Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

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Extrone’s eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick, jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone’s face. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed against them, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away. Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed.

A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest.

Extrone laughed nervously. “He must have heard.”

“We’re lucky to rouse one so fast,” Lin said.

Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. “I like this. There’s more excitement in waiting like this than in anything I know.”

Lin nodded.

“The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It’s not only the killing that matters.”

“It’s not only the killing,” Lin echoed.

“You understand?” Extrone said. “How it is to wait, knowing in just a minute something is going to come out of the forest, and you’re going to kill it?”

“I know,” Lin said.

“But it’s not only the killing. It’s the waiting, too.”

The farn beast coughed again; nearer.