Марсианские хроники

           Perhapsfiveminuteslatertherewasasound.Offinthehills,wheretheancienthighwaycurved,therewasamotion,adimlight,andthenamurmur.

           Tomasturnedslowlywiththecoffeecupinhishand.

           Andoutofthehillscameastrangething.

           Itwasamachinelikeajade-greeninsect,aprayingmantis,delicatelyrushingthroughthecoldair,indistinct,countlessgreendiamondswinkingoveritsbody,andredjewelsthatglitteredwithmultifacetedeyes.Itssixlegsfellupontheancienthighwaywiththesoundsofasparserainwhichdwindledaway,andfromthebackofthemachineaMartianwithmeltedgoldforeyeslookeddownatTomasasifhewerelookingintoawell.

           TomasraisedhishandandthoughtHello!automaticallybutdidnotmovehislips,forthiswasaMartian.ButTomashadswuminblueriversonEarth,withstrangerspassingontheroad,andeateninstrangehouseswithstrangepeople,andhisweaponhadalwaysbeenhissmile.Hedidnotcarryagun.Andhedidnotfeeltheneedofonenow,evenwiththelittlefearthatgatheredabouthisheartatthismoment

           TheMartian’shandswereemptytoo.Foramomenttheylookedacrossthecoolairateachother.

           ItwasTomiswhomovedfirst.

           "Hello!"hecalled.

           "Hello!"calledtheMartianinhisownlanguage.

           Theydidnotunderstandeachother.

           "Didyousayhello?"theybothasked.

           "Whatdidyousay?"theysaid,eachinadifferenttongue.

           Theyscowled.

           "Whoareyou?"saidTomasinEnglish.

           "Whatareyoudoinghere?"InMartian;thestranger’slipsmoved.