Марсианские хроники
June 2001: — and the Moon Be Still as Bright
Spenderwasbeinggatheredinbyaloose,runningnetofmen.Atthehilltop,behindtworocks,Spenderlay,grinningwithexhaustionfromthethinatmosphere,greatislandsofsweatundereacharm.Thecaptainsawthetworocks.Therewasanintervalbetweenthemofsomefourinches,givingfreeaccesstoSpender’schest.
"Hey,you!"criedParkhill."Here’saslugforyourhead!"
CaptainWilderwaited.Goon,Spender,hethought.Getout,likeyousaidyouwould.You’veonlyafewminutestoescape.Getoutandcomebacklater.Goon.Yousaidyouwould.Godowninthetunnelsyousaidyoufound,andliethereandliveformonthsandyears,readingyourfinebooksandbathinginyourtemplepools.Goon,now,man,beforeit’stoolate.
Spenderdidnotmovefromhisposition.
"What’swrongwithhim?"thecaptainaskedhimself.
Thecaptainpickeduphisgun.Hewatchedtherunning,hidingmen.HelookedatthetowersofthelittlecleanMartianvillage,likesharplycarvedchesspieceslyingintheafternoon.HesawtherocksandtheintervalbetweenwhereSpender’schestwasrevealed.
Parkhillwaschargingup,screaminginfury.
"No,Parkhill,"saidthecaptain."Ican’tletyoudoit.Northeothers.No,noneofyou.Onlyme."Heraisedthegunandsightedit.
WillIbecleanafterthis?hethought.Isitrightthatit’smewhodoesit?Yes,itis.IknowwhatI’mdoingforwhatreasonandit’sright,becauseIthinkI’mtherightperson.IhopeandprayIcanliveuptothis.
HenoddedhisheadatSpender.
