"Daniel F. Galouye - Dark Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Galouye Daniel F)

the spear and stones. "Stay here and click out some distinct tones--about a
pulse apart."
He eased forward, arrow strung. Now the ledge was casting back sharp
echoes. The soubat was stirring, folding and unfolding its immense, leathery
wings. He paused and listened to the evil form, audibly outlined against the
smooth, rock background. Furry, oval face--twice as large as his own. Alert
ears, cupped and pointed. Clenched talons, sharp as the jagged rocks to which
they clung. And twin _pings_ of reflected sound brought the impression of
bared fangs.
"Is it still there?" Owen whispered anxiously.
 "Can't you hear it yet?"
"No, but I can sure smell the thing. It--"
Abruptly the soubat released its grip and dropped.
Jared didn't need clickstones now. The furious flapping of wings was a
direct, unmistakable target. He drew the bow, placing the feathered end of the
arrow against his ear, and released the string.
The creature screamed--a piercing, ragged cry that reverberated in the
passage.
"Good Light Almighty!" Owen exclaimed. "You got it!"
"Just punctured a wing." Jared reached for another arrow. "_Quick_--give
me some more echoes!"
But it was too late. The thrashing of its wings was carrying the soubat
off down a branch passage.
Listening to the retreating sound, Jared absently fingered his beard.
Cropped close to his chin, it was a dense growth that projected bluntly
forward, giving his face a self-confident tone. Taller than the span of a
bowstring, he was lancelike in posture and his limbs were solidly corded.
Although shoulder length in the back, his hair was trimmed in front, leaving
ears unobstructed and face fully exposed. This accommodated his fondness for
open eyes. It was a preference that wasn't based on religious belief, but
rather on his dislike for the facial tautness which came with closed eyes.


Later, the side passage narrowed and received a river that flowed up out
of the ground, leaving only a thin strip of slippery rock for them to tread.
Gripping his arm, Owen asked, "What's up ahead?"
Jared sounded the clickstones. "No low rocks. No pits. The stream flows
off into the wall and the passage widens again."
He was listening more intently, though, to other, almost lost
echoes--minor reflections from small things that slid into the river as they
retreated from the disturbing noise of the stones.
"Make a note of this place," he said. "It's crawling with game."
"Salamanders?"
"Hundreds of them. That means decent-sized fish and hordes of crayfish."
Owen laughed. "I can just hear the Prime Survivor authorizing a hunting
expedition _here_. Nobody's ever been _this_ far before."
"_I_ have."
"When?" the other asked skeptically.
They cleared the stream and were back on dry ground again.
"Eight or nine pregnancy periods ago."