"Robert Reed - Beyond the Veil of Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

Cornell had been enormously impressed. They had come here chasing alien
spaceships, him and Dad and Pete, but there sat someone from the realm of horses and
wagons. That humpbacked woman had lived through an entire century, and that was
strange and unsettling, and lovely in its own way. For days and days, afterward, he
had thought of little else.
Most of their trips weren't that interesting. Most involved lights in the sky, and the
witnesses were ordinary people, and Dad would ask the same old questions, in
interviews of only a few minutes. Then the witnesses had their own changeless
questions: How did you start doing this work? Have you seen flying saucers yourself?
And what do you think they are? Dad was patient, answering each question at length,
and Cornell always grew bored. Not that he complained, of course. Boredom, he
assumed, was part of the job and a consequence of being with adults. Being grown up,
he sensed, meant doing the same stuff every day. And besides, there was the remote
chance that they might see a spaceship for themselves, or better, that on one of these
trips they would make contact with the alien pilots.. . .
Someday, he thought. Maybe so.
The ghost talk was taking its traditional pause. Cornell listened to the dual hums
of the engine and the road, knowing what would be said next. He watched the back of
Dad's long neck, imagining the smiling and pale thin face; and sure enough, Dad
cleared his throat, announcing with a determined voice, "Well, if I hunt ghosts, I
guess I'll drive myself."
Pete laughed, sort of. Leaning back in his seat, thick hands high on the steering
wheel, he said, "Right. You can't find the Quik Shop four blocks from your house.
How are you getting to these spook houses?"
That was Cornell's cue. He leaned between the front seats, saying, "I'll drive you,
Dad. Three years, and I get my learner's permit."
More than three, but that wasn't the point. Dad turned and looked at him, smiling
with his little mouth and vague bright eyes. "That's what I was hoping to hear, son.
Thank you. Thanks."
Cornell settled back into his seat, feeling fine, looking outside and imagining
himself driving some toothless, humpbacked version of his father along this road.
Cornell was Pete's age, and the landscape was cut into green squares with strange
crops growing in perfect rows. It wasn't a car that he was driving, but some kind of
floating vehicle. Yet the pavement was the same-straight highways had a kind of
noble authority-and they were going somewhere important. It didn't matter exactly
where. And riding in the backseat was a third person. Cornell could see her,
unchanged by time. And in his daydream she leaned forward, telling him, "You drive
beautifully, Corny. Perfectly." Which made him smile, shutting his eyes, wishing hard
that it could come true.
They left the highway, then the river bottom. A graveled road lifted into loess
bluffs, and Pete slowed and downshifted and took a gentle right turn into a tree-lined
lane. Farm dogs waited in ambush. Despite the heat, or maybe because of it, they
howled and ran beside the car as it approached the house. They were big dogs led by
a grizzled German shepherd, and Cornell didn't want to step outside. Dad was
worried, too, sitting taller than before. Motionless. Pete gave both of them a smiling
sideways glance. The dogs became quieter, probably anticipating their feast. But Pete
didn't hesitate, opening his door and standing, allowing the hot air to blow into the car
while dogs danced around him, snapping and yelping.
"GET DOWN!"
The voice was sudden and booming, causing dogs to scatter. Cornell dipped his