"Arthur Porges - The Fly" - читать интересную книгу автора (Porges Arthur)

He peered more closely, raising himself to his knees and longing for a
lens. It seemed to his straining gaze as if that gruesome beak came not
from the mouth region at all, but through a minute, hatchlike opening
between the faceted eyes, with a nearly invisible square door ajar. But that
was absurd; It must be the glare, and-ah! Flickering, the rod retracted;
there was definitely no such opening now. Apparently, the bright sun was
playing tricks. The spider stood shrivelled, a pitiful husk, still upright on
her thin legs.
One thing was certain: he must have this remarkable fly. If not a new
species, it was surely very rare. Fortunately it was stuck fast in the web.
Killing the spider could not help it. He knew the steely toughness of those
elastic strands, each a tight helix filled with superbly tenacious gum. Very
few insects, and those only among the strongest, ever tear free. He gingerly
extended his thumb and forefinger. Easy now; he had to pull the fly loose
without crushing it.
Then he stopped, almost touching the insect, and staring hard. He was
uneasy, a little frightened. A brightly glowing spot, brilliant even in the
glaring sunlight, was throbbing on the very tip of the blue abdomen. A
reedy, barely audible whine was coming from the trapped insect. He
thought momentarily of fireflies, only to dismiss the notion with scorn for
his own stupidity. Of course, a firefly is actually a beetle, and this thing
was - not that, anyway.
Excited, he reached forward again, but as his plucking fingers
approached, the fly rose smoothly in a vertical ascent, lifting a pyramid of
taut strands and tearing a gap in the web as easily as a flipped stone. The
man was alert, however. His cupped hand, nervously swift, snapped over
the insect, and he gave a satisfied grunt.
But the captive buzzed in his grasp with a furious vitality that appalled
him, and he yelped as a searing, slashing pain scalded the sensitive palm.
Involuntarily he relaxed his grip. There was a streak of electric blue as his
prize soared, glinting in the sun. For an instant he saw that odd
glow-worm tail light, a dazzling spark against the darker sky, then
nothing.
He examined the wound, swearing bitterly. It was purple, and already
little blisters were forming. There was no sign of a puncture. Evidently the
creature had not used its lancet, but merely spurted venom-acid
perhaps-on the skin. Certainly the injury felt very much like a bad burn.
Damn and blast! He'd kicked away a real find, an insect probably new to
science. And with a little more care, he might have caught it.
Stiff and vexed, he got sullenly to his feet and repacked the lunch kit. He
reached for the Geiger counter, snapped on the current, took one step
towards a distant rocky outcrop-and froze. The slight background noise
had given way to a veritable roar, an electronic avalanche that could mean
only one thing. He stood there, scrutinizing the grassy knoll and shaking
his head in profound mystification. Frowning, he put down the counter.
As he withdrew his hand, the frantic chatter quickly faded out. He waited,
half-stooped, a blank look in his eyes. Suddenly they lit with doubting,
half-fearful comprehension. Catlike, he stalked the clicking instrument,
holding one arm outstretched, gradually advancing the blistered palm.
And the Geiger counter raved anew.