Hanging there in the main club room of the Trottersmen, it was a grim reminder that not all the members were idle playboys who had bought their memberships with animals shot from ambush in the interdicted kraals of Africa or the blue mist-jungles of Todopus III. It was a strange trophy, plaque-mounted between the head of a Coke’s hartebeest and the fanged jaws of a szlygor. There was the damndest watchfulness in the eyes. It had been Nathaniel Derr’s final grant to his club. A visitor to the Trottersmen’s gallery (invited down for the weekly open cocktail party) could walk through room after room filled with the bloody booty of two hundred hunting expeditions Derr had commissioned. A visitor (whether hip-booted spacer or effete dignitary) would surely marvel at the quantity and diversity of wildlife Derr had mastered. Photoblox showed him proudly resting one foot on the blasted carcasses of Mountain Gorilla and Cape Lion, butchered Hook-lipped Rhino and puma.
What do You think about Stalking The Nightmare (2014)?
