"Tom Easton - The Bung Hole Caper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

The fuss died down soon enough. There was better local news, such as the flying saucers seen near the
nuclear power plant in Wiscasset, and the aliens were drawing more attention with their request for a
piece of the Florida Keys for their colony. The ocean was shallow enough there, they said; the islands
would give them enough land for their needs, and the climate was much like that they had left. The locals,
of course, wouldn't hear of it, but the rest of the world didn't think the spot a bad idea at all. At least, so
said the teevee.

But the story didn't end there. The limousine was back before Thanksgiving, bearing a silk-suited
diplomat and an alien whose wooden barrel was now smoothed and polished and covered with the
pastel patterns that denoted rank or, perhaps, identity among its kind. It looked more like a dressed-up
pumpkin than ever.

The diplomat introduced himself as Vince Barger, the Second Assistant Under-Secretary for Alien
Relations. "A new department, you understand," he added with a smile that kept his teeth carefully
covered. "We try to mediate between K-ssniskit's people and our own."
"Snickit?" asked Cyrus.

"K-ssniskit. Didn't she tell you her name before?"

Cyrus shook his head, wrinkling his nose at a strong whiff of Barger's cologne. "Can't say she did.
Though she didn't seem to like what I called her much. Thought she was sorta like a hermit crab."

"So he called her Hermit," put in Allie.

All three watched the alien as she moved around the yard, stalked eyes peering into barn, pasture, and
house, renewing her brief acquaintance with the place. She must have grown used to the weight of the
barrel, for she no longer lurched. She must also, thought Cyrus, have grown a little.

Barger chuckled smoothly. "I can see why. But you probably irritated her. They're very sociable
creatures, really.,'

He stopped talking when the alien scuttled closer. She stopped at Cyrus's feet and cocked her eyes up at
his lanky figure. "Greet," she burbled.

"Greet, yourself." Cyrus squatted to be nearer her level. "What're you after now?"

"Cyrus!" said Allie. She turned to the alien. "Don't you mind him, K-ssniskit," she said. "We are glad to
see you, and if we can do anything to help, we will." She bent to lay a hand on the rim of the barrel just
above the eyes. She looked as if she were petting it.

"Greet," the alien repeated. "Shells, like." A tentacle stretched to stroke the barrel's flank. "More.
Make?"

"I suppose I could," said Cyrus. "Grandpa's coopering tools are still in the barn, and he taught me a little
when I was a boy."

"Thin. Light. Polish, too. Sizes, many. Two, thousand," K-ssniskit burbled.

Cyrus whistled. That was a lot of barrels. "Take time," he said. "What'll you pay?"