"Charles Stross - Missile Gap" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stross Charles)

тАЬAre they poisonous?тАЭ asks Maddy.
тАЬDonтАЩt know, donтАЩt want to find out this far from the hospital. The fact that there are no vertebrates hereтАУтАЭ he
shrugs. тАЬWe know theyтАЩre poisonous to other insectoida.тАЭ
Maddy puts the sample case down. тАЬBut nobodyтАЩs been bitten, or died, or anything.тАЭ
тАЬNot that we know of.тАЭ He folds back the lid of the case and she shivers, abruptly cold, imagining bleached
bones lying unburied in the long grass of the inland plain, where no humans will live for centuries to come.
тАЬItтАЩs essential to take care out here. We could be missing for days before anyone noticed, and a search party
wouldnтАЩt necessarily find us, even with the journey plan we filed.тАЭ
тАЬOkay.тАЭ She watches as he takes out an empty sample jar and a label and carefully notes down time and
date, distance and direction from the milestone at the heart of Fort Eisenhower. Thirty six miles. They might
as well be on another planet. тАЬYouтАЩre taking samples?тАЭ
He glances round: тАЬof course.тАЭ Then he reaches into the side pocket of the bag and removes a pair of heavy
gloves, which he proceeds to put on, and a trowel. тАЬIf you could put the case down over there?тАЭ
Maddy glances inside the case as he kneels down by the mock termite mound. ItтАЩs full of jars with blank
labels, neatly segregated, impassable quarantine zones for improbable species. She looks round. John is
busy with the mock-termite mound. HeтАЩs neatly lopped the top off it: inside, the earth is a squirming mass
ofтАУthings. Black things, white things like bits of string, and a pulp of half-decayed vegetable matter that
smells damply of humus. He probes the mound delicately with the trowel, seeking something. тАЬLook,тАЭ he
calls over his shoulder. тАЬItтАЩs a queen!тАЭ
Maddy hurries over. тАЬReally?тАЭ she asks. Following his gloved finger, she sees something the size of her left
forearm, white and glistening. It twitches, expelling something round, and she feels her gorge rise. тАЬUgh!тАЭ
тАЬItтАЩs just a happy mother,тАЭ John says calmly. He lowers the trowel, works it in under the queen and lifts
herтАУand a collection of hangers-on, courtiers and bodyguards alikeтАУover the jar. He tips, he shakes, and he
twists the lid into place. Maddy stares at the chaos within. What is it like to be a mock termite, suddenly
snatched up and transplanted to a mockery of home? WhatтАЩs it like to see the sun in an electric light bulb, to
go about your business, blindly pumping out eggs and eating and foraging for leaves, under the eyes of
inscrutable collectors? She wonders if Bob would understand if she tried to tell him. John stands up and
lowers the glass jar into the sample case, then freezes. тАЬOuch,тАЭ he says, and pulls his left glove off.
тАЬOuch.тАЭ He says it again, more slowly. тАЬI missed a small one. Maddy, medical kit, please. Atropine and
neostigmine.тАЭ
She sees his eyes, pinprick pupils in the noonday glare, and dashes to the Land Rover. The medical kit, olive
green with a red cross on a white circle, seems to mock her: she rushes it over to John, who is now sitting
calmly on the ground next to the sample case. тАЬWhat do you need?тАЭ she asks.
John tries to point, but his gloved hand is shaking wildly. He tries to pull it off, but the swollen muscles resist
attempts to loosen the glove. тАЬAtropineтАУтАЭ A white cylinder, with a red arrow on one side: she quickly reads
the label, then pushes it hard against his thigh, feels something spring-loaded explode inside it. John stiffens,
then tries to stand up, the automatic syringe still hanging from his leg. He staggers stiff-legged towards the
Land Rover and slumps into the passenger seat.
тАЬWait!тАЭ she demands. Tries to feel his wrist: тАЬhow many of them bit you?тАЭ
His eyes roll. тАЬJust one. Silly of me. No vertebrates.тАЭ Then he leans back. тАЬIтАЩm going to try and hold on. Your
first aid training.тАЭ
Maddy gets the glove off, exposing fingers like angry red sausages: but she canтАЩt find the wound on his left
hand, canтАЩt find anything to suck the poison out of. JohnтАЩs breathing is labored and he twitches: he needs the
hospital but itтАЩs at least a four hour drive away and she canтАЩt look after him while she drives. So she puts
another syringe load of atropine into his leg and waits with him for five minutes while he struggles for breath
hoarsely, then follows up with adrenalin and anything else she can think of thatтАЩs good for handling
anaphylactic shock. тАЬGet us back,тАЭ he manages to wheeze at her between emphysemic gasps. тАЬSamples
too.тАЭ
After she gets him into the load bed of the truck, she dashes over to the mock termite mound with the spare
petrol can. She splashes the best part of a gallon of fuel over the heap, coughing with the stink: she caps the