"Michael Swanwick - Bones of the Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

noninferential identification of a dinosaur footprint ever!"
"That explains how you know it's an apatosaur. What about the allosaurs?"
Leyster grinned, and enlarged the image so that a single vertebra's imprint dominated the screen. A
double-click of the trackball's left button and -- God bless Ralph! -- the boneprint inverted, changing it
from a negative to a positive image. He zoomed in on the caudal articular process. "If you look closely,
you can actually see an allosaur tooth embedded in the bone and broken off. No signs of healing. One of
those bad boys lost it, either during the attack or while gnawing on the corpse."
Those enormous hands applauded softly, sardonically. "Astounding." There was a kind of disconnect
between what Griffin said and the way he said it. He sounded like an actor in a dying play. He held
himself like a man who had heard it all before. He was, Leyster realized with a shock that was almost
physical, bored. Bored! How could anyone intelligent enough to follow his explanation possibly be bored
by it? Carelessly, Griffin said, "Doubtless there's a book in it for you."
"This is a book; it's better than any book! There's never been anything like it. I'll be studying it for
years."
Leyster had already consulted with ranchers who had lost livestock to wolves and mountain lions and
were only too familiar with the physical trace of predation sites. A friend at the National Museum of the
American Indian had promised to get him in touch with a professional guide, a Navajo who, she claimed,
could track a trout through water or a hawk through a cloud. There was no telling how much information
might yet be coaxed out of this one specimen.
"Let me tell you something. When I uncovered this, when I first realized what I had, it was the single
most profound moment of my life." That was out on Burning Woman Ridge, with the mountains to one
side of him and hardscrabble ranchlands to the other, and the hottest, bluest sky in all creation overhead.
He'd felt everything draw away from him then, the happy chatter of his crew, the grate of shovels in dirt,
leaving him alone in a kind of holy stillness. There wasn't a sound or motion anywhere, not even a puff of
wind. He felt the presence of God. "And I thought finding this, all by itself, justifies my existence on
Earth. And you want me to give it up? Oh, no. I think not."
"On the contrary," Griffin said. "I have a much clearer idea of the value of your find than you do. And
what I have to offer is better. Much better."
"With all due respect, Mr. Griffin..."
Griffin raised both hands, palms forward. "Please. Hear me out."
"All right."
The room was empty and Griffin had closed the door behind him on entering. He slowly looked
around him before speaking anyway. Then he cleared his throat, apologized for doing so, and said, "Let
me begin by spelling out the terms of the contract, just to save me the trouble later on. You'll be allowed


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 Michael Swanwick - Bones of the Earth

to stay in your present position, and arrangements will be made to borrow your services for the project six
aggregate months out of the year. You'll continue to be paid by the government, so I'm afraid there won't
be any increase in your salary. Sorry."
He's enjoying this, thought Leyster. Science bores him to death, but having opposition to overcome
brings him back to life. Ordinarily, Leyster didn't find people very interesting. But Griffin was different.
He studied the impassive planes of the man's face, looking for a point of entry, a beginning to
understanding, the least flicker of a hint as to what made him work. Leyster knew himself to be a
methodical researcher; give him one end of a tangled thread and he wouldn't let go until he'd unraveled
the entire snarl. All he needed was enough time and that one loose end.
And then Griffin did an extraordinary thing. It was the smallest of gestures, one Leyster wouldn't have
noticed under ordinary circumstances. Now he found it riveting. Without looking, Griffin brushed back