"Allen Steele - Zwarte Piet's Tale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

settlements. Not only that, but since we would be hitting each settlement in turn, we could take stuff from
one place to another, in much the same way supply caravans presently operated, yet in a shorter
time-span and for more charitable reasons. The selectmen were all too aware of the ill-will some of the
smaller settlements felt toward Arsia; our plan would make for good colonial relationships. So they found
a few extra megalox in the budget to fund an extended medical sortie, not the least of which was
subcontracting Miss Thuvia from AeroMars for a seven-sol sortie.

When we contacted the other five colonies and informed them of our proposal, we received mixed
reactions. Wellstown, Sagan, Viking, and New Chattanooga were mystified by the notion of a Martian
Santa, but otherwise interested, albeit not wildly enthusiastic; if anything, it meant they would be receiving
a previously unscheduled visit from Arsia General, and a few freebies to boot. West Bank was initially
cool to the ideaтАФthey didn't observe Christmas Week, after allтАФuntil we agreed to knock off the
Sinterklass routine and perform as if it was just another airlift. But DaVinci was the aresian home of
Ebenezer Scrooge; after a few days of stone silence, we received a terse fax from its Proletariat, stating
that the free people of DaVinci had decided to reject St. Nicholas was an archaic symbol of capitalistic
society and Black Peter as a shameful hold-over of racist imperialism. Well, tough boots: no candy for
the commies.

Most people went for it, though, and once word leaked out about what Doc and I intended to do, we
received assistance from various individuals, sometimes without us soliciting them for help. Aresians have
a strong tradition of looking out for the other guy, after all, and the citizens of Arsia Station came out for
us. A textile shop volunteered to make toys for us: tiny Mars landers, statuettes of men in skinsuits, some
inflatable replicas of Miss Thuvia. A food-processing firm turned out several kilos of hard candy; it
looked weird and tasted the same, or at least so I thought, but Doc field-tested samples on kids passing
through the ER ward and none of them spit it out. A lady I was dating from Data One hacked out a game
pak which she stored on a handful of spare disks; one of them was a little hide-and-seek involving
Sinterklass and Zwarte Piet chasing each other through a three-dimensional maze. She made sure that the
odds of Black Peter winning the match were always in my character's favor, something which Doc
resented when he tried playing it.

Yet the best efforts were those on behalf of our skinsuits. It wouldn't do for us to cycle through airlocks
looking like any other dust-caked aresian coming in from the cold. Sinterklass and Zwarte Piet were
magical, after all; we had to look the part. So we hired Uncle Sal, Arsia's premier skinsuit tailor, to come
up with some hempcloth overgarments which closely mimicked the traditional costumes worn in the
Netherlands. Doc's outfit was bright red and white, with a long scarlet cape whose ribbed hood, when
pulled over his helmet, looked much like a bishop's minter. My costume was dark blue, with a plumed
white collar around the neck and puffed-out sleeves and leggings. To add to the effect, Sal weaved
colored microfilaments through the garments; when we switched them on, we looked like walking
Christmas trees.

The only problem we had was with Doc's beard. He stopped trimming it once our plan was approved,
and within a couple of weeks it flowed down his face like a pale waterfall. It looked terrific and his
girlfriends loved running their fingers through it, but he had the damnedest time tucking it into his helmet.
He finally figured out what that hearty тАЬho-ho-hoтАЭ business was all about; it allowed him to spit out the
whiskers in his mouth.

Altogether, it was an impressive effort, doubly so by the fact that we pulled it all together in less than
three weeks. On Ta. 6, m.y. 53, Doc and I climbed aboard Miss Thuvia and set sail from Arsia Station.
The blimp had been temporarily festooned with multicolored lights. I turned them on as soon as we were
clear of the hangar, and watched from the gondola windows as a small crowd of aresians waved us