"Scott G. Gier - Genellan 02 - In the Shadow of the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gier Scott G)

"Jocko!" she whispered, pointing.

"Yes, sir," Chastain replied softly, unlatching a stubby rifle. "Two more
behind us."

She unholstered her pistol as they climbed a tumble of lichen-stained
quartz. White and argent-crazed facets sparkled in the sun's rays. The
spectacle went unappreciated as snarls reverberated in the air. Chastain
eased to the crest of the scintillating rise. His broad shoulders sagged. More
snarls. Rock-dogs closed in behind them. Lizard Lips screamed, silently to
human ears, but the carnivores heard the ultrasonic plea and howled in
vicious agitation.

"They got us in a box, Lieutenant," Chastain said softly.

She climbed beside the crouching giant. Sheer cliffs of quartz-veined
granite blocked their path. Their only option was to retreat. No fewer than
ten rockdogs stalked their rear, measuring them, tasting the air. One crept
steadily closer. Chastain raised his rifle.

"Jocko, don't shootтАФyet," she begged.

Buccari, pistol held high, hopped from the rocks, watching the predators'
movements as they hungrily studied hers. She felt movement. She glanced
down. Charlie's gunmetal blue eyes blinked owlishly, unsteadily trying to
focus.

"No, Lieutenant! Wait!" Chastain moaned. Lizard Lips screeched.

The near rockdog, at least sixty kilos, silver-hackled and ears shredded by
combat, slunk on its belly, cutting off retreat. Other rockdogs moved in. She
shifted the pistol, hefted a chunk of quartz, took two forceful steps, and
whipped the stone sidearm. The ragged missile hit short, splintering shards
of crystal. The beast recoiled and growled magnificently, baring yellowed
canines and a piebald tongue of pink and black.

"Stupid dog," she muttered, shifting the pistol to her right hand.

Chastain, rifle butt swinging to his shoulder, jostled her aside. The
snarling predator surged forward, hackles bristling, clawing like a bull. It
feigned a charge and then settled into a coiled bundle of fury.

"Don't kill it, Jocko," she pleaded, grabbing his sleeve and wrapping her
arm around Charlie's head. "Shoot high."

The big man sighed, twitched his weapon upward, and jerked off a
round. The rifle's report exploded with echoing resonance, the wasted slug
singing off the rocks. The beasts recoiled as one, many disappearing into
rocky shadows. The near dog lurched but spun, silver hackles bristling. It