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

McReady nodded shortly. "In some ways -if only we could have permanently prevented their spreading -I'd like to have the imitations back. Commander Garry
-Connant -Dutton -Clark -"


"Where are they taking those things?" Copper nodded to the stretcher Barclay and Norris were carrying out.


"Outside. Outside on the ice, where they've got fifteen smashed crates, half a ton of coal, and presently will add ten gallons of kerosene. We've dumped acid on
every spilled drop, every torn fragment. We're going to incinerate those."


"Sounds like a good play." Copper nodded wearily. "I wonder, you haven't said whether Blair -"


McReady started. "We forgot him! We had so much else! I wonder -do you suppose we can cure him now?"
"If -" began Dr. Copper, and stopped meaningly.
McReady started a second time. "Even a madman. It imitated Kinner and his praying hysteria -" McReady turned toward Van Wall at the long table. "Van, we've got to
make an expedition to Blair's shack."


Van looked up sharply, the frown of worry faded for an instant in surprised remembrance. Then he rose, nodded. "Barclay better go along. He applied those
lashings, and may figure how to get in without frightening Blair too much."


Three quarters of an hour, through -37 degree cold, they hiked while the aurora curtain bellied overhead. The twilight was nearly twelve hours long, flaming in
the north on snow like white, crystalline sand under their skis. A 5-mile wind piled it in drift lines pointing off to the northwest. Three quarters of an hour
to reach the snow-buried shack. No smoke came from the little shack, and the men hastened.


"Blair!" Barclay roared into the wind when he was still a hundred yards away. "Blair!"
"Shut up," said McReady softly. "And hurry. He may be trying a long hike. If we have to go after him -no planes, the tractors disabled -"
"Would a monster have the stamina a man has?"
"A broken leg wouldn't stop it for more than a minute," McReady pointed out.
Barclay gasped suddenly and pointed aloft. Dim in the twilit sky, a winged thing circled in curves of indescribably grace and ease. Great white wings tipped
gently, and the bird swept over them in silent curiosity. "Albatross-" Barclay said softly. "First of the season, and wandering way inland for some reason. If a
monsters's loose-"


Norris bent down on the ice, and tore hurriedly at his heavy, windproof clothing. He straightened, his coat flapping open, a grim blue-metalled weapon in his hand.
It roared a challenge to the white silence of Antarctica.


The thing in the air screamed hoarsely. Its great wings worked frantically as a dozen feathers floated down from its tail. Norris fired again. The bird was moving
swiftly now, but in an almost straight line of retreat. It screamed again, more
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feathers dropped and with beating wings it soared behind a ridge of pressure ice, to vanish.
Norris hurried after the other. "It won't come back," he panted.
Barclay cautioned him to silence, pointing. A curiously, fiercely blue light beat out form the cracks fo the shack's door. A very low, soft humming sounded inside,