p&c.thunderhead-第11节

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ce　to　about　fifteen　feet　deep。　Now　it's　a　matter　of　canceling　out　some　of　the　wavelengths　and　multiplying　others。　This　is　where　the　real　artistry　es　in。〃　Nora　could　hear　a　touch　of　pride　in　his　voice。　
　He　began　typing　again；　more　quickly　this　time。　Nora　watched　as　a　new　window　opened　on　the　screen；　lines　of　puter　code　racing　as　routines　were　added　and　deleted。　The　remote　desert　vastness　was　suddenly　covered　by　a　thin　web　of　tracks。　
　〃My　God！〃　Nora　cried。　〃There　they　are！　I　had　no　idea　the　Anasazi…〃　
　〃Hold　on　a　minute；〃　interrupted　Holroyd。　〃Those　are　modern　trails。〃　
　〃But　this　area　isn't　supposed　to　have　any　roads。〃　
　Holroyd　shook　his　head。　〃Some　of　these　are　probably　wild　horse　trails；　deer　trails；　coyote　trails；　mountain　lion　trails；　maybe　even　four…wheel…drive　tracks。　There　was　some　prospecting　for　uranium　in　this　area　in　the　fifties。　Most　of　these　tracks　you　wouldn't　be　able　to　see　on　the　ground。〃　
　Nora　slumped　back　in　her　chair。　〃With　all　those　trails；　how　can　we　ever　find　the　Anasazi　one？〃　
　Holroyd　grinned。　〃Be　patient。　The　older　the　road；　the　deeper　it　tends　to　lie。　Very　old　roads　also　tend　to　spread　through　erosion　and　wind。　The　pebbles　ancient　travelers　turned　up　have　been　smoothed　over　time；　while　new　roads　are　covered　with　sharper　pebbles。　The　sharper　pebbles　backscatter　more　strongly　than　the　smooth　ones。〃　
　He　continued　to　type。　〃No　one　knows　why；　but　sometimes　dramatic　things　happen　if　you　multiply　the　values　of　two　wavelengths　together；　or　divide　them　by　each　other；　or　cube　one　and　take　the　square　root　of　another　and　subtract　the　cosine　of　your　mother's　age。〃　
　〃Doesn't　sound　very　scientific；〃　said　Nora。　
　Holroyd　grinned。　〃No；　but　it's　my　favorite　part。　When　data's　buried　as　deeply　as　this；　it　takes　real　intuition　and　creativity　to　tease　it　out。〃　
　He　worked　with　steady　determination。　Every　few　minutes　the　image　changed：　sometimes　dramatically；　sometimes　subtly。　Once　Nora　asked　a　question；　but　Holroyd　merely　shook　his　head；　brow　furrowed。　At　times；　all　the　roads　vanished；　Holroyd　would　curse；　type　a　flurry　of　mands；　and　the　roads　returned。　
　Time　crawled　by；　and　Holroyd　grew　increasingly　frustrated。　The　sweat　stood　out　on　his　brow；　and　his　hands　flew　across　the　keys；　hitting　them　with　greater　force。　Nora's　back　began　to　ache；　and　she　found　herself　shifting　constantly　in　the　cheap　chair；　trying　to　find　a　fortable　position。　
　At　last；　Holroyd　sat　back　with　a　muttered　curse。　〃I've　tried　all　the　methods；　all　the　tricks。　The　data　just　won't　put　out。〃　
　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　
　〃Either　I　get　a　million　roads　and　trails；　or　I　get　nothing。〃　He　got　up　and　went　to　the　refrigerator。　〃Beer？〃　
　〃Sure。〃　Nora　glanced　at　the　clock。　It　was　seven；　but　the　apartment　was　still　insufferably　hot。　
　Holroyd　sat　down　again；　passing　her　the　beer　and　propping　a　leg　up　on　the　puter　table。　A　knobby　ankle　protruded　from　below　the　cuff；　pale　and　hairless。　〃Is　there　anything　unusual　about　the　Anasazi　roads？　Something　that　might　differentiate　them　from　all　these　animal　trails　and　modern　stuff？〃　
　Nora　thought　for　a　moment；　then　shook　her　head。　
　〃What　were　the　roads　used　for？〃　
　〃Actually；　they　weren't　really　roads　at　all。〃　
　Holroyd　pulled　his　leg　from　the　table　and　sat　up。　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　
　〃They're　still　a　deep　archaeological　mystery。　The　Anasazi　didn't　know　about　the　wheel　and　they　didn't　have　any　beasts　of　burden。　They　had　no　use　for　a　road。　So　why　they　would　take　such　trouble　to　build　them　has　always　puzzled　archaeologists。〃　
　〃Go　on；〃　Holroyd　urged。　
　〃Whenever　archaeologists　don't　understand　something；　they　cop　out　by　saying　it　served　a　religious　purpose。　That's　what　they　say　about　the　roads。　They　think　they　might　have　been　spirit　pathways；　rather　than　roads　for　living　beings　to　travel　on。　Roads　to　guide　the　spirits　of　the　dead　back　to　the　underworld。〃　
　〃What　do　these　roads　look　like？〃　Holroyd　took　a　swig　of　beer。　
　〃Not　much　of　anything；〃　Nora　said。　〃In　fact；　they're　almost　impossible　to　see　from　the　ground。〃　
　Holroyd　looked　at　her　expectantly。　〃How　were　they　built？〃　
　〃The　roads　were　exactly　thirty　feet　wide；　surfaced　with　adobe。　On　the　Great　North　Road　it　appears　that　pots　were　deliberately　broken　on　the　road　surface　to　consecrate　it。　The　roads　were　dotted　with　shrines　called　herraduras；　but　we　have　no　idea…〃　
　〃Wait　a　minute；〃　Holroyd　interrupted。　〃You　said　they　were　surfaced　with　adobe。　What　exactly　is　adobe？〃　
　〃Mud；　basically。〃　
　〃Imported？〃　
　〃No；　usually　just　the　local　dirt　mixed　with　water；　puddled　and　plastered。〃　
　〃Too　bad。〃　The　excitement　left　Holroyd's　voice　as　quickly　as　it　came。　
　〃There's　not　much　else。　When　the　Great　North　Road　was　finally　abandoned　around　1250；　it　seems　to　have　been　ritually　closed。　The　Anasazi　piled　brush　on　the　road　and　set　it　on　fire。　They　also　burned　all　the　shrines　along　the　road。　And　they　burned　several　large　structures　too；　one　of　which　I　excavated　a　few　years　ago；　called　Burned　Jacal。　Seems　it　was　some　kind　of　lighthouse　or　signaling　structure。　God　knows　what　they　used　it　for。〃　
　Holroyd　sat　forward。　〃They　burned　brush　on　the　road？〃　
　〃The　Great　North　Road；　anyway。　Nobody　has　done　much　research　on　the　other　roads。〃　
　〃How　much　brush？〃　
　〃A　lot；〃　said　Nora。　〃We　found　large　swaths　of　charcoal。〃　
　Holroyd　slammed　down　the　beer；　swivelled　in　his　chair；　and　began　hitting　keys　once　again。　〃Charcoal…carbon…has　a　very　specific　radar　signature。　Even　tiny　amounts　of　it　absorb　radar。　It　has　an　almost　nonexistent　backscatter。〃　
　The　image　on　the　screen　began　to　shift。　〃So　what　we're　going　to　look　for；〃　he　murmured；　〃is　just　the　opposite　of　what　I've　been　searching　for　all　this　time。　Instead　of　looking　for　a　particular　reflection；　we're　going　to　look　for　a　shadow。　A　linear　hole　in　the　data。〃　He　punched　a　final　key。　
　Nora　watched　as　the　image　on　the　screen　disappeared。　And　then…as　a　new　image　scrolled　down　the　screen　with　maddening　slowness…she　saw　a　long；　faint；　sinuous　black　line　etch　itself　across　the　landscape：　broken　in　countless　spots；　yet　unmistakable。　
　〃There　it　is；〃　said　Holroyd　quietly；　sitting　back　and　looking　at　her；　his　face　shining　with　triumph。　
　〃That's　my　road　to　Quivira？〃　Nora　asked；　her　voice　trembling。　
　〃No。　That's　our　road　to　Quivira。〃　
　
　
8
　
　NORA　WORKED　HER　WAY　THROUGH　THE　early　evening　traffic；　struggling　to　keep　the　highway　ahead　from　blurring　into　parallel　images。　She　was　tired；　more　tired　than　she　could　remember　being　since　her　marathon　study　sessions　of　graduate　school。　Though　Holroyd　had　offered　to　put　her　up　in　his　apartment　the　night　before；　she　had　instead　opted　to　drive　straight　back　to　Santa　Fe　and　the　Institute。　She　had　arrived　a　little　after　ten　in　the　morning。　The　day　had　dragged　as　Nora；　exhausted　and　distracted；　tried　to　wrap　up　the　end…of…term　business。　Again　and　again；　her　mind　had　turned　back　to　Quivira　and　what　her　next　step　should　be。　She　sensed　it　was　pointless　to　approach　Blakewood　again；　even　with　this　startling　discovery；　there　was　little　chance　of　him　changing　his　mind。　She　had　passed　him　in　a　hallway　shortly　after　noon；　and　his　greeting　was　decidedly　cool。　
　She　slowed；　downshifting　to　second　as　she　turned　into　Verde　Estates；　her　townhouse　development。　The　afternoon　had　ended　on　an　unexpected　note：　a　call　from　Ernest　Goddard's　office；　requesting　a　meeting　the　following　morning。　Nora　had　never　even　spoken　to　the　Institute's　chairman　of　the　board；　and　she　could　think　of　no　reason…no　good　reason；　anyway…why　he　would　want　to　see　her。　She'd　been　absent　from　the　Institute　without　notice　for　two　days；　and　had　made　no　headway　on　the　Rio　Puerco　ceramics。　Perhaps　Blakewood　had　put　a　bug　in　his　ear　about　the　troublesome　junior　professor。　
　Nora　switched　on　her　headlights　as　she　navigated　through　the　curving　lanes。　Verde　Estates　might　be　a　development；　but　it　was　older　and　it　lacked　the　ludicrous　Santa　Fe…style　pretensions　of　the　newer　condo　plexes。　There　had　been　time　for　a　good　growth　of　fruit　and　fir　trees；　softening　the　edges　of　the　buildings。　A　calm　warmth　began　to　flow　into　her　tired　limbs　as　she　maneuvered　into　her　parking　space。　She'd　take　half　an　hour　to　relax；　then　fix　a　light　meal；　take　a　shower；　and　fall　into　bed。　Her　favorite　way　to　unwind　had　always　been　to　work　on　her　oboe　reeds。　Most　people　found　reed…making　a　tiresome；　endless　nuisance；　but　she　had　always　enjoyed　the　challenge。　
　Twisting　the　key　out　of　the　ignition；　she　grabbed　her　portfolio　and　bags　and　started　across　the　blacktop　toward　her　door。　Already；　she　was　mentally　laying　out　the　tools　she'd　need：　jeweler's　loup；　a　piece　of　good　French　cane；　silk　thread；　sheets　of　fish　skin　to　plug　leaks。　Mr。　Roehm；　her　high…school　oboe　teacher；　had　said　that　making　double　reeds　was　like　fly…tying：　an　art　and　a　science　in　which　a　thousand　things　could　go　wrong；　and　in　which　the　tinkering　was　never　done。　
　She　unlocked　the　front　door　and　stepped　inside。　Dropping　her　things；　she　leaned　back　against　the　door　and　closed　her　eyes　wearily；　too　exhausted　for　the　moment　to　turn　on　the　lights。　She　heard　the　low　growl　of　the　refrigerator；　a　dog　barking　hysterically　in　the　distance。　The　place　had　a　smell　she　didn't　remember。　Odd；　she　thought；　how　things　can　grow　unfamiliar　in　just　two　days。　
　Something　was　missi