Марсианские хроники

           Gasretts,wouldwe?"

           PikeswheeledMr.Garretttothebrickincinerator."Goodby."HepushedMr.Garrettinandslammedthedoor.

           StendahlconfrontedtherobotGarrett."Youhaveyourorders,Garrett?"

           "Yes,sir."Therobotsatup."I’mtoreturntoMoralClimates.I’llfileacomplementaryreport.Delayactionforatleastforty-eighthours.SayI’minvestigatingmorefully."

           "Right,Garrett.Good-by."

           TherobothurriedouttoGarrett’srocket,gotin,andflewaway.

           Stendahlturned."Now,Pikes,wesendtheremainderoftheinvitationsfortonight.Ithinkwe’llhaveajollytime,don’tyou?"

           "Consideringwewaitedtwentyyears,quitejolly!"

           Theywinkedateachother.

           Seveno’clock.Stendahlstudiedhiswatch.Almosttime.Hetwirledthesherryglassinhishand.Hesatquietly.Abovehim,amongtheoakenbeams,thebats,theirdelicatecopperbodieshiddenunderrubberflesh,blinkedathimandshrieked.Heraisedhisglasstothem."Tooursuccess."Thenheleanedback,closedhiseyes,andconsideredtheentireaffair.Howhewouldsavorthisinhisoldage.Thispayingbackoftheantisepticgovernmentforitsliteraryterrorsandconflagrations.Oh,howtheangerandhatredhadgrowninhimthroughtheyears.Oh,howtheplanhadtakenaslowshapeinhisnumbedmind,untilthatdaythreeyearsagowhenhehadmetPikes.

           Ahyes,Pikes.Pikeswiththebitternessinhimasdeepasablack,charredwellofgreenacid.