Марсианские хроники
October 2026: The Million-Year Picnic
Sotherewentthecoolingrocket,aroundabend,gone.
"Howfararewegoing?"Robertsplashedhishand.Itlookedlikeasmallcrabjumpinginthevioletwater.
Dadexhaled."Amillionyears."
"Gee,"saidRobert.
"Look,kids."Motherpointedonesoftlongarm."There’sadeadcity."
Theylookedwithferventanticipation,andthedeadcitylaydeadforthemalone,drowsinginahotsilenceofsummermadeonMarsbyaMartianweatherman.
AndDadlookedasifhewaspleasedthatitwasdead.
Itwasafutilespreadofpinkrockssleepingonariseofsand,afewtumbledpillars,onelonelyshrine,andthenthesweepofsandagain.Nothingelseformiles.Awhitedesertaroundthecanalandabluedesertoverit.
Justthenabirdflewup.Likeastonethrownacrossabluepond,hitting,fallingdeep,andvanishing.
Dadgotafrightenedlookwhenhesawit."Ithoughtitwasarocket."
Timothylookedatthedeepoceansky,tryingtoseeEarthandthewarandtheruinedcitiesandthemenkillingeachothersincethedayhewasborn.Buthesawnothing.Thewarwasasremovedandfaroffastwofliesbattlingtothedeathinthearchofagreathighandsilentcathedral.Andjustassenseless.
WilliamThomaswipedhisforeheadandfeltthetouchofhisson’shandonhisarm,likeayoungtarantula,thrilled.Hebeamedathisson."Howgoesit,Timmy?"
"Fine,Dad."
Timothyhadn’tquitefiguredoutwhatwastickinginsidethevastadultmechanismbesidehim.
