"Mike Resnick - Tales Of The Galactic Midway 03 - The Wild Alien Tamer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

animals, are placed on the grave of the deceased, and that the fucking bear is buried three hundred
light-years from here?”
“ No,” admitted Mr. Ahasuerus, looking distressed. “ No, he didn't.”
“ Figures,” muttered Flint. “ Where is he?”
“ Waiting for his new animals, I should imagine.”
“ Well, let's hope this batch is better than the last. By the way, how much did that piece of rock set us
back?”
“ Three thousand credits,” replied the blue man.
“ I don't know from credits. How much is that in American money?”
“ You really should make some effort to learn those conversion tables I made up for you.”
“ Skip the lecture,” said Flint. “ How much?”
“ About twenty-four hundred dollars,” replied Mr. Ahasuerus. “ Of course, that's 1982 Constant dollars. I have
no idea what inflation may have done to— ”
“ Twenty-four hundred dollars?” yelled Flint. “ You tell Monk that it's coming out of his pay!” He snuffed out his
cigarette and lit another one. “ Jesus H. Christ! I spend the better part of two years turning this show into a
paying proposition, and the second I turn my back you start okaying money for tombstones!”
“ We can afford it,” said Mr. Ahasuerus calmly.
“ Pull a couple more stunts like this and I'll bet we can even afford a matching one for a bald blue skeleton,”
said Flint. He paused for a moment and emitted a deep sigh. “ Look, I don't mean to lose my temper with
you. But after two years you ought to know that all carnies are liars.”
“ Including you?” asked Mr. Ahasuerus, pulling his lips back from his teeth in his equivalent of a smile.
“ Including me. But I'm selective about it: I just lie to the marks. Monk and the rest, they'll lie to anyone.” He
looked down at the granite marker again.
“ Oh, well, see if there's anything resembling a graveyard around here and plant it.”
“ And if not?”
“ Dump it into Monk's room and lethim worry about it.”
Flint spent the next half hour supervising the rest of the unloading, discovered that he had been sent a ride
that had been earmarked for the humanoids of Canphor VI and had not received the one he had ordered to
accommodate the elephantine beings of Girodus II, had the crew reload it into the ship, and sent off still
another nasty message to the Corporation. He did receive three tons of sugar, but with his cotton candy
machine out of order he didn't see much use for it, and reloaded it as well.
Finally, sweating profusely and wondering why Mr. Ahasuerus seemed to pick only exceptionally hot worlds
or frigid ones, he clambered down the gangplank, lit another cigarette, took his shirt off, and signed a number
of receipts after having one of the aliens translate them for him.
He was about to go to the carnival ship's galley for a cold beer— which, he knew, would be lukewarm and
taste like weak tea— when a small hunchbacked human approached him.
“ What's wrong now?” asked Flint.
“ Nothing,” replied the hunchback, speaking with a severe stammer. “ I just thought I'd see if there was any
mail.”
“ That's very thoughtful of you, Tojo,” said Flint dryly. “ You think the United States Post Office might be
making deliveries out here, do you?”
“ We have thirty-two aliens working for us, Thaddeus,” said Tojo. “ Most of them come from the Community of
Worlds. I thought they might have some letters from home.”
“ Yeah? Well, if the mail service out here is anything like the cargo service, the letters are probably
somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy by now. There's probably a real good reason why the Corporation hasn't
gone bankrupt yet, but I sure as hell can't come up with it.”
“ We didn't get our Ferris wheel,” said Tojo. It was not a question.
“ Among other things.” Flint raised his gaze to the heavens, shielding his eyes from the glare of the binary
star. “ I wonder how things are going in Vermont. At least we didn't have to readapt the rides every time we
moved to a new town.” He took another puff of his cigarette and coughed. “ And a man could get a decent