"Charles L. Harness-George Washington Slept Here" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

"I was made by... certain people."
"When?"
She hesitated. "I'm over twenty-one, Your Honor."
The judge sighed. "I see. Let's go on to the Rock. I gather that the people who, ah, 'made' you, also
'made' the Rock."
"Yes."
"When did they make the Rock?"
She shrugged. "Before they made me."
Roule's face reddened. "You are being evasive, young lady. I can accept a certain amount of
evasiveness when a lady's age is involved. But the age of Sena Rock is another matter entirely. If you
know when your people made the Rock, I require that you say."
"The Rock is at least ten thousand years old; possibly twelve."
"But not more than twelve?"
"Not more than twelve."
The judge frowned. Then he glared at the tittering courtroom audience, then at Oliver Potts, then back
at the women. "You are aware of the state geologist's report, already stipulated in the pleadings?"
"Yes, sir."
"You know that report states that the bedrock in the abutment area is metamorphosed basalt, which is
to say, tough, resistant greenstone, exposed locally some two hundred and thirty million years ago?"
"Yes."
"Not a mere ten or twelve thousand years ago?"
"True, Your Honor."
"How do you explain the inconsistency?" He leaned back in his plush highback chair, safe in the
certainty there could be no rational explanation.
"It's simple, Your Honor. The geologist took rock samples at one-mile intervals. He missed the
embassy site altogether."
"The embassy site, which is to say, Sena Rock, is not greenstone?"
"It is not. It just looks like greenstone."
Roule was thoughtful. "Let us back up a bit. Into this 'non-greenstone' the builders have cut great
gaping holes. They have sunk giant rebars, they have poured vast volumes of corrosion-resistant
concrete. On this basement rock abutment they have built a cantilever, with arms reaching backward
from the shore and forward over the river. Sena Rock looks like bedrock. It is acting like bedrock. The
cantilever tower is anchored to it firmly. It is supporting the tower nicely, just as greenstone is supposed
to. But you say it isn't greenstone."
"It isn't."
"What is it, then?"
"Synthetic matter, Your Honor."
"Synthetic? You mean like synthetic fabric? Plastics? Something like that?"
"Not at all. The matter was synthesized from nothing... from space-- using an energy catalyst. The
atomic spacings... silicon, oxygen, the alkali metals, are quite satisfactory for imitation rock, but they're all
wrong for true greenstone."
During this interplay Potts had been dividing his attention between his client, the judge, opposing
counsel, and the tekt-x cube in his attach├й case. This device was actually a remote laser-reading
polygraph. It cast out a 360-degree laser net and brought back modified pulses in the reflected beams
that showed the standard vitals in selected nearby personnel: pulse beat, blood pressure, respiration,
galvanic skin response, and voice stress. In sum, the reader was a lie detector that operated without
attachment to the subject. In prior litigation Potts had used it successfully to conduct simultaneous and
continuing screens of the witness in the box, the judge, opposing counsel, and his own client. He had
never served in an ongoing trial where everyone told the truth all the time. The fact no longer amazed him.
Indeed, he accepted it (with morose reluctance) as a statement about the human condition, probably