Марсианские хроники
June 2001: — and the Moon Be Still as Bright
Biggsglancedup.
"Well,I’llbedamned!"saidBiggs.
"I’mthelastMartian,"saidtheman,takingoutagun.
"Whatdidyousay?"askedBiggs.
"I’mgoingtokillyou."
"Cutit.Whatkindofjoke’sthat,Spender?"
"Standupandtakeitinthestomach."
"ForChrist’ssake,putthatgunaway."
Spenderpulledthetriggeronlyonce.Biggssatontheedgeofthecanalforamomentbeforeheleanedforwardandfellintothewater.Thegunhadmadeonlyawhisperinghum.Thebodydriftedwithslowunconcernundertheslowcanaltides.Itmadeahollowbubblingsoundthatceasedafteramoment.
Spendershovedhisgunintoitsholsterandwalkedsoundlesslyaway.ThesunwasshiningdownuponMars.Hefeltitburnhishandsandslideoverthesidesofhistightface.Hedidnotrun;hewalkedasifnothingwerenewexceptthedaylight.Hewalkeddowntotherocket,andsomeofthemenwereeatingafreshlycookedbreakfastunderashelterbuiltbyCookie.
"HerecomesTheLonelyOne,"someonesaid.
"Hello,Spender!Longtimenosee!"
Thefourmenatthetableregardedthesilentmanwhostoodlookingbackatthem.
"Youandthemgoddamnruins,"laughedCookie,stirringablacksubstanceinacrock."You’relikeadoginaboneyard."
"Maybe,"saidSpender,"I’vebeenfindingoutthings.WhatwouldyousayifIsaidI’dfoundaMartianprowlingaround?"
Thefourmenlaiddowntheirforks.
"Didyou?Where?"
"Nevermind.Letmeaskyouaquestion.
