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

Digging alternated with lectures.
"On a rock in Tassili, in the northern Sahara, on our home planet, is carved a line drawing of a figure in
a space suit. Who were these creatures?" The professor looked across the assembled group, sitting on
the ground around the camp fire, and his eye fell on John Thorin.
Thorin knew his lines by heart. "Most likely the Araqnids," he mumbled.
"Most definitely the Araqnids, Mr. Thorin. And there are similar markings in the Tulare region of
California. And where did the Araqnids come from, Mr. Thorin?"
Thorin bore it in patience. "Here on Ferria, somewhere."
"Yes. Very definitely. Somewhere here on this very planet. We have already detected several of their
rocket sites here. We have found their artifacts here, and fragments of their statues. We have a fair idea
of what they looked like. A rather small spider-like people, with tentacles. And just as we ride horses,
they rode furry bipeds,-- the Llanoans. We have established this in drawings on pottery. We postulate a
home city for them, which I have named Araqnia. Our prime objective for this seminar is to find
Araqnia."
"Good," thought the instrumentalist. "He is off on Araqnia. Nobody will get chewed out for the rest of
the lecture."
***


* * *


3. The Wind
***


Next day, the professor said to Thorin, "I am assigning you to the sifting screen. The excavators will
bring you the soil they have dug up, one wheelbarrow after another. They will help you shovel it onto the
screen bed. You press the button, here, and the machinery will vibrate the screen. The soil will drop
through. Potsherds, small artifacts, anything the shovels missed, will be retained on the screen. When you
see anything, pick it up right away and put it on the collection table. This is very simple. A child could do
it. Do you think you will have any trouble?"
"Of course not, sir."
"Don't say "of course not.' I am taking a chance on you. Just do it."
"Yes, sir."
As he expected, there was nothing to it. The hours passed, and the wheelbarrows kept rolling up. He
helped them unload. The waste dropped through the sieve into the little mining car, which moved off
down the slope to dump its burden, and then rolled back again. Once in a while he caught an over-size
pebble on the screen. That was all.
After lunch, it became hotter, but the afternoon breeze from the plateau got stronger and kept the
perspiration stripped from his body. The breeze felt fine. He shifted around to windward of the sieve to
keep the loess from blowing over him.
At this point an unfortunate thing happened. Coret had wheeled up a load of soil. Together they had
shoveled it onto the screen. Then she had turned the wheelbarrow around, and he had switched the
shaker on and was watching her push the barrow back down the boarded path. The wind was gusting
sharply, and she had to stop for a moment to retie her kerchief about her hair. The bare hint of her
jasmine perfume brushed his nostrils. As he faced back to the sifter, there was Professor Speidel,
frantically picking things out of the sieve box.
"Turn it off!" cried the professor.
Thorin turned it off. "What's the matter?"