"Whats It Like Out There by Edmond Hamilton" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Edmond)

And I said, "Yes, that's him." Funny how you can't talk
when something hits youhow you just say words, like
"Yes, that's him."
Breck died that night without ever regaining conscious-
ness, and there I was, still half sick myself, and with Lassen
dying in his bunk, and five of us were all that was left of
Squad Fourteen, and that was that.
How could H.Q. let a thing like that get known? A fine
advertisement it would be for recruiting more Mars expedi-
tions, if they told how guys on Two cracked up and did a
crazy thing like that. I didn't blame them for telling us to
keep it top secret. Anyway, it wasn't something we'd want
to talk about.
But it sure left me in afine spot now, a sweet spot. I was
going down to talk to Brock's parents and Walter's parents,
and they'd want to know how their sons died, and I could
tell them, "Your sons probably killed each other, out there."
Sure, I could tell them that, couldn't I? But what was I
going to tell them? I knew H.Q. had reported those casual-
ties as "accidental deaths," but what kind of accident?
Well, it got late, and I had to go down, and when I did,
Breck's parents were there. Mr. Jergen was a carpenter, a
tall, bony man with level blue eyes like Breck's. He didn't
say much, but his wife was a little woman who talked
enough for both of them.
She told me I looked just like I did in the pictures of us
Breck had sent home from training base. She said she had
three daughters tootwo of them married, and one of the
married ones living in Milwaukee and one out on the Coast.
She said that she'd named Breck after a character in a
book by Robert Louis Stevenson, and I said I'd read the
book in high school.
"It's a nice name," I said.
She looked at me with bright eyes and said, "Yes. It was a
nice name."
That was a fine dinner. They'd got everything they
thought I might like, and all the best, and a maid served it,
and I couldn't taste a thing I ate.
Then afterward, in the big living room, they all just sort
of sat and waited, and I knew it was up to me.
I asked them if they'd had any details about the accident,
and Mr. Millis said. No, just "accidental death" was all
they'd been told.
Well, that made it easier. I sat there, with all four of them
watching my face, and dreamed it up.
I said, "It was one of those one-in-a-million things. You
see, more little meteorites hit the ground on Mars than here,
because the air's so much thinner it doesn't burn them up so
fast. And one hit the edge of the fuel dump and a biinch of
little tanks started to blow. I was down with the sickness, so