"Reed, Robert - TreasureBuried" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

"And tie up the machinery? Take lab-tech time?"

He couldn't have given any reason; Wallace had only a feeling, distinct but
imprecise, that something useful might come out of it.

"Listen," he said. "why don't you keep people at it? If you need, I'll get
Mekal's signature. Okay?"

Meiter hesitated.

Then Wallace said, "Just do!"

Meiter laughed. "All right. We've got a block of empty time soon. Someone gives
me shit, I'll send them to you."

And a couple days later it was done. Wallace asked his computer to find
such-and-such series of bases among the poly-A -- you never knew where it might
be -- but soon it became obvious that thirty thousand years ago, in at least
this one unfortunate woman, the telltale bit of DNA was missing.

Yes, he thought, it couldn't serve any important genetic function.

And yes, probably no other res catcher on the globe would care about such a tiny
treasure.

Yet Wallace found the enthusiasm to open every file, working through the night
and the next day, then losing track of an entire weekend, again and again asking
himself why every living organism now had this one genetic shout . . . and
finally perceiving a simple, coherent answer that he checked and double-checked
and then triple-checked, becoming more certain every instant. At long last . .
." Good God!". . . placing both hands flush against the top of his desk, rising
and trying to find the doorway to his office of six years. . . .

It was a night of supreme clarity; and Wallace knew he was at his pinnacle.
Never again, no matter how long he lived, would he succeed in anything so
glorious, so wondrous.

Yet while he wandered the hallways, hunting for anyone to tell his news, if only
a napping guard, he had a new thought, stopped and dipped his head,
concentrating hard on a new possibility.

Five minutes, and he'd superseded his first success.

Hands shaking with excitement, tired eyes weeping, Wallace felt the ceiling
split as his joyous spirit sailed free . . .!

"You look like shit," Mekal reported. "Glance at a mirror, Wallace. I'm worried.
My prize heifer, and you look wrung out and half-dead. Not to mention your
aroma, which isn't pretty either."