"Mike Resnick - Hunting The Snark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

fact that our Snark is a predator. He killed a huge, catlike creature, but he
didn't eat it."
"What does that imply?" asked Ramona.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. It could be that he was defending his territory.
Or ... " I let the sentence hang while I considered its implications.

"Or what?"

"Or he could simply enjoy killing things."

"That makes two of us," said Marx with a smile. "We'll go out and kill
ourselves a Snark tomorrow morning."

"Not tomorrow," I said firmly.

"Why the hell not?" he asked pugnaciously.

"I make it a rule never to go after dangerous game until I know more about it
than it knows about me," I answered. "Tomorrow we'll go out shooting meat for
the pot and see if we can learn a little more about the Snark."

"I'm not paying millions of credits to shoot a bunch of cud-chewing alien
cattle!" snapped Marx. "You've found something that practically screams 'Superb
Hunting!' I vote that we go after it in the morning."

"I admire your enthusiasm and your courage, Mr. Marx," I said. "But this isn't
a democracy. I've got the only vote that counts, and since it's my job to
return you all safe and sound at the end of this safari, we're not going after
the Snark until we know more about it."

He didn't say another word, but I could tell that at that moment he'd have been
just as happy to shoot me as the Snark.

****

Before we set out the next morning, I inspected the party's weapons.

"Nice laser rifle," I said, examining Desmond's brand new pride and joy.

"It ought to be," he said. "It cost fourteen thousand credits. It's got night
sights, a vision enhancer, an anti-shake stock ... "

"Bring out your projectile rifle and your shotgun, too," I said. "We have to
test all the weapons."

"But I'm only going to use _this_ rifle," he insisted.

I almost hated to break the news to him.