Fantastic Stories Presents: Science Fiction Super Pack #1. Рэй Брэдбери
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“I haven’t the slightest idea. I haven’t seen him since breakfast. Meanwhile cook’s just furious. She caught him vanishing out the kitchen door and there was the bowl of chopped meat just about empty and she was going to use it for lunch. Well, you know cook. She had to change the lunch menu and that means she won’t be worth living with for a week. You’ll just have to speak to Red, dear, and make him promise not to do things in the kitchen any more. And it wouldn’t hurt to have him apologize to cook.”
“Oh, come. She works for us. If we don’t complain about a change in lunch menu, why should she?”
“Because she’s the one who has double-work made for her, and she’s talking about quitting. Good cooks aren’t easy to get. Do you remember the one before her?”
It was a strong argument.
The Industrialist looked about vaguely. He said, “I suppose you’re right. He isn’t here, I suppose. When he comes in, I’ll talk to him.”
“You’d better start. Here he comes.”
Red walked into the house and said cheerfully, “Time for lunch, I guess.” He looked from one parent to the other in quick speculation at their fixed stares and said, “Got to clean up first, though,” and made for the other door.
The Industrialist said, “One moment, son.”
“Sir?”
“Where’s your little friend?”
Red said, carelessly, “He’s around somewhere. We were just sort of walking and I looked around and he wasn’t there.” This was perfectly true, and Red felt on safe ground