"Herbert, Frank - The Green Brain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

'Why doesn't it stand still for just a second?' Martinho asked.
'Jefe, if it comes under the shield, we are cooked. Why do you wait? Pick it off.'
'I must be certain of it,' Martinho said.
He swung the sprayrifle back and forth with the motions of the darting, dancing insect. It dodged away from the line of sight each time, moving farther and farther to the right. Suddenly, it turned, scuttled on around the fountain's rim to the opposite side. Now the entire water curtain separated them from it, but the searchlights had followed the retreat and they could still see it there.
Martinho entertained the odd suspicion then that the thing was trying to maneuver them into some special position. He lifted his suit's face shield, wiped his forehead with his left hand. He was perspiring heavily. It was a hot night, but here by the fountain there was cool mist in the air - and the bitter smell of the acid.
'I think we are in trouble,' Vierho said. 'If it keeps the fountain between us, how will we capture it?'
'Come along,' Martinho said. 'If it stays across the fountain from us, I'll order out another team. It cannot dodge two teams.'
Vierho began maneuvering the shield sideways around the fountain. 'I still think we should've used the truck,' he said.
'Too big and clumsy,' Martinho said. 'Besides, I think the truck might frighten it into attempting a break through the crowd. This way, it may feel it has a chance against us.'
'Me, I feel the same thing.'
The giant chigger took this moment to dart toward them, stop and crawl backwards. It kept its nose aimed at the shield and presented a steady target, but too much of the water curtain fell between it and Martinho for a safe shot.
'The wind is at our backs, Jefe,' Vierho said.
'I know. Let's hope that thing hasn't the wit to shoot over our heads. The wind'd drop acid on to our backs.'
The chigger backed into an area where the fountain's upper structure shadowed it from the searchlight. It shifted back and forth in the shadow area, a dark wet movement.
'Jefe, that thing is not going to stay there for long. I can feel it.'
'Hold the shield here a moment,' Martinho said. 'I think you're right. We ought to clear the Plaza. If it took it into its mind to rush the crowd, people would be hurt.'
'You say a true thing, Jefe.'
'Vierho, use the handlight. Try to dazzle its eyes. I'll break away from the shield to our right and try a long shot.'
'Jefe!'
'You have a better idea?'
'At least let us pull the shield farther out there into the lawn. You would not be so close if ... '
Still in the shadows, the chigger hopped sideways off the fountain rim on to the lawn. Vierho jerked up the handlight.
'O Dios, Jefe! Shoot it!'
Martinho swung the spray rifle around to bear on the new position, but the shield slot prevented a full swing. He cursed, grabbed for the control handle, but before he could swing the shield, a section of lawn the size of a street manhole lifted like a trapdoor behind the chigger and in the full glare of the hand-light. A black shape with what appeared to be a triple-horned head emerged partly from the hole, sounded a rasping call.
The chigger darted past the shape and into the hole.
The crowd was screaming now, a noise compounded of rage, fear and feral excitement that filled the air of the plaza. Through it all, Martinho could hear Vierho praying in a low voice -almost a chant: 'Holy Mary, Mother of God ... '
Martinho tried to push the shield around toward the creature in the hole, was stalled by Vierho trying to pull the structure backward. The shield twisted around on its wheels, exposing them to the black shape there as the thing lifted another half meter on to the lawn. Martinho had a full, clear look at it there bathed in the beam of the handlight. The thing looked like a gigantic stag beetle - taller than a man and with triple horns.
Desperately, Martinho wrestled the sprayrifle from its shield slot, swung it toward the horned monster.
'Jefe, Jefe, Jefe!' Vierho pleaded.
Martinho brought his weapon to bear, squeezed off a two-second charge, counting to himself: 'One butterfly, two butterfly.'
The poison-butyl mixture slammed into the creature, enveloped it.
The creature, its shape distorted by the spray-mix, hesitated, then lifted farther out of the hole with a rasping, grunting sound heard clearly above the crowd screams.
The crowd fell abruptly silent as the thing towered there, a shell-backed monster - green, black, glistening - at least a meter taller than a man.
Martinho could hear a sucking, rasping sound from it, an odd wet noise like the sound of the fountain with which it competed.
Carefully, he again aimed the sprayrifle at the horned head - point blank range - and emptied the charge cylinder: ten seconds. The creature appeared to dissolve backward into its hole with eerie extensions and protrusions fighting the sticky butyl.
'Jefe, let us go away from here,' Vierho pleaded. 'Please, Jefe.' He swung the shield around until it again stood between them and the giant insect. 'Please,' Vierho said. He began forcing Martinho back with the shield.
Martinho grabbed another charge cylinder, slammed it into rifle, took a foamal bomb in his left hand. He felt emptied of every emotion except the need to attack that monster and kill it. But before he could draw his arm back to throw the bomb, he felt the shield buck. He looked up to a solid stream of liquid driving down on the shield from the black creature in the hole.
He needed no urging as Vierho screamed, 'Run!'
They fled backward, dragging the shield.
The attack stopped as they drew out of range. Martinho stopped, looked back. He felt Vierho trembling beside him. The dark thing in the hole sank slowly backward. It was the most menacing retreat Martinho had ever seen. The movement radiated a willingness to return to the attack. It sank from sight. The section of lawn closed behind it.
As though that were the signal, the crowd sounds picked up all around the Plaza, but Martinho could hear the fear in the voices even when he couldn't make out the words.
He threw back his face shield, listening to the words like sharp cries, the snatches of sentences - 'Like a monster beetle!' 'Have you heard the report from the waterfront?' 'The whole region could be infested!' ' ... at the Monte Ochoa Convent ... orphanage ... '
Through it all came the same question repeated from all sides of the Plaza: 'What was it?' 'What was it?' 'What was it?'
Martinho felt someone at his right, jerked around to see Chen-Lhu standing there, eyes intent on the place where the beetle shape had disappeared. There was no sign of Rhin Kelly.
'Yes, Johnny,' Chen-Lhu said. 'What was it?'
'It looked like a giant stag beetle,' Martinho said, and he was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.
'It was taller than a man by half,' Vierho muttered. 'Jefe ... those stories about the Serra dos Paresis ... '
'I heard the crowd talking about Monte Ochoa and the waterfront, something about an orphanage,' Martinho said. 'What was that?'
'Rhin has gone to investigate,' Chen-Lhu said. 'There are some disturbing reports. I'm having the crowds cleared out of the Plaza. People are being ordered to disperse and go to their homes.'
'What are the disturbing reports?'