[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
at the heat to come. It was spring here, but there had been little rain. There
was hardly a breath of wind. Arthur jumped down from the bulky, big-tired gray
Royal Australian Army staff vehicle into red dust and stared across the golden
plain at the Rock. The science advisor, David Rotterjack, stepped down behind
him. Less than a dozen meters away, the first circle of razor-wire-topped
hurricane fence began, curving in broad scallops through silver-gray mulga
scrub and spiky spinifex.
Quentin Bent walked with a short-legged, almost eager waddle along the red
dirt path to the edge of the road. Bent was in his mid-forties, heavy and
florid-faced, with a forward-swept bush of gray hair, an easy smile, and
sharp, pessimistic blue eyes. He extended his hand to Rotterjack first. In
another Army vehicle, Bent's assistants, Forbes and French, accompanied
Charles Warren, the geologist from Kent State.
"Mr. Arthur Gordon," Bent said, shaking Arthur's hand. "I've just finished
reading the draft American task force report. Your work, and Dr. Feinman's,
largely, am I correct?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "I hope it was clear."
"All too clear," Bent said, lifting his chin as if smelling the air, but
keeping his eyes on Arthur. "Very disturbing. Gentlemen, I've received a
message from our Shmoos we all call them that now, they can't really be
offended, can they? and we're scheduled to have a meeting with them at noon
today in trailer three." Almost breathlessly, he said, "Each day...they travel
from the Rock to our conference trailer. They never leave the vicinity of the
Rock. Before then, we will have breakfast in the mess trailer, and then a tour
of the site, if you're up to it. Did you get enough sleep, Dr. Gordon, Mr.
Rotterjack, Dr. Warren?"
"Sufficient," Rotterjack said, his eyes dark.
Bent flashed a smile and waddled into place ahead of them. "Follow me," he
said.
Arthur fell in step beside Warren, a man of middle height and build with
wispy, thinning brown hair brushed across a bald spot and large eyes above a
long nose. "What does it look like?" he asked.
"A lot like Ayers Rock, only smaller," Warren answered, shaking his head.
"It's less convincing than the cinder cone in Death Valley. Frankly, I
wouldn't have been surprised to find it at Disney World."
The breakfast went smoothly. They were introduced to several of the scientists
measuring and analyzing the Rock, including the head of the materials team,
Dr. Christine Carmichael. She explained that the minerals making up the Rock
were all clearly earthbound none of the surrounding "camouflage" material had
arrived from space. Arthur tried to visualize the construction of the Rock,
away from all human witnesses; he could not.
Other discussion was brief. Bent asked only three questions: how they planned
to release the news (Rotterjack replied that at present there were no such
plans), how they interpreted the Guest's story about planet-eating spacecraft
(it seemed straightforward), and whether they believed there was a connection
between the Death Valley cinder cone and the Rock. Rotterjack was unwilling to
commit himself. Warren did not believe he had spent enough time on the project
to render a useful opinion. Arthur nodded once; there was a definite
connection.
"Can't have too many interstellar visitors in one year, eh?" Bent asked.
"It seems very unlikely," Arthur said.
"But not impossible?" Bent pursued.
"Not beyond possibility, but difficult to conceive."
"Still, we're all quite ignorant about what's out there, aren't we?" Forbes
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
asked, smoothing back his white-blond hair with one hand.
"There could have been a wave of machine migrations, finally reaching this
vicinity," French added. "Perhaps whole civilizations have grown up along an
evolutionary timetable, and like rain precipitating out of a cloud, the time
has come ..."
Bent leaned over his now empty plates of steak, eggs, and fruit. "We're an
optimistic bunch, Dr. Gordon. Our nation is younger than yours. Let me say,
right out, that we have an interest in this being a good thing. The P.M. and
the Cabinet not to mention the Reverend Mr. Caldecott..." He glanced around,
grinning broadly. Forbes and French mimicked his grin. "We _all_ believe this
could lift us into the forefront of all nations. We could be a center of
immense activity, construction, education, research. If the Furnace is
something horrible, which it seems to be, we might still cling to the notion
that the Rock is different. Whether it serves us ill or not. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly clear," Rotterjack said. "We d like to agree with you." He glanced
at Arthur.
"We can t, however," Arthur said.
"For the moment, then, amicable disagreement and open minds. Gentlemen, we
have a helicopter waiting."
In the late morning light, the Rock s colors had been subdued to a bright
russet mixed with streaks of ocher. Arthur, looking through the concentric
networks of tiny scratches in the helicopter s Plexiglas windows, shook his
head. "The detail is astonishing," he shouted above the whine of the jets and
the thumping roar of the blades. Warren nodded, squinting against a sudden
glare of sun. "It s granite, all right, but there s no exfoliation. The
banding is vertical, which is entirely wrong for this area more appropriate to
Ayers Rock than here. And where are the wind features, the hollows and caves?
It s a reasonably convincing imitation unless you re a geologist. But my
question is, why go to all the trouble to disguise the Rock, when they knew
they d be coming out in the open?"
"They haven t explicitly answered several of our questions," Bent admitted.
