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.

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