Марсианские хроники
June 2001: — and the Moon Be Still as Bright
"Comeon,gents,comeon!"Biggsboundedfromtheshipinafreshuniform,notlookingatSpenderevenonce.Hisvoicewaslikesomeoneinanemptyauditorium.Itwasalone."Comeon!"
Nobodymoved.
"Comeon,Whitie,yourharmonica!"
Whitieblewachord.Itsoundedfunnyandwrong.Whitieknockedthemoisturefromhisharmonicaandputitaway.
"Whatkindapartyisthis?"Biggswantedtoknow.
Someonehuggedtheaccordion.Itgaveasoundlikeadyinganimal.Thatwasall.
"Okay,meandmybottlewillgohaveourownparty."Biggssquattedagainsttherocket,drinkingfromaflask.
Spenderwatchedhim.Spenderdidnotmoveforalongtime.Thenhisfingerscrawledupalonghistremblinglegtohisholsteredpistol,veryquietly,andstrokedandtappedtheleathersheath.
"Allthosewhowanttocancomeintothecitywithme,"announcedthecaptain."We’llpostaguardhereattherocketandgoarmed,justincase."
Themencountedoff.Fourteenofthemwantedtogo,includingBiggs,wholaughinglycountedhimselfin,wavinghisbottle.Sixothersstayedbehind.
"Herewego!"Biggsshouted.
Thepartymovedoutintothemoonlight,silently.Theymadetheirwaytotheouterrimofthedreamingdeadcityinthelightoftheracingtwinmoons.Theirshadows,underthem,weredoubleshadows.Theydidnotbreathe,orseemednotto,perhaps,forseveralminutes.
