"Brin, David - Natulife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

Ankle protested, waving her javelin. "Why not finish it off?"

"Because the Chief said no!" Long Stick snapped. But I gestured for patience.
With Ankle for an apprentice, I now appreciated the adage--You never really know
something til you teach it.

"Think. What happens if he falls where he stands?"

She eyed the panting beast. "He'll fall into the riv . . . Oh! We'd lose half
the carcass." Ankle nodded soberly. "So we try getting him ashore first?"

"Right. And quickly! We don't want him suffering needlessly."

Several tribesmen made pious gestures in agreement. Through ritual, hunters like
these used to appease the spirits of beasts they killed, which made me wonder --
would modem folk eat so much meat if they had to placate the ghost of each steer
or chicken? My time in a simulated stone age hasn't made a vegetarian of me, but
I better appreciate the fact that meat once lived.

Long Stick called for rope. Bearing coils of braided leather, we worked toward
the bull from three sides. The treadmill imitated slippery mud beneath my feet,
while the body suit tickled nerves so that I felt hip-deep in slimy water.
Electronically-stirred receptors in my nose "smelled" the creature's blood and
defiance, above the rank swamp stench. It was hard work, floundering toward our
prey. Harder and more varied than lifting weights in a gym, and more terrifying.
The buffalo shifted left and right, bellowing and threatening with its horns.

Everything had seemed more vivid since Gala bought that extra memory, including
this beast's hot zeal to survive. "Watch out!" Ankle cried as it lunged. I
swerved and felt a wall of fur and muscle glance off my shoulder, rushing
through space I'd just occupied. Teetering in the mud, I glimpsed a snaking
lasso chase the old bull, landing round its neck.

"Got him!" Long Stick cried.

"My turn!" called a higher voice. Ankle cast her lariat-- only to fall short as
the angry beast thrashed aside.

"Wait!" I cried when she plunged after it. Too late, I watched the girl vanish
beneath the frothy, scummy surface.

"Ankle!"

Suddenly, I was too busy dodging to worry about my young aide. Sharp horns
flashed viciously. While I knew the computer wouldn't kill me, other slipups in
the gym had left me bruised for weeks.

She's only a program, I told myself, backpedaling from a roaring shaggy face the
size of a small pickup. Programs can take care of themselves.