Read Online The Legacy of Heorot by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Steven Barnes - Free Book Online Page B
Tags: SF, Speculative Fiction
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in disgust. "No dog did this."
There were more yells, as more of the calves were found staggering in the darkness, braying into the wind. Zack puffed hard as he ran up. "What happened here, Weyland?"
"Hell if I know, and I don't think we're going to find out until morning, either."
"Take the calves over to the horse corral. They'll keep." Zack bent, looked at the metal. The sheeting looked as if it had been ripped with a power tool. "Jesus Christ. What could do something like this?"
Cadmann shook his head, but when he looked up at Mary Ann, there was both concern and vindication in his frown, a mixture that made her feel uneasy.
"What happened here?" Zack whispered again.
"I can tell you what happened," Terry said. Mary Ann whipped her head around at the ugly tone of his voice.
"What happened is that someone's been predicting trouble, and now we've got it. Happy, Weyland?"
Mary Ann wanted to spit in his face, ashamed that someone had spoken aloud the words she was whispering to herself. Instead, she balled up her hands and shouted, "Just go to hell, Terry!"
"To hear your boyfriend tell it, we already have."
Then he turned, walking away into the rain. Mary Ann knelt beside Cadmann, putting her arm around his shoulders.
He was shaking.
Chapter 5
AUTOPSY 1
What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
make yourselves scabs?
SHAKESPEARE, Coriolanus
The Skeeter autogyro hummed up from the bank of the Miskatonic, crested the gorge and pivoted slowly, hovering. Its shielded tail rotors beat a curtain of dust from the ground.
Tau Ceti crawled towards the western mountains, a tiny glare-point momentarily eclipsed by the tarpaulined shape swinging from the belly of the gyro. Zack Moscowitz shielded his eyes against the glare with one hand, with the other held the veterinary clinic's door open. Sylvia Faulkner and Jerry Bryce emerged running. The doctor kept ahead of the dust cloud. He waved the Skeeter along the approach corridor between the animal pens and the shops.
Jerry must have come straight from his bed. His eyes were puffy; his unruly brown hair looked like the brambles that circled the plain. Sylvia wondered if he would be able to handle tonight's work.
"Where ‘d they find Ginger?" Zack coughed dust, hawked and spat.
Sylvia flinched. That kind of rudeness was totally out of character for Zack. "Half a kilometer upriver. Barney spotted it on his third flyby."
The Skeeter's engine whined, laboring as it hovered. Surely an illusion: the two-man craft could handle a ton of cargo. The calf's remains shuddered on the nylon palate as it spooled down, until palate and corpse flattened against an aluminum gurney.
Sylvia and Jerry wheeled the gurney into the clinic. The bulge beneath the tarp was not the shape of a calf. This wasn't going to be fun.
Stamping feet thundered in the horse pens as the colts and fillies backed as far away as they could. They tossed their manes, snorting, nostrils flaring. Zack sympathized totally. "No, it doesn't smell pretty, does it?" He stood back as the cart was wheeled up the ramp into the clinic. Sylvia guided, Jerry pushed. "I still can't believe this is happening." He eased the door shut behind them.
Jerry took the cart the rest of the way in. Sylvia watched as the Skeeter dipped toward the western wall of brambles. "We haven't found anything on the infrared?"
"Nothing but turkeys and pterodons," Zack said quietly. "I've been checking every half hour. Nothing on visual, nothing on audio, nothing on infrared or radar. For a hundred square kilometers." He wagged his head in disgust. "I don't know what to think. If there's something out there, it means trouble. But if there isn't anything out there... did you say who found this?"
"Carr."
"Yes, right. May I?" She handed Zack the clipboard and he jotted a note to himself. His handwriting, neurotically neat at the best of times, looked machine-printed.
Sylvia took his arm
There were more yells, as more of the calves were found staggering in the darkness, braying into the wind. Zack puffed hard as he ran up. "What happened here, Weyland?"
"Hell if I know, and I don't think we're going to find out until morning, either."
"Take the calves over to the horse corral. They'll keep." Zack bent, looked at the metal. The sheeting looked as if it had been ripped with a power tool. "Jesus Christ. What could do something like this?"
Cadmann shook his head, but when he looked up at Mary Ann, there was both concern and vindication in his frown, a mixture that made her feel uneasy.
"What happened here?" Zack whispered again.
"I can tell you what happened," Terry said. Mary Ann whipped her head around at the ugly tone of his voice.
"What happened is that someone's been predicting trouble, and now we've got it. Happy, Weyland?"
Mary Ann wanted to spit in his face, ashamed that someone had spoken aloud the words she was whispering to herself. Instead, she balled up her hands and shouted, "Just go to hell, Terry!"
"To hear your boyfriend tell it, we already have."
Then he turned, walking away into the rain. Mary Ann knelt beside Cadmann, putting her arm around his shoulders.
He was shaking.
Chapter 5
AUTOPSY 1
What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
make yourselves scabs?
SHAKESPEARE, Coriolanus
The Skeeter autogyro hummed up from the bank of the Miskatonic, crested the gorge and pivoted slowly, hovering. Its shielded tail rotors beat a curtain of dust from the ground.
Tau Ceti crawled towards the western mountains, a tiny glare-point momentarily eclipsed by the tarpaulined shape swinging from the belly of the gyro. Zack Moscowitz shielded his eyes against the glare with one hand, with the other held the veterinary clinic's door open. Sylvia Faulkner and Jerry Bryce emerged running. The doctor kept ahead of the dust cloud. He waved the Skeeter along the approach corridor between the animal pens and the shops.
Jerry must have come straight from his bed. His eyes were puffy; his unruly brown hair looked like the brambles that circled the plain. Sylvia wondered if he would be able to handle tonight's work.
"Where ‘d they find Ginger?" Zack coughed dust, hawked and spat.
Sylvia flinched. That kind of rudeness was totally out of character for Zack. "Half a kilometer upriver. Barney spotted it on his third flyby."
The Skeeter's engine whined, laboring as it hovered. Surely an illusion: the two-man craft could handle a ton of cargo. The calf's remains shuddered on the nylon palate as it spooled down, until palate and corpse flattened against an aluminum gurney.
Sylvia and Jerry wheeled the gurney into the clinic. The bulge beneath the tarp was not the shape of a calf. This wasn't going to be fun.
Stamping feet thundered in the horse pens as the colts and fillies backed as far away as they could. They tossed their manes, snorting, nostrils flaring. Zack sympathized totally. "No, it doesn't smell pretty, does it?" He stood back as the cart was wheeled up the ramp into the clinic. Sylvia guided, Jerry pushed. "I still can't believe this is happening." He eased the door shut behind them.
Jerry took the cart the rest of the way in. Sylvia watched as the Skeeter dipped toward the western wall of brambles. "We haven't found anything on the infrared?"
"Nothing but turkeys and pterodons," Zack said quietly. "I've been checking every half hour. Nothing on visual, nothing on audio, nothing on infrared or radar. For a hundred square kilometers." He wagged his head in disgust. "I don't know what to think. If there's something out there, it means trouble. But if there isn't anything out there... did you say who found this?"
"Carr."
"Yes, right. May I?" She handed Zack the clipboard and he jotted a note to himself. His handwriting, neurotically neat at the best of times, looked machine-printed.
Sylvia took his arm
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