"Tom Easton - Unto the Last Generation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Easton Thomas A)

"Jealous, huh? Just 'cause your descendants didn't make it."

"Is this all there is? Somehow I expected...."

"Shaddap, you asshole!"

"You sound like you think you had something to do with it."

"Genes will tell. He's a good boy."

Snorting noises echoed as the light diminished.

"Just needs a chance, you know? Something to bring out his qualities."

"Hah."

"But he won't be by tomorrow."
"Why not?"

"Looks like rain."

Someone made a sniffing noise. "Smells like it. High humidity. Barometer dropping. Cold and wet and
wind."

Someone else laughed. "Won't bother us."

"Dry bones. Dem dry bones," sang the voice that had wished to hammer out freedom.

"Dry stones."

"Unless we rust."

The music stopped. "You could pay some attention to me," said what sounded like a younger woman.

"You're old business," said the older woman. "He forgot you even before he married me."

"What you said," said the same masculine voice that had offered the poor dog a bone. "'Oh, do be quiet,
dear. You'll just get the poor thing all worked up.'"

"Is this all there is? Somehow I expected more of an after _life_, you know? I paid a lot to be
mindloaded, and...."

"Shaddap!"

"Oh!"

The last trace of sunlight vanished. The sky turned black, and a few bright stars were visible. But the
voices continued as they had for decades, as they would for decades more, as long as the circuitry
embedded in the stones held out, as long as the sun could still reach through the filth atop them to the