Марсианские хроники
August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains
Somewhere,sighing,apumpshruggedtoastop.Thequenchingrainceased.Thereservewatersupplywhichhadfilledbathsandwasheddishesformanyquietdayswasgone.
Thefirecrackledupthestairs.ItfeduponPicassosandMatissesintheupperhalls,likedelicacies,bakingofftheoilyflesh,tenderlycrispingthecanvasesintoblackshavings.
Nowthefirelayinbeds,stoodinwindows,changedthecolorsofdrapes!
Andthen,reinforcements.
Fromattictrapdoors,blindrobotfacespeereddownwithfaucetmouthsgushinggreenchemical.
Thefirebackedoff,asevenanelephantmustatthesightofadeadsnake.Nowthereweretwentysnakeswhippingoverthefloor,killingthefirewithaclearcoldvenomofgreenfroth.
Butthefirewasclever.Ithadsentflamesoutsidethehouse,upthroughtheattictothepumpsthere.Anexplosion!Theatticbrainwhichdirectedthepumpswasshatteredintobronzeshrapnelonthebeams.
Thefirerushedbackintoeveryclosetandfeltoftheclotheshungthere.
Thehouseshuddered,oakboneonbone,itsbaredskeletoncringingfromtheheat,itswire,itsnervesrevealedasifasurgeonhadtorntheskinofftolettheredveinsandcapillariesquiverinthescaldedair.Help,help!Fire!Run,run!Heatsnappedmirrorslikethebrittlewinterice.AndthevoiceswailedFire,fire,run,run,likeatragicnurseryrhyme,adozenvoices,high,low,likechildrendyinginaforest,alone,alone.Andthevoicesfadingasthewirespoppedtheirsheathingslikehotchestnuts.One,two,three,four,fivevoicesdied.
