"Donald E. Wollheim - The Secret of the ninth Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wollheim Donald A)

tall, sandy-haired youth was sitting astraddle a pile of dust, methodically
sifting it through a wide-mesh strainer. A large pile of sifted sand gave
evidence of the length of his efforts, and one broken bit of clay was the only
result he had obtained.
Two of the Indian guides sat patiently in the shade, watching them. One was
digging slowly, turning up more dirt to be sifted.
"I think we've had enough here," said the elder Denning. "Burl, you can knock
off. Tomorrow well pull up stakes and see what is in the next valley. We'll try
to follow that old Inca road over the mountains. I don't believe anyone has ever
penetrated there-- and the airplane surveys indicated some evidence of human
dwellings."
Burl nodded, and set the sifter down. He'd learned to curb his natural energies
for the exacting tasks required of serious scientific research. "Okay," he said,
"I was hoping you'd move on soon, Dad. This looked like a washout from the
first. I'd say this place was sacked and ruined even before the Incas fell."
The older man nodded. "I suppose so. Well, let's wash up and see what's for
supper."
They went down to the icy mountain stream to wash the dirt from their hands.
"It's been a nice day," Burl commented. "In spite of the Sun being out steadily,
it wasn't hot at all. Cooler than yesterday."
Mark Denning looked up at the sky and the Sun lowering toward the horizon.
"There must have been some volcanic dust in the heavens," he said. "The Sun's
been a bit dimmed, have you noticed?"
Burl squinted his eyes against the glare. "Wasn't any eruption around here.
Maybe in Ecuador?"
His father shrugged. "Could have been, thousands of miles away," was his slow
reply. "Volcanic dust travels around the world, just as radioactive dust
permeated the atmosphere from atomic testings. They say that the dust from the
great Krakatoa explosion remained in the atmosphere for three years before the
last of it settled."
When they had finished supper and the Sun was casting its last red rays over the
rapidly purpling landscape, Burl got out the expedition radio, set up its
antenna, plugged in its compact atomic battery, and tried to get the news from
Lima. All he got was static.
He fiddled with the dials for a long time, twisting the antenna, ranging the
wavelengths, but there was static everywhere. "Strange," he said to his father,
"something's disturbed reception completely."
Pedro Gonzales, their official Peruvian guide, leaned over. "Could be the
battery she is broken, eh?"
Burl shook his head. "Not this battery," he said. "It's a brand-new one, a real
keen development. And I already checked the wiring. It's some sort of
disturbance that's blocking reception. Maybe we're in a dead zone or something."

"Wasn't dead yesterday," said his father. "Maybe that eruption was radioactive."



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