"Alastair Reynolds - Revelation Space" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Alastair)

REVELATION SPACE



ONE

Mantell Sector, North Nekhebet, Resurgam, Delta Pavonis system, 2551

There was a razorstorm coming in.
Sylveste stood on the edge of the excavation and wondered if any of his labours would survive
the night. The archaeological dig was an array of deep square shafts separated by baulks of sheer-
sided soil: the classical Wheeler box-grid. The shafts went down tens of metres, walled by
transparent cofferdams spun from hyperdiamond. A million years of stratified geological history
pressed against the sheets. But it would take only one good dustfall -- one good razorstorm -- to fill
the shafts almost to the surface.
'Confirmation, sir,' said one of his team, emerging from the crouched form of the first crawler.
The man's voice was muffled behind his breather mask. 'Cuvier's just issued a severe weather
advisory for the whole North Nekhebet landmass. They're advising all surface teams to return to the
nearest base.'
'You're saying we should pack up and drive back to Mantell?'
'It's going to be a hard one, sir.' The man fidgeted, drawing the collar of his jacket tighter around
his neck. 'Shall I issue the general evacuation order?'
Sylveste looked down at the excavation grid, the sides of each shaft brightly lit by the banks of
floodlights arrayed around the area. Pavonis never got high enough at these latitudes to provide
much useful illumination; now, sinking towards the horizon and clotted by great cauls of dust, it
was little more than a rusty-red smear, hard for his eyes to focus on. Soon dust devils would come,
scurrying across the Ptero Steppes like so many overwound toy gyroscopes. Then the main thrust of
the storm, rising like a black anvil.
'No,' he said. 'There's no need for us to leave. We're well sheltered here -- there's hardly any
erosion pattering on those boulders, in case you hadn't noticed. If the storm becomes too harsh, we'll
shelter in the crawlers.'
The man looked at the rocks, shaking his head as if doubting the evidence of his ears. 'Sir, Cuvier
only issue an advisory of this severity once every year or two -- it's an order of magnitude above
anything we've experienced before.'
'Speak for yourself,' Sylveste said, noticing the way the man's gaze snapped involuntarily to his
eyes and then off again, embarrassed. 'Listen to me. We cannot afford to abandon this dig. Do you
understand?'
The man looked back at the grid. 'We can protect what we've uncovered with sheeting, sir. Then
bury transponders. Even if the dust covers every shaft, we'll be able to find the site again and get
back to where we are now.' Behind his dust goggles, the man's eyes were wild, beseeching. 'When
we return, we can put a dome over the whole grid. Wouldn't that be the best, sir, rather than risk
people and equipment out here?'
Sylveste took a step closer to the man, forcing him to step back towards the grid's closest shaft.
'You're to do the following. Inform all dig teams that they carry on working until I say otherwise,
and that there is to be no talk of retreating to Mantell. Meanwhile, I want only the most sensitive
instruments taken aboard the crawlers. Is that understood?'
'But what about people, sir?'
'People are to do what they came out here to do. Dig.'
 Sylveste stared reproachfully at the man, almost inviting him to question the order, but after a
long moment of hesitation the man turned on his heels and scurried across the grid, navigating the