work. Flinx watched with interest as knife and tools he didn't recognize did their work.
One container filled rapidly with blood. A second filled more rapidly with a green crystalline liquid. Lauren's face was screwed up like a knot, and as soon as the aroma of the green fluid reached Flinx, he knew why. The scent was as overpowering as anything his nostrils had ever encountered. Fortunately, the smell was not bad, merely over- whelming.
A loud, sharp grunt sounded from behind him. He turned, to find himself gazing in horrified fascination at a great crimson eye. An absurdly tiny black pupil floated in the center of that blood-red disk. Then the eyelid rolled like a curtain over the apparition. Flinx did not relax. "Hurry up!" he called softly over his shoulder. "I think this one's waking up."
"We're not finished here yet," Louren replied, stoppering the second bottle and setting to work with a low-power laser. "I have to close both wounds first."
"Let nature close them," he urged her, keeping an eye en the orb that had fixed blankly on him. The eyelid rippled, and he feared that the next time it opened, it would likely be to full awareness.
"You know me better than that," she said firmly. Flinx waited, screaming silently for her to hurry. Finally, she said, "That's done. We can go."
"They hurried back through the bulwark of black hair. Flinx did not allow himself to relax until they sat once more inside the skimmer. He spent much of the time trying to soothe Pip; in response to its master's worry, it had developed a nervous twitch.

Despite the tight seal, the miasma rising from the green bottle nearly choked him. There was no odor from the container of blood.
"The green is the oil," she explained unnecessarily. "It's the rutting season."
"I can see what you have in mind to do with that," Flinx told her, "but why the blood?"
"Released in the open air, the concentrated oil would be enough to interest the males of the herd. We need to do more than just interest them. We need to drive them a little crazy. The only way to do that is to convince them that a ready female is in danger. The herd's females will respond to that, too." She set to work with the skimmer's simple store of chemicals.
"You ought to be around sometime when the males are awake and fighting," she said to him as she mixed oil, blood, and various catalysts in a sealed container. Flinx was watching the herd anxiously. "The whole forest shakes. Even the tallest trees tremble. When two of the big males connect with those skulls and horns, you can hear the sound of the collision echo for kilometers."
Five minutes later, she held a large flask up to the dim early-morning light. "There, that should do it. Pheromones and blood and a few other nose-ticklers. If this doesn't draw them, nothing will."
"They'll set off the alarm when they cross the sonic fence," he reminded her.
"Yes, but by that time they'll be so berserk, nothing will turn them. Then it won't matter what they set off." She smiled nastily, then hesitated at the thought. "My only concern is that we find your mother before they start in on the buildings."
"We'd better," Flinx said.
"There should be enough confusion," she went on, "to distract everyone's attention. Unless they're downright in- human, the inhabitants of the camp aren't going to be thinking of much of anything beyond saving their own skins.
"As to getting your mother out fast, I think we can assume that she's not in the hangar area or the power station or that central tower. That leaves the two long structures off to the west. If we can get inside and get her out before whoever's in charge comes to his senses, we should be able to get away before anyone realizes what's happening.
"Remember, we'll be the only ones ready for what's going to happen. A lot will depend on how these people react. They're obviously not stupid, but I don't see how anyone could be adaptable enough to react calmly to what we're going to do to them. Besides, I don't have any better ideas."
Flinx shook his head. "Neither do 1. I can see one difficulty, though. If we're going to convince this herd that they're chasing after an injured Devilope in heat, we're going to have to stay on the ground. I don't see them following the scent up in the air."
"Quite right, and we have to make our actions as believable as possible. That means bugging the surface. Not only would tree-level flight confuse the herd, air currents would carry the scent upward too quickly and dissipate it too fast."
"Then what happens," Plinx pressed on, "if this idea works and the herd does follow us back toward the camp and we hit a tree or stall or something?"
Lauren shrugged. "Can you climb?"
"There aren't many trees in Drallar free for the climbing," he told her, "but I've done a lot of climbing on the outsides of buildings."
_ "You'll find little difference," she assured him, "with the kind of motivation you'll have if the skimmer stalls. If something happens, head for the biggest tree you can find. I think they'll avoid the emergents. The smaller stuff they'll just ignore." She hesitated, stared sideways at him. "You want to wait a little while to think it over?"
"We're wasting time talking," he replied, knowing that every minute brought Mother Mastiff closer and closer to whatever fate her abductors had planned for her. "I'm ready if you are."
"I'm not ready," she said, "but I never will be, for this. So we might as well go." She settled into the pilot's chair and thumbed a control. The rear of the cabin's canopy swung upward.
"Climb into the back. When I give the word, you uncap the flask and pour out, oh, maybe a tenth of the contents. Then hold it out back, keep it open, and pour a tenth ev- ery time I say so. Got it?"
"Got it," he assured her with more confidence than he felt. "You just drive this thing and make sure we don't get into an argument with a tree."
"Don't worry about that." She gave him a last smile be- fore turning to the control console.
The skimmer rose and turned, heading slowly back toward the somnolent herd. When they were just ten meters from the nearest animal, Lauren pivoted the craft and hovered, studying the scanner's display of the forest ahead.
Violent grunts and an occasional bleating sound began to issue from the herd as Flinx held the still tightly sealed flask over the stem of the skimmer. He looked around until he found a piece of thin cloth and tied it across his nose and mouth.
"I should have thought of that," she murmured, watching him. "Sorry."
"Don't you want one?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I'm up here, and the wind will carry the scent back away from me. I'll be all right. You ready?" Her hands tightened on the wheel.
"Ready," he said. "You ready, Pip?"
"The flying snake said nothing; it did not even hiss in response. But Flinx could feel the coils tighten expectantly around his left arm and shoulder.
"Open and pour," she instructed him.
Flinx popped the seal on the flask as Lauren slowly edged the skimmer forward. Even with the improvised mask and a breeze to carry the aroma away from him, the odor was all but overpowering. His eyes watered as his nostrils rebelled. Somehow he kept his attention on the task at hand and slowly measured out a tenth of the liquid.
A violent, querulous bellow rose from several massive throats. As the skimmer slipped past a cathedral-like cluster of hardwoods, Flinx could see one huge male pushing it- self erect. It seemed to dominate the forest even though the great trees rose high above. The metallic red eyes were fully open now, the tiny black pupils looking like holes in the crimson.
The Devilope shook its head from side to side, back and forth, and thundered. It took a step forward, then another. Behind it, the rest of the herd was rising, the initial uncertain bellowing turning to roars of desire and rage. A second male started forward in the wake of the first; then a third took up the long, ponderous stride. At this rate, Flinx thought, it would take them days to reach the camp.
But even as he watched and worried, the pace of the awakening herd began to increase. It took time for such massive animals to get going. Once they did, they ate up distance. Not Song after, Flinx found himself wishing for the skimmer to accelerate, and accelerate again.