Марсианские хроники
August 2002: Night Meeting
Marswasalwaysquiet,butquietertonightthananyother.Thedesertsandemptyseasswungbyhim,andthemountainsagainstthestars.
TherewasasmellofTimeintheairtonight.Hesmiledandturnedthefancyinhismind.Therewasathought.WhatdidTimesmelllike?Likedustandclocksandpeople.AndifyouwonderedwhatTimesoundedlikeitsoundedlikewaterrunninginadarkcaveandvoicescryinganddirtdroppingdownuponhollowboxlids,andrain.And,goingfurther,whatdidTimelooklike?Timelookedlikesnowdroppingsilentlyintoablackroomoritlookedlikeasilentfilminanancienttheater,onehundredbillionfacesfallinglikethoseNewYearballoons,downanddownintonothing.ThatwashowTimesmelledandlookedandsounded.Andtonight—Tomasshovedahandintothewindoutsidethetruck—tonightyoucouldalmosttouchTime.
HedrovethetruckbetweenhillsofTime.Hisneckprickledandhesatup,watchingahead.
HepulledintoalittledeadMartiantown,stoppedtheengine,andletthesilencecomeinaroundhim.Hesat,notbreathing,lookingoutatthewhitebuildingsinthemoonlight.Uninhabitedforcenturies.Perfect,faultless,inruins,yes,butperfect,nevertheless.
Hestartedtheengineanddroveonanothermileormorebeforestoppingagain,climbingout,carryinghislunchbucket,andwalkingtoalittlepromontorywherehecouldlookbackatthatdustycity.Heopenedhisthermosandpouredhimselfacupofcoffee.Anightbirdflewby.Hefeltverygood,verymuchatpeace.
