"Charles L. Harness-The Araqnid Window" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

"But what if I find Araqnia this trip?"
"No. The answer is still the same. Firstly, there's no such thing as Araqnia. Secondly, even if there
were, there's still the question of the budget. Thirdly, you are seventy years old."
Well, no matter. He had immediately written all the foundations and museums. Somewhere there must
be a place for him. But the replies had come back, one by one, each one a kick in the stomach. Every
few days he got another one. "Our staff full for the coming season."
God, it was hell to be old. Thirty years ago, when he had yet to write the first edition of Comparative
Archaeology, he had got a dozen offers when he closed up his first expedition. There was still hope, of
course. He had yet to hear from Interstellar Geographic. They had financed Derain, the discoverer of this
planet, fifty years ago. He should have a TX from them any day now. He had given them three proposals
of varying scope and expense, all directed to finding the lost city. The third and cheapest proposal was
simply to toss up an orbiting satellite to make a combination photo-sonar scan of the entire planet, with
computerized enhancements. Geographic was his last hope.
He switched the tent light on, shaved and dressed quickly, and got out his notes for the morning
lecture. A few minutes later the twin suns of Algol burst over the horizon like a nuclear explosion. From
down the camp street he could hear the chattering begin. Why did young people have to make so much
noise?
The youngsters seemed to feel a duty to make a racket day and night. With the lights-out signal, when
sane people should be composing themselves for slumber, the camp put on a new burst of energy. Night
brought out the guitars, the concertinas, the singers, and the two moons. One big moon and one little
moon, skipping and dancing as it orbited the big one. And there was giggling, music, and waltzing on the
sward for all hours, probably with liquor. At night he buttoned his tent flap tight and refused to inquire as
to what might be going on out there. God knows what all they did. But they looked fresh and bright in the
morning. That was what counted. He did not really care what they did so long as they were ready for
another good day's work at the dig.
They made him think back to his own student days. He thought of girls, beer, and drinking songs. Why
had he never married? He was out in the field too much. It would not have been right to ask a woman to
share the hard life at the dig site with him. And yet, these young people today... There were plenty of girls
in the groups he had brought here, year after year. And several married couples. The Thorins, for
example. The girls did not seem to mind the rough life. But of course they would change when the babies
started coming. No, archeology was no life for a woman.
He considered the way the young women dressed. Faded blue jeans stretched tightly across their
rumps. In his generation it would never have been done. In his student days the girls had worn dresses in
the field. Khaki, generally. Occasionally, perhaps a split skirt. Times had changed, but he had not. Did
that mean he was truly getting old? He had to turn up something on this trip. Not that it would help him at
the University. The course would have a different teacher next summer, no matter what happened. Too
bad. He'd taken a group here for twelve years.
Archaeology 411. Excavations on Ferria. Examination of artifacts. Study of parallel evolution
of Araqnid-Llanoan culture. 3 credits.
Araqnia, where are you?
He could hear the young voices in the mess tent, half a kilometer away. What were they talking about?
Him? Perhaps.
He knew their name for him. Rider the Spider. They thought him a monomaniac. Well, perhaps he
was. It was the only way to make a name in this field. Perhaps he was like Captain Ahab in search of the
great white whale. He saw good and evil only in terms of what helped or hindered his search for the
fabled Araqnia. It permitted a crystal-clear morality. Sometimes he awoke in a sweat at night, dreaming
that he had died before he had found the city. Get hold of an obsession and never let go. That was the
way the others had done it. And so would he.
He smiled grimly. Let them chirp and chatter, if that is what they had to do. Just so long as they turned
up an artifact or two today.