"The Lost Masters Volume 2A" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morrison William)

corner, driven there by the force of the takeoff, and a group of plastic cans
had fallen on top of them. Against the wall hung not a row of uniforms but a
confused mass of coveralls, probably used by the ship's crew when they had some
dirty work to do.
Maybe there was a uniform behind the coveralls. He went over to the wall and
began to toss the clumsy garments aside. At this moment he heard a sound—the
sound of footsteps—in the corridor outside. He snapped his fingers hastily, and
the light went out again. Then he dropped down, pulling a pair of the coveralls
over him.
The footsteps had stopped. Then they began again—or was that another pair which
had come to join them? Somehow they seemed heavier than they had done before.
Yes, that was it, he decided. Two men talking in the corridor outside the door.
Mel hoped that neither of them took it into his head to look into the closet. He
was beginning to feel hot under the coveralls, to find difficulty in breathing.
He twisted around, trying to lift part of them off in order to get more air. His
hand swung around and—
That wasn't plastic he felt. Neither the hard plastic of one of the cans nor the
soft plastic of the garment over him. It was too soft and smooth. It was fur.
Living fur, too. But silent. Some animal, some creature he hadn't even
suspected, was hiding there in the darkness of the closet, had been hiding from
before the ship took off. I le caught his own breath and listened. But there was
no sound from the animal. Not a movement, not a twitch of the fur under his
hand. Nothing, except suddenly a low, a very low growl.
He took his hand away, and felt his heart beating painfully, with even more
excitement than it had beaten during the takeoff. He had no idea what sort of
beast was here in the closet with him. If it attacked, it might tear him to
pieces in a matter of seconds.
The feet outside moved, both pairs. The men were going away. He snapped his
fingers, and the light came on again. Throwing aside the mass of coveralls, he
stared at his companion.
A dog, by Pluto, a dog. A big powerful beast that looked like one of the new
collies that had been bred the last twenty years. A beast with jaws that could
rip apart even a bigger man with one bite, and yet with a wistful look on its
face that made it look almost human. The dog was staring at him, waiting to see
what he would do.
"Hello, fellow," he said, keeping his voice low. "You a stowaway too? Or do you
belong to somebody on this ship?
The dog couldn't answer, of course. The only reason Mel talked to him was that
he hadn't talked to anybody for so long. He couldn't actually talk to himself,
that would be crazy. But talking to the dog was different. A dog was an
audience, it could sympathize with what you had to say, even though it didn't
understand a word.
The funny thing, however, was that this dog did seem to understand. During the
last century, Mel knew, some breeds of dogs had been getting smarter. They
couldn't talk, because their throats weren't built for it. But some of them
understood a lot. And maybe this was one of the smart ones.
"You do understand me, don't you, boy? I wish I knew your name. Mind if I take a
look at your collar?"
He stretched out his hand, and the dog understood what he wanted to do. It
didn't move away. And Mel found that wasn't wearing a collar.