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

spiral-horned tan-and-brown herbivores with one bullet each. Then, exercising
his right to name any species that he was the first to shoot, he dubbed them
Marx's Gazelles.

"What now?" asked Desmond. "We certainly don't need any more meat for the next
few days."

"I'll send the vehicle back to camp for the skinners. They'll bring back the
heads and pelts as well as the best cuts of meat, and I'll have them tie the
rest of the carcasses to some nearby trees."

"Why?"

"Bait," said Marx.

"Mr. Marx is right. _Something_ will come along to feed on them. The smell of
blood might bring the catlike predators back. Or, if we're lucky, maybe the
Snark will come back and we'll be able to learn a little more about him."
"And what do _we_ do in the meantime?" asked Desmond in petulant tones.

"It's up to you," I said. "We can stay here until the vehicle returns, we can
march back to camp, or we can footslog to that swamp about four miles to the
north and see if there's anything interesting up there."

"Like a Snark?" asked Ramona.

"Five Men and four Dabihs walking across four miles of open savannah aren't
about to sneak up and surprise anything. But we're not part of the ecological
system. None of the animals will be programmed to recognize us as predators, so
there's always a chance -- if he's there to begin with -- that the Snark will
stick around out of curiosity or just plain stupidity."

It was the answer they wanted to hear, so they decided to march to the swamp.
Pollard must have taken fifty holos along the way. Desmond complained about the
heat, the humidity, the terrain, and the insects. Ramona stuck a chip that read
the text of a book into her ear and didn't utter a word until we reached the
swamp. Marx just lowered his head and walked.

When we got there we came upon a small herd of herbivores, very impressive-
looking beasts, going about 500 pounds apiece. The males possessed fabulous
horns, perhaps 60 inches long, with a triple twist in them. The horns looked
like they were made of crystal, and they acted as a prism, separating the
sunlight into a series of tiny rainbows.

"My God, look at them!" said Pollard, taking holographs as fast as he could.

"They're magnificent!" whispered Ramona Desmond.

"I'd like one of those," said Marx, studying the herd.