"Directly below us is the opening through which our Shmoos emerge to confer [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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at the heat to come. It was spring here, but there had been little rain. There
was hardly a breath of wind. Arthur jumped down from the bulky, big-tired gray
Royal Australian Army staff vehicle into red dust and stared across the golden
plain at the Rock. The science advisor, David Rotterjack, stepped down behind
him. Less than a dozen meters away, the first circle of razor-wire-topped
hurricane fence began, curving in broad scallops through silver-gray mulga
scrub and spiky spinifex.
Quentin Bent walked with a short-legged, almost eager waddle along the red
dirt path to the edge of the road. Bent was in his mid-forties, heavy and
florid-faced, with a forward-swept bush of gray hair, an easy smile, and
sharp, pessimistic blue eyes. He extended his hand to Rotterjack first. In
another Army vehicle, Bent's assistants, Forbes and French, accompanied
Charles Warren, the geologist from Kent State.
"Mr. Arthur Gordon," Bent said, shaking Arthur's hand. "I've just finished
reading the draft American task force report. Your work, and Dr. Feinman's,
largely, am I correct?"
"Yes," Arthur said. "I hope it was clear."
"All too clear," Bent said, lifting his chin as if smelling the air, but
keeping his eyes on Arthur. "Very disturbing. Gentlemen, I've received a
message from our Shmoos we all call them that now, they can't really be
offended, can they? and we're scheduled to have a meeting with them at noon
today in trailer three." Almost breathlessly, he said, "Each day...they travel
from the Rock to our conference trailer. They never leave the vicinity of the
Rock. Before then, we will have breakfast in the mess trailer, and then a tour
of the site, if you're up to it. Did you get enough sleep, Dr. Gordon, Mr.
Rotterjack, Dr. Warren?"
"Sufficient," Rotterjack said, his eyes dark.
Bent flashed a smile and waddled into place ahead of them. "Follow me," he
said.
Arthur fell in step beside Warren, a man of middle height and build with
wispy, thinning brown hair brushed across a bald spot and large eyes above a
long nose. "What does it look like?" he asked.
"A lot like Ayers Rock, only smaller," Warren answered, shaking his head.
"It's less convincing than the cinder cone in Death Valley. Frankly, I
wouldn't have been surprised to find it at Disney World."
The breakfast went smoothly. They were introduced to several of the scientists
measuring and analyzing the Rock, including the head of the materials team,
Dr. Christine Carmichael. She explained that the minerals making up the Rock
were all clearly earthbound none of the surrounding "camouflage" material had
arrived from space. Arthur tried to visualize the construction of the Rock,
away from all human witnesses; he could not.
Other discussion was brief. Bent asked only three questions: how they planned
to release the news (Rotterjack replied that at present there were no such
plans), how they interpreted the Guest's story about planet-eating spacecraft
(it seemed straightforward), and whether they believed there was a connection
between the Death Valley cinder cone and the Rock. Rotterjack was unwilling to
commit himself. Warren did not believe he had spent enough time on the project
to render a useful opinion. Arthur nodded once; there was a definite
connection.
"Can't have too many interstellar visitors in one year, eh?" Bent asked.
"It seems very unlikely," Arthur said.
"But not impossible?" Bent pursued.
"Not beyond possibility, but difficult to conceive."
"Still, we're all quite ignorant about what's out there, aren't we?" Forbes
Page 69
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
asked, smoothing back his white-blond hair with one hand.
"There could have been a wave of machine migrations, finally reaching this
vicinity," French added. "Perhaps whole civilizations have grown up along an
evolutionary timetable, and like rain precipitating out of a cloud, the time
has come ..."
Bent leaned over his now empty plates of steak, eggs, and fruit. "We're an
optimistic bunch, Dr. Gordon. Our nation is younger than yours. Let me say,
right out, that we have an interest in this being a good thing. The P.M. and
the Cabinet not to mention the Reverend Mr. Caldecott..." He glanced around,
grinning broadly. Forbes and French mimicked his grin. "We _all_ believe this
could lift us into the forefront of all nations. We could be a center of
immense activity, construction, education, research. If the Furnace is
something horrible, which it seems to be, we might still cling to the notion
that the Rock is different. Whether it serves us ill or not. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly clear," Rotterjack said. "We d like to agree with you." He glanced
at Arthur.
"We can t, however," Arthur said.
"For the moment, then, amicable disagreement and open minds. Gentlemen, we
have a helicopter waiting."
In the late morning light, the Rock s colors had been subdued to a bright
russet mixed with streaks of ocher. Arthur, looking through the concentric
networks of tiny scratches in the helicopter s Plexiglas windows, shook his
head. "The detail is astonishing," he shouted above the whine of the jets and
the thumping roar of the blades. Warren nodded, squinting against a sudden
glare of sun. "It s granite, all right, but there s no exfoliation. The
banding is vertical, which is entirely wrong for this area more appropriate to
Ayers Rock than here. And where are the wind features, the hollows and caves?
It s a reasonably convincing imitation unless you re a geologist. But my
question is, why go to all the trouble to disguise the Rock, when they knew
they d be coming out in the open?"
"They haven t explicitly answered several of our questions," Bent admitted.
"Directly below us is the opening through which our Shmoos emerge to confer [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]