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

farewell.

It was a good beginning, but our first stop, at twilight on the first day of the tour, was a bust. West Bank
didn't want anything to do with Christmas, so I kept the lights turned off when we approached the
settlement on the western slope of the Tharsis volcano range, and we weren't wearing our outfits when
we exited the blimp's airlock. The settlers were cordial enough; we handed out sweets and toys to the
handful of kids we met inside, and once their folks unloaded the supplies they had requestedтАФwhich
wasn't much, because West Bank took pride in its self-sufficiencyтАФwe had a meal and a glass of wine in
the commissary before we were shown the way to the hostel. Nothing lost, but nothing really gained
either, save for fuel and a night's rest; by dawn the next morning we were airborne again. The only thing
which made the trip worthwhile was seeing the sunrise over Pavonis Mons as we flew eastward toward
the upper edge of the Noctis Labyrinthis.

That was the longest leg of the journey. Over a thousand klicks lay between West Bank and Wellstown,
and although Doc stood watch in the cockpit while I bunked out for a couple of hours, I did little more
than doze. Questions ran through my mind even while my eyes were shut, murmuring like the incessant
drone of Miss Thuvia's props. What were we doing, two grown men dressing up like the Dutch Santa
and his Moorish apprentice? I could be home now, trying to find an unattached lady with whom I could
share some holiday cheer. What were we trying to achieve here? The children at West Bank had shown
only slight interest in us; a little girl had stoically gazed at the toy lander Doc placed in her hand, and a
small boy had made a sour face when he ate the candy I had given him. Yeah, so maybe Christmas
wasn't part of their culture, but the Jewish friends with whom I had been raised on the Moon knew what
it was, if only for the spirit of the season. Perhaps Christmas didn't belong on Mars. So why did any of
this matter?

When I finally got up and went forward, I could see that Doc had been contemplating the same thought.
тАЬIt'll go better in Wellstown,тАЭ he said softly, but I don't think he believed it either.

We ate cold rations as the sun went down behind us, drank some more powdered coffee, and said very
little to one another until the lights of Wellstown appeared before us, a tiny cluster of white and amber
lights against the cold darkness of the Martian night. Almost reluctantly, we pulled on our skinsuits; I
almost forgot to switch Miss Thuvia's Christmas lights until we were above the landing field.

A handful of men grabbed our mooring lines, dragged us in, tied us down. It was only the second time we
had worn our costumes on EVA; Doc stepped on his cape and nearly fell down the gangway, and the
puffed-out legging of my suit forced me into a bow-legged gait. We looked stupid as we made our way
to the airlock of the nearest buckydome. The final touch came when Doc couldn't fit inside, and he had to
lower the peaked hood of his cape.

The outer hatch shut behind us; we got a chance to study each other as the airlock cycled. Two fools in
gaudy, luminescent skinsuits. A bad dream come to life. We had been flying for the past twelve hours,
but I would have gladly flown straight home if I thought it would save me any further humiliation. Why did
I ever let Doc talk me into...?

Then the green light flashed above the inner hatch. Doc and I were unclasping our helmets when the
lockwheel began turning its own, then the inner hatch was thrown open from outside. Bright light rushed
into the airlock, and along with it, the excited squeals of the dozens of children waiting outside.

At that instant, it all made perfect sense.