"Davis, Jerry - Dna Prospector" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

courting for several months now, was 19 years standard, with
olive-brown skin, brown eyes, and long straight brown-black hair.
The top of her head didn't quite make it to Gregson's shoulders, so
she had to look up at him to show him her smile.
Her younger brother, Frank, wasn't smiling. He was 17 and
shared his sister's hair and complexion. He was a head taller than
her, however, and almost as tall as Gregson. He was huskier than
Gregson, with square shoulders and a beefy chest. He reached down
as Gregson approached and touched a button on the digital panel
embedded in the dog's head. The dog began to growl.
"Frank!" Bethany said. She touched the animal's head, and the
growling stopped.
Frank reached for the dog again and she slapped his hand. They
glared at each other for a moment, and he turned and stomped off.
She turned and smiled at Gregson again, ushering him up to the
house and inside.
The food tasted wonderful, and the coffee was nice and strong.
As he ate, Bethany walked lightly around the table, talking. "...
and since we haven't seen any large tracks of any kind, we don't
think it's really an animal at all. Dad thinks it's spoor from one
of the plants. And I was thinking, if we could find what the source
is before my Dad does, you and I could share the title."
Gregson sipped his coffee, watching her walk, admiring her
soft curves and listening happily to her disarming voice. "If I
agreed to something like that," he told her, "your father would
have your brother kill me."
Bethany stopped, cocking her head to one side and looking at
him through whisps of her hair. "I don't think so."
"Besides, if it's a psycho-reactive agent then it's probably
useless to us. It can be reproduced artificially. The only thing
that would be valuable is if it's something that can only be
produced by a living thing, and we get the rights to the DNA code.
That's the key. If only the DNA can produce it, if the living thing
in and of itself is of value, can we profit."
"Like, if it's a psychic effect."
Gregson nodded. He stabbed the last bit of egg with a fork and
put it in his mouth.
"Dad doesn't believe in that sort of thing."
"Where is your Dad now, anyway?"
"Out at the catfish farm."
He paused in his chewing for a moment, looking into her eyes.
"Out there, huh?"
"Yeah." Her eyes betrayed worry. "I hope he's okay."
"I'm sure he is. You said you never found tracks. It's not an
animal."
"I said we never found large tracks."
Gregson dropped the fork on the table and reached out for her.
"Come here." She leaned into him, and he put his arms around her
and gave her a long hug. "He's going to be okay," he said.
"I know," Bethany said. She kissed him. They smiled at each