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

their money in business ventures early on, and just kept going from one success
to the next. Their most recent killing had come on Silverstrike, a distant
mining world. Marx was an avid hunter who had brought trophies back from half a
dozen worlds, the Desmonds had always wanted to go on safari, and Pollard, who
would have preferred a few weeks on Calliope or one of the other pleasure
planets, finally agreed to come along so that the four of them could celebrate
their latest billion together.

I took an instant dislike to Marx, who was too macho by half. Still, that
wasn't a problem; I wasn't being paid to enjoy his company, just to find him a
couple of prize trophies that would look good on his wall, and he seemed
competent enough.

The Desmonds were an interesting pair. She was a pretty woman who went out of
her way to look plain, even severe; a well-read woman who insisted on quoting
everything she'd read, which made you wonder which she enjoyed more, reading in
private or quoting in public. Philemon, her husband, was a mousy little man who
drank too much, drugged too much, smoked too much, seemed in awe of his wife,
and actually wore a tiny medal he'd won in a school track meet some thirty years
earlier -- probably a futile attempt to impress Mrs. Desmond, who remained
singularly unimpressed.

Pollard was just a quiet, unassuming guy who'd lucked into money and didn't
pretend to be any more sophisticated than he was -- which, in my book, made him
considerably more sophisticated than his partners. He seemed constantly amazed
that they had actually talked him into coming along. He'd packed remedies for
sunburn, diahhrea, insect bites, and half a hundred other things that could
befall him, and jokingly worried about losing what he called his prison pallor.

We met on Braxton II, our regional headquarters, then took off on the six-day
trip to Dodgson IV. All four of them elected to undergo DeepSleep, so Captain
Mbele and I put them in their pods as soon as we hit light speeds, and woke them
about two hours before we landed.

They were starving -- I know the feeling; DeepSleep slows the metabolism to a
crawl, but of course it doesn't stop it or you'd be dead, and the first thing
you want to do when you wake up is eat -- so Mbele shagged the Dabihs out of the
galley, where they spent most of their time, and had it prepare a meal geared to
human tastes. As soon as they finished eating, they began asking questions
about Dodgson IV.

"We've been in orbit for the past hour, while the ship's computer has been
compiling a detailed topographical map of the planet," I explained. "We'll land
as soon as I find the best location for the base camp."

"So what's this world like?" asked Desmond, who had obviously failed to read all
the data we'd sent to him.

"I've never set foot on it," I replied. "No one has." I smiled. "That's why
you're paying so much."