"Campbell, John W Jr - Who Goes There" - читать интересную книгу автора (Campbell John W Jr)

but I'm not going to eat any food you send me. I want cans. Sealed cans."


"O. K., Blair, we'll bring 'em tonight," Barclay promised. "You've got coal, and the fire's started. I'll make a last -" Barclay started forward.


Blair instantly scurried to the farthest corner. "Get out! Keep away from me, you monster!" the little biologist shrieked, and tried to claw his way through the
wall of the shack. "Keep away from me -keep away -I won't be absorbed -I won't be -"


Barclay relaxed and moved back. Dr. Copper shook his head. "Leave him alone, Bar. It's easier for him to fix the thing himself. We'll have to fix the door, I think
-"


The four men let themselves out. Efficiently, Bennings and Barclay fell to work. There were no locks in Antarctica; there wasn't enough privacy to make them
needed. But powerful screws had been driven in each side of the doorframe, and the spare aviation control cable, immensely strong, woven steel wire, was rapidly
caught between them and drawn taut. Barclay went to work with a drill and a keyhole saw. Presently he had a trap cut in the door through which goods could be
passed without unlashing the entrance. Three powerful hinges from a stock-crate, two hasps and a pair of three-inch cotter-pins made it proof against opening from
the other side.


Blair moved about restlessly inside. He was dragging something over to the door with panting gasps and muttering, frantic curses. Barclay opened the hatch and
glanced in, Dr. Copper peering over his shoulder. Blair had moved the heavy bunk against the door. It could not be opened without his cooperation now.


McReady sighed. "If he gets loose, it is his avowed intention to kill each and all of us as quickly as possible, which is something we don't agree with. But we've
something on our side of that door that is worse than a homicidal maniac. If one or the other has to get loose, I think I'll come up and undo those lashings here."


Barclay grinned. "You let me know, and I'll show you how to get these off fast. Let's go back."
The sun was painting the northern horizon in multi-colored rainbows still, though it was two hours below the horizon. The field of drift swept off to the north,
sparkling under its flaming colors in a million reflected glories. Low mounds of rounded white on the northern horizon showed the Magnet Range was barely awash
above the sweeping drift. Little eddies of wind-lifted snow swirled away from their skis as they set out toward the main encampment two miles away. The spidery
finger of the broadcast radiator lifted a gaunt black needle against the white of the Antarctic continent. The snow under their skis was like fine sand, hard and
gritty.


"Spring," said Benning bitterly, "is come. Ain't we got fun! I've been looking
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forward to getting away from this blasted hole in the ice."
"I wouldn't try it now, if I were you." Barclay grunted. "Guys that set out from here in the next few days are going to be marvelously unpopular."


"How is your dog getting along, Dr. Copper?" McReady asked. "Any results yet?"
"In thirty hours? I wish there were. I gave him an injection of my blood today. But I imagine another five days will be needed. I don't know certainly enough to
stop sooner."