Марсианские хроники
October 2026: The Million-Year Picnic
Andthiscanalwentonandon,throughcitiesthatwouldhaverattledlikebeetlesinadryskullifyoushookthem.Ahundredortwohundredcitiesdreaminghotsummer-daydreamsandcoolsummer-nightdreams…
Theyhadcomemillionsofmilesforthisouting—tofish.Buttherehadbeenagunontherocket.Thiswasavacation.Butwhyallthefood,morethanenoughtolastthemyearsandyears,lefthiddenbackthereneartherocket?Vacation.Justbehindtheveilofthevacationwasnotasoftfaceoflaughter,butsomethinghardandbonyandperhapsterrifying.Timothycouldnotlifttheveil,andthetwootherboyswerebusybeingtenandeightyearsold,respectively.
"NoMartiansyet.Nuts."RobertputhisV-shapedchinonhishandsandglaredatthecanal.
Dadhadbroughtanatomicradioalong,strappedtohiswrist.Itfunctionedonanold-fashionedprinciple:youhelditagainstthebonesnearyourearanditvibratedsingingortalkingtoyou.Dadlistenedtoitnow.HisfacelookedlikeoneofthosefallenMartiancities,cavedin,sucked.dry,almostdead.
ThenhegaveittoMomtolisten.Herlipsdroppedopen.
"What—"Timothystartedtoquestion,butneverfinishedwhathewishedtosay.
Foratthatmomentthereweretwotitanic,marrow-joltingexplosionsthatgrewuponthemselves,followedbyahalfdozenminorconcussions.
Jerkinghisheadup,Dadnotchedtheboatspeedhigherimmediately.Theboatleapedandjouncedandspanked.
