"Wolverton-LeanWinter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolverton Dave)

DAVE WOLVERTON

AFTER A LEAN WINTER

*
New York Times best selling writer Dave Wolverton made quite a splash when he
first appeared on the science fiction scene. His short story, "On My Way to
Paradise, " won the Grand Prize of the Writers of the Future contest. The story
became a novel; and Dave went on to become the preliminary judge lot the
contest. Since the story appeared, Dave has primarily concentrated on novels. In
addition to writing the most romantic Star Wars novel The Courtship o{ Princess
Leia, for Bantam Books, Dave has written a series of other novels. Tot Books
published his most recent books, The Golden Queen and Beyond the Gate, and will
soon publish his next, Lords of the Seventh Swarm.

*
"After a Lean Winter," our final Martian story, shows that Dave is still a
master of the short form.

Pierre swept into hidden Lodge on Titchen Creek late on a moonless night. His
two sled dogs huffed and bunched their shoulders, then dug their back legs in
with angry growls, hating the trail, as they crossed that last stubborn rise.
The runners of his sled rang over the crusted snow with the sound of a sword
being drawn from its scabbard, and the leather harnesses creaked.

The air that night had a fetal bite to it. The sun had been down for days,
sometimes hovering near the horizon, and the deadly winter chill was on. It
would be a month before we'd see the sun again. For weeks we had felt that cold
air gnawing us, chewing away at our vitality, like a wolf pup worrying a shard
of caribou bone long after the marrow is depleted.

In the distance, billowing thunderclouds raced toward us under the glimmering
stars, promising some insulating warmth. A storm was chasing Pierre's trail. By
agreement, no one came to the lodge until just before a storm, and none stayed
long after the storm began.

Pierre's two poor huskies caught the scent of camp and yipped softly. Pierre
called "Gee," and the sled heeled over on a single runner. Carefully, he twisted
the gee-poles, laid the sled on its side next to a dozen others. I noted a heavy
bundle lashed to the sled, perhaps a moose haunch, and I licked my lips
involuntarily. I'd pay well for some meat.

From out under the trees, the other pack dogs sniffed and approached, too tired
to growl or threaten. One of Pierre's huskies yapped again, and Pierre leapt
forward with a dog-whip, threatening the lean beast until it fell silent. We did
not tolerate noise from dogs anymore. Many a man would have pulled a knife and
gutted that dog where it stood, but Pierre-- a very crafty and once-prosperous
trapper -- was down to only two dogs.