"Christopher Moore - The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

moving east, away from the coast. Rats did not behave that way.
Gabe ran the data backward, looking at the rodents' movements over the
last few hours. The exodus had started abruptly, only two hours ago, and
already most of the rats had moved over a mile inland. They were running
full-tilt and going far beyond their normal range. Rats are sprinters, not
long-distance runners. Something was up.
Gabe hit a key and a tiny green number appeared next to each of the dots.
Each chip was unique, and each rat could be identified like airplanes on the
screen of an air traffic controller. Rat 363 hadn't moved outside of a
two-meter range for five days. Gabe had assumed that she had either given
birth or was ill. Now 363 was half a mile from her normal territory.
Anomalies are both the bane and bread of researchers. Gabe was excited by
the data, but at the same time it made him anxious. An anomaly like this could
lead to a discovery, or make him look like a total fool. He cross-checked the
data three different ways, then tapped into the weather station on the roof.
Nothing was happening in the way of weather, all changes in barometric
pressure, humidity, wind, and temperature were well within normal ranges. He
looked out the window: a low fog was settling on the shore, totally normal. He
could just make out the lighthouse a hundred yards away. It had been shut down
for twenty years, used only as a weather station and as a base for biological
research.
He grabbed a blanket off of his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders
against the chill, then returned to his desk. The green dots were still
moving. He dialed the number for JPL in Pasadena, Skinner was still barking
outside.
"Skinner, shut the fuck up!" Gabe shouted just as the automated answering
service put him through to the seismology lab. A woman answered. She sounded
young, probably an intern. "Excuse me?" she said.
"Sorry, I was yelling at my dog. Yes, hello, this is Dr. Gabe Fenton at
the research station in Pine Cove, just wondering if you have any seismic
activity in my area."
"Pine Cove? Can I get a longitude and latitude?"
Gabe gave it to her. "I think I'm looking for something offshore."
"Nothing. Minor tremor centered at Parkfield yesterday at 9 A.M. Point
zero-five-three. You wouldn't even be able to feel it. Have you picked
something up on your instruments?"
"I don't have seismographic instruments. That's why I called you. This is
a biological research and weather station."
"I'm sorry, Doctor, I didn't know. I'm new here. Did you feel something?"
"No. My rats are moving." As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't.
"Pardon me?"
"Never mind, I was just checking. I'm having some anomalous behavior in
some specimens. If you pick up anything in the next few days, could you call
me?" He gave her his number.
"You think your rats are predicting an earthquake, Doctor?"
"I didn't say that."
"You should know that there's no concrete data on animals predicting
seismic activity."
"I know that, but I'm trying to eliminate all the possibilities."
"Did it occur to you that your dog might be scaring them?"