"Mike Resnick - Tales Of The Galactic Midway - Alien-Tamer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

“Go to one of the game booths and bring back a couple of toys. Balls, if you can find
them.”
Tojo headed off to the Midway, and Monk continued moving the animal.
After another three minutes he put the chair down and began working it solely by
gliding his whip along the ground.
“Quick learner,” remarked Flint.
“While we're waiting for Tojo, have one of the robots bring me a stool,” said Monk.
“One of the ones I used for the cats.”
Flint issued the order, and a moment later Monk had set the aluminum stool up next
to the door. Then he moved the animal around the ring to where the stool was, and
began backing it up until finally, with a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a
snarl, it jumped onto the stool. The crowd around the ring applauded—
—and the animal went berserk.
It leaped off the stool, knocking Monk over in the process, charged straight for the
Dancer, bounced off the cage bars, leaped up in the air, split its muzzle open on the
top of the rigging, and began racing around the perimeter of the cage.
“Don't shoot him unless he goes for me!” Monk yelled to the Dancer. He was on his
feet, edging his way to the door, and suddenly the animal skidded to a stop and began
approaching him very slowly. Monk cracked his whip again, and the animal began
racing around the cage once more, foaming at the mouth and dribbling a foul-smelling
stream of urine behind itself.
It took another minute to stop, and then Monk finally drove it back and carefully
stepped out of the cage. “What the hell happened?” asked Flint.
“The noise,” said Monk, panting heavily and sweating profusely. “The whip scares
him a bit, but applause is going to drive him absolutely up a tree.”
“Is there anything you can do with him?”
“He's psychotic, Thaddeus. I can put on a show for small and select audiences who
promise never to yell or clap their hands, but there's no way he's going to be able to
work in the specialty tent. Look at him—he's crapping all over himself.”
Flint looked at the huge carnivore trembling in the center of the ring, whining and
slowly going to pieces, and shook his head. “I thought we had one this time,” he said
at last.
“When he calms down I'll get him back to his crate,” said Monk, picking up a towel
and mopping his face. “I hope no one runs any machines around here in the
meantime.”
“I'll see to it,” said Flint. He passed the order to a couple of the carnies and a robot.
Tojo arrived a minute later, laden down with plastic and hard rubber balls.
“You didn't say which kind you wanted,” he explained, “so I brought a selection.”
“You're too late,” said Flint. “The fun's over.”
“What happened?” asked Tojo, laying the balls down carefully. He looked into the
ring. “Did the Dancer have to shoot him?”
Flint shook his head. “Let's just say that he's not real likely to become the next Rin
Tin Tin and leave it at that.”
“He looks sick,” continued the hunchback.
“He'll be okay,” said Flint.
“This is stupid,” Monk announced at last.
“What is?”
“If there's a dumber way to build an animal act, I sure as hell don't know what it is.
Thaddeus, you've got to let me take a ship and go out myself. I can't put an act
together by mail.”