Short Fiction Ray Bradbury (always you kirsty moseley TXT) đ
- Author: Ray Bradbury
Book online «Short Fiction Ray Bradbury (always you kirsty moseley TXT) đ». Author Ray Bradbury
And then they landed on Venus. How in heck they got back there so quick is a wonder of science, but there they were. âCome on, girls!â cried Quelch, âput on your shin guards, get out there and dig ditches for good old W.P.A. and the Rover Boys Academy, earth branch 27!â
Out into the staggering rain they dashed. Five minutes later they came back in, gasping, reeling. They had forgotten their corsets! The Venusians closed in like a million landlords. âCharge, men!â cried Quelch, running the other way. And thenâ âbattle! âWhat a fight; folks,â cried Quelch. âTwenty thousand earth men against two Venusians! Weâre outnumbered, but weâll fight!â Bloosh! âCorrectionâ âten thousand men fighting!â Kerblom! âOne hundred men from earth left!â Boom! âThis is the last man speaking, folks! What a fight. I ainât had so much fun sinceâ âHelp, someone just clipped my corset strings!â Bwom! âSomeone just clipped me!â
The field was silent. The ship lay gleaming in the pink light of dawn that was just blooming over the mountains like a pale flower.
The two Venusians stood weeping over the bodies of the Earthlings like onion peelers or two women in a bargain basement. One Venusian looked at the other Venusian, and in a high-pitched, hoarse, sad voice said: âAye, aye, ayeâ âthisâ âhit shooden heppen to a dogâ ânot a doidy leedle dog!â And dawn came peacefully, like beer barrels, rolling.
The Piper1âLord! Heâs there again! Heâs there! Look!â the old man croaked, jabbing a calloused finger at the burial hill. âOld Piper again! As crazy as a loon! Every year that way!â
The Martian boy at the feet of the old man stirred his thin reddish feet in the soil and affixed his large green eyes upon the burial hill where the Piper stood. âWhy does he do that?â asked the boy.
âAh?â The old manâs leathery face rumpled into a maze of wrinkles. âHeâs crazy, thatâs what. Stands up there piping on his music from sunset until dawn.â
The thin piping sounds squealed in the dusk, echoed back from the low hills, were lost in melancholy silence, fading. Then louder, higher, insanely, crying with shrill voice.
The Piper was a tall, gaunt man, face as pale and wan as Martian moons, eyes electrical purple, standing against the soft of the dusking heaven, holding his pipe to his lips, playing. The Piperâ âa silhouetteâ âa symbolâ âa melody.
âWhere did the Piper come from?â asked the Martian boy.
âFrom Venus.â The old man took out his pipe and filled it. âOh, some twenty years ago or more, on the projectile with the Terrestrians. I arrived on the same ship, coming from Earth, we shared a double seat together.â
âWhat is his name?â Again the boyish, eager voice.
âI canât remember. I donât think I ever knew, really.â
A vague rustling sound came into existence. The Piper continued playing, paying no heed to it. From the darkness, across the star-jewelled horizon, came mysterious shapes, creeping, creeping.
âMars is a dying world,â the old man said. âNothing ever happens of much gravity. The Piper, I believe, is an exile.â
The stars trembled like reflections in water, dancing with the music.
âAn exile.â The old man continued. âSomething like a leper. They called him the brilliant. He was the epitome of all Venerian culture until the Earthmen came with their greedy incorporations and licentious harlots. The Earthlings outlawed him, sent him here to Mars to live out his days.â
âMars is a dying world,â repeated the boy. âA dying world. How many Martians are there, sir?â
The old man chuckled. âI guess maybe you are the last pure Martian alive, boy. But there are millions of others.â
âWhere do they live? I have never seen them.â
âYou are young. You have much to see, much to learn.â
âWhere do they live?â
âOut there, beyond the mountains, beyond the dead sea bottoms, over the horizon and to the north, in the caves, far back in the subterrane.â
âWhy?â
âWhy? Now thatâs hard to say. They were a brilliant race once upon a time. But something happened to them, hybrided them. They are unintelligent creatures now, cruel beasts.â
âDoes Earth own Mars?â The little boyâs eyes were riveted upon the glowing planet overhead, the green planet.
âYes, all of Mars. Earth has three cities here, each containing one thousand people. The closest city is a mile from here, down the road, a group of small metal bubble-like buildings. The men from Earth move about among the buildings like ants enclosed in their space suits. They are miners. With their huge machines they rip open the bowels of our planet and dig out our precious lifeblood from the mineral arteries.â
âIs that all?â
âThat is all.â The old man shook his head sadly. âNo culture, no art, no purpose. Greedy, hopeless Earthlings.â
âAnd the other two citiesâ âwhere are they?â
âOne is up the same cobbled road five miles, the third is further still by some five hundred miles.â
âI am glad I live here with you, alone.â The
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