Марсианские хроники
June 2001: — and the Moon Be Still as Bright
WasitbecauseIrefusedtogiveinmyself?DidSpenderhatetheideaofkillingme?AmIanydifferentfromtheseothershere?Isthatwhatdidit?Didhefigurehecouldtrustme?Whatotheransweristhere?
None.Hesquattedbythesilentbody.
I’vegottoliveuptothis,hethought.Ican’tlethimdownnow.Ifhefiguredtherewassomethinginmethatwaslikehimselfandcouldn’tkillmebecauseofit,thenwhatajobIhaveaheadofme!That’sit,yes,that’sit.I’mSpenderalloveragain,butIthinkbeforeIshoot.Idon’tshootatall,Idon’tkill.Idothingswithpeople.Andhecouldn’tkillmebecauseIwashimselfunderaslightlydifferentcondition.
Thecaptainfeltthesunlightonthebackofhisneck.Heheardhimselftalking:"Ifonlyhehadcometomeandtalkeditoverbeforeheshotanybody,wecouldhaveworkeditoutsomehow."
"Workedwhatout?"saidParkhill."Whatcouldwehaveworkedoutwithhislikes?"
Therewasasingingofheatintheland,offtherocksandoffthebluesky."Iguessyou’reright,"saidthecaptain."Wecouldneverhavegottogether.Spenderandmyself,perhaps.ButSpenderandyouandtheothers,no,never,He’sbetteroffnow.Letmehaveadrinkfromthatcanteen."
ItwasthecaptainwhosuggestedtheemptysarcophagusforSpender.TheyhadfoundanancientMartiantombyard.TheyputSpenderintoasilvercasewithwaxesandwineswhichweretenthousandyearsold,hishandsfoldedonhischest.Thelasttheysawofhimwashispeacefulface
