"Andre Norton - Cat Fantastic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

adhesive bandages and similar other assistances for the minor emergencies a Bookmobile librarian might
be expected to meet, she'd seen, well, she thought she'd seen ... Hmm. Yes. Candy bar. Old, but not too
old.
Unfortunately, cats didn't eat chocolate. What else? Ah-ha! Trust Cal's hollow leg. A tightly-lidded tin
box of English biscuits that rattled loudly. Probably canned meat, as Cal was a diabetic and couldn't eat
sweets. So it was. The good kind, without too much salt. Judith pulled the top off and let the cat lick its
dinner off her fingers.
She didn't want to go on, but she'd waited as long as she dared.
"We're stopping at the motel," she told the cat. Positive thinking, she added to herself. The likelihood that
they'd get as far as the motel seemed less and less probable every second. But experience in these
mountains warned Judith that the snowline would be well below the elevation of the station. No one
manned the place on Sunday night, and the amount of food in Cal's can wouldn't keep them for another
couple of days. She probably wouldn't starve before somebody showed up, but she wasn't sure the cat
could make it. Only later would someone point out to her the oddity of failing to call the sheriff for help
and, even odder, of placing the importance of feeding the stray cat before that of quite possibly losing her
own life.
Unwillingness to commit herself and the bus to the dubious mercies of the weather kept her from starting.
She wondered if she should get out in the rain again and check to be sure the chains were there, just m
case she needed them. But where in the world would they be if they weren't in their stow space? Putting
on chains would be no easy task, but she'd had to master it to get the job, so she could, if she had to.
She examined what she could see of the roadway, peering into the darkness intently. Incredulous, she
watched headlights become attached to a bus even larger than hers, rather like a transcontinental
Greyhound. It rumbled past at a speed that made her wonder why it was not flying. Certainly it had
worked up adequate speed to take off.
Well, if they can, I guess I can, she informed herself. On we go. She shoved her hands into her fur-lined
gloves and turned the key.
The bus purred into life. They inched onto the road. This part of the trip really is the easiest, she tried to
reassure herself. Straight, and the wind isn't strong enough to be a problem. Often, high winds whipped
across the flatlands, winds so strong that the county office canceled the Bookmobile visits. But the state
road was well maintained, most of it was three lanes wide and some of it four, and at this end of the
valley one could make out the lights of isolated homes. To Judith's considerable surprise, the radio
condescended to work, due, doubtless, to an unusual inversion layer that reflected the signal into the
valley. Judith grinned, demanded Bach-and got it. She snorted. Things seemed to be going better.
Then the snow began.
In five minutes she knew it was chains now or give up. She got them all on in less than, an hour, and by
that time almost was unable to drive out of the hollow the presence of the bus had made in the swiftly
piled snowbank. But the chains were new and sharp, and they dug in. She drove down a whirling white
tunnel beyond which was only darkness, solid, like ebony or granite. She dared not go on. She dared not
stop. She shifted into a lower gear and continued. For as long as the bus would move, she'd drive. Every
quarter mile brought them closer to the freeway, to the motel and people and safety. Every turn of the
wheels made one step she need not take in the cold and snow when the storm was over, and she had to
move or die.

The man had a name, and most people knew what it was, but he was never referred or spoken to as
anything but General. He deserved it. He made the essential breakthrough in the scientific aspect himself,
and he convinced men who could take that information and turn it into a completed system that they
could and must do so. Whatever they needed he earned or developed or bought or stole-ahead of time.
When it was done, he named it the Puma. The name seemed particularly appropriate. The puma was the
big cat of the American west, the most deadly carnivore that hunted alone. It moved with stealth, erupted
into powerful movement, and destroyed with strength and speed. Yet a sleeping.puma was harmlessand