"Philip Jose Farmer - Tongues of the Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

And we can tell them of the Earth that was, so they will know how to build the Earth that must be."
'Two hundred years?" said Broward. "We won't be the same persons then."
But he doubted that even the centuries could change Scone. The man was made of rock. He would not bend
or flow. Broward felt sorry for him. He would be a fossil, truly a stone man, a petrified hero.
"We'll never get back unless we do today's work every day," said Scone. "I'll worry about Earth when it's time
to worry. Let's go; we've work to do."


Broward was walking down a corridor when he felt the rock beneath his feet tremble. Far, far below him, a
battery of lasers was drilling into the depths of the Moon. Primarily, the drillers were looking for water, and they were
sure that they were headed for a huge pocket of the liquid in one form or another. Secondarily, hollowing out tunnels
would increase the Lebensraum for the inhabitants of Clavius. Some day, the population would be large enough to
need that extra room.
That is, thought Broward, it would if the survivors of mankind could agree on a means of keeping peace. At
the moment, that did not seem very likely.
He stopped before a door and spoke into the outline of a square set above a blank screen. It sprang into life;
Ingrid Nashdoi's features appeared on it. Seeing Broward, she smiled and brushed back a lock of light brown hair
hanging over one forehead.
Like all on the Clavian base, she had a small circular area on the right side of her head where the hair had been
shaved off before the bonephone was removed.
Broward walked in, looked around, and said, "Where's Miller?"
"Scone called a meeting. As a matter of fact, he came here to tell Miller he was wanted. I don't know why he
didn't use the com."
Broward grinned sourly. Ingrid said, "I hate myself. I'm not being honest. And I'm not fooling you. Scone is
interested in me. I guess everybody knows that. Accept my apologies?"
"That's one reason I love you," said Broward. "You're honest."
"My! How popular I've suddenly become! You're the second man who's told me that today."
"The other one was Scone?"
Ingrid laughed and said, "Hardly! Do you think Scone would put himself in a position to be rejected? No, if
he. asks me to marry him. he'll do so when he's dead sure that I won't or can't refuse."
"I wonder why Scone didn't tell me there was a meeting?" said Broward.
"You didn't hear a word I was saying. You don't really love me."
Broward said, "I wish I thought you really cared. But..."
"Scone called a meeting of the scientists who are responsible for our food supply. He did say something to
Miller about Miller's also being present at a policy meeting later. I imagine you won't be left out of that."
Broward looked relieved. He smiled and said, "Who was the other man, Ingrid?"
"What other man? Oh... you mean...? Well, that's a private affair. However, I expect others soon. It won't be
so flattering, though. It's just that... well, when cows are scarce, the price is high."
"What?"
"There are three and a half men to every woman on the Moon," replied Ingrid. "Don't ask me how the
statisticians account for all those half-men walking around without heads or arms. Can't you just see them?"
She laughed; Broward grinned slightly. He said, "It's very serious. We have to increase the population, and
we must use all the genes available. Can't have inbreeding, you know."
"I'm a psychologist," she said, "but it doesn't need a psychologist to predict trouble ahead. I overheard
Doctor Abarbanel yesterday. You know her, the tall, many-curved, dark-haired, thick-lipped, disgustingly sultry
biochemist? She said that the women on the base will just have to get used to group-marriage. She seemed to like the
idea."
"She was serious?"
"Why shouldn't she be? You have any better ideas?"
 "Not at present," said Broward. "I don't like the idea though. What about Scone? He'd never sanction it. He's