"Jacqueline Lichtenberg - Molt Brother" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lichtenberg Jacqueline)

room. Arshel took her place at her bhirhir's side, facing more toward him than toward Lakely.
The man opened with, "You owe me an explanation."
"I honestly did my best, Dad. I was second by only three points, and there's no disgrace in being second to Omar
Pichulo."
"You realize this may have lost you any chance at the Cuzco Scholarship to Camiat University?"
"There are other factors they judge besides school stand-ing."
"Are you making excuses?"
"No, sir." If Dennis were kren, he'd be raising venom.
"Did you spend enough time on your studies?"
"Yes, sir. I let nothing interfere with that." He threw an anxious glance at Arshel. "Nothing at all, Dad. Omar's record
was perfect. Somebody had to be second."
"Not a Lakely."
"Yes, sir."
"What do you plan to do about this?"
"I've almost finished a paper on the prehistory of Vra-shin Island to submit to the Cuzco committee together with the
essay on my choice of archeology as my piofes-sion. It's an original approach I'm sure Omar hasn't thought of."
Lakely nodded tentatively and then clicked his gaze away from his son to the array of monitors before him. "We'll see
how it works out. Meanwhile, I've some things to go over here. Dorsan has made a little progress analyz-ing the
contents of that box at last."
Back in their own quarters, Dennis collapsed into a chair. She could smell his nervous perspiration, and she could see
his whole body shaking in reaction. Almost gag-ging on the smell, she sat on the edge of the chair and put one hand
carefully on his shoulder, frustrated that her mere presence wasn't soothing him as a bhirhir should do.
"Dennis, does your mother know he treats you like that?"
Staring straight ahead, he said, "She's probably in her room, crying miserably over my failure."
"I can't believe this is really happening."
"Oh, it's real. I'm a Lakely, Arshel, and now so are you."
His bleak tone triggered off something deep in Arshel. "And we're going to live up to it," she said firmly, while
privately she wished that she could have brought Dennis to Holtethor and left that man behind them forever.
Bitterly, Dennis said, "I should've sabotaged Omar's grade that one time I had the chance."
Her pride of the afternoon returned. "But you didn't because you're very much a Lakely. Omar wouldn't stop at
anything to sabotage you if he had the chance. That kind of person can't win, not against a true Lakely."
It took another hour and several cups of coffee, but she infected him with her vision and enthusiasm. He went to work
on his paper with renewed vitality. Now that she understood what was at stake for him, she curtailed their evenings by
the ocean and preserved the serious mood of school during dinner. She let him talk on and on about his paper,
building his confidence. Then, in a whirl, the writing was over, and graduation came Before they had recovered from
the celebrations, they were called to Nunin Lakely's field office at the dig.
They reported there covered with white dust and dressed only in work clothes. The field office was a small shack set
on the rim of the dig, with one oversized window giv-ing a comprehensive view of the pit. There was barely room for
the two of them to stand before Lakely's desk. Through a door behind him, Arshel could make out the orderly room
where Madlain Lakely worked, but it was empty.

Behind the desk and to one side stood Dorsan, the human Interface, his deep tan coated with a thick film of the same
white dust that covered them. He had a packet in his hand. "I've got the tapes, Mr. Lakely. There are a number of good
clear images, and I've done my best to clarify the rest."
Lakely took the package and said to Arshel and Dennis, "Just a moment, I want to check these."
He slid one of the tapes into a recess on the desk. Ex-cited, Arshel strained to see the tracings of alien writing,
meaningless to everyone alive today.
Lakely muttered, "Yes, Dorsan, this is a definite im-provement. Has any word come from the Ortenaus yet?"
The archeolinguists Barinn and Hetta Ortenau had been asked to translate the find because they were the best in the
business. But they lived high in the mainland moun-tains, in the city of Firestrip, where the renowned Camiat