"Card, Orson Scott - Cruel Miracles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Card Orson Scott)

"Why, Mr. Crane, we've answered that a thousand times. We like churches. We
find them the most graceful and beautiful of all human architecture."

"I don't believe you," Willard said. "You're dodging my question. So let me
put it another way. How come you have the time to sit around and talk to
half-assed imbeciles like me? Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"Human beings are unusually good company. It's a most pleasant way to pass
the time which does, after many years, weigh rather heavily on our, um,
hands." And the alien tried to gesture with his pseudopodia, which was
amusing, and Willard laughed.

"Slippery bastards, aren't you?" he inquired, and the alien chuckled. "So
let me put it this way, and no dodging, or I'll know you have something to
hide. You're pretty much like us, right? You have the same gadgets, but you
can travel in space because you don't croak after a hundred years like we
do; whatever, you do pretty much the same kinds of things we do. And
yet-yet--"

"There's always an 'and yet,'" the alien sighed.

"And yet. You come all the way out here, which ain't exactly Main Street,
Milky Way, and all you do is build these churches all over the place and
sit around and jaw with whoever the hell comes in. Makes no sense, sir,
none at all."

The alien oozed gently toward him. "Can you keep a secret?"

"My old lady thought she was the only woman I ever slept with in my life.
Some secrets I can keep."

"Then here is one to keep. We come, Mr. Crane, to worship."

"Worship who?"

"Worship, among others, you."

Willard laughed long and loud, but the alien looked (as only aliens can)
terribly earnest and sincere.

"Listen, you mean to tell me that you worship people?"

"Oh, yes. It is the dream of everyone who dares to dream on my home planet
to come here and meet a human being or two and then live on the memory
forever."

And suddenly it wasn't funny to Willard anymore. He looked around-- human
art in prominent display, the whole format, the choice of churches. "You
aren't joking."