Марсианские хроники
February 1999: Ylla
Itwaslikethosedayswhenyouheardathunderstormcomingandtherewasthewaitingsilenceandthenthefaintestpressureoftheatmosphereastheclimateblewoverthelandinshiftsandshadowsandvapors.Andthechangepressedatyourearsandyouweresuspendedinthewaitingtimeofthecomingstorm.Youbegantotremble.Theskywasstainedandcoloured;thecloudswerethickened;themountainstookonanirontaint.Thecagedflowersblewwithfaintsighsofwarning.Youfeltyourhairstirsoftly.Somewhereinthehousethevoice-clocksang,"Time,time,time,time…"eversogently,nomorethanwatertappingonvelvet.
Andthenthestorm.Theelectricillumination,theengulfmentsofdarkwashandsoundingblackfelldown,shuttingin,forever.
That’showitwas.Astormgathered,yettheskywasclear.Lightningwasexpected,yettherewasnocloud.
Yllamovedthroughthebreathlesssummerhouse.Lightningwouldstrikefromtheskyanyinstant;therewouldbeathunderclap,aboilofsmoke,asilence,footstepsonthepath,araponthecrystallinedoor,andherrunningtoanswer…
CrazyYlla!shescoffed.Whythinkthesewildthingswithyouridlemind?
Andthenithappened.
Therewasawarmthasofagreatfirepassingintheair.Awhirling,rushingsound.Agleaminthesky,ofmetal.
Yllacriedout.
Runningthroughthepillars,sheflungwideadoor.Shefacedthehills.Butbythistimetherewasnothing.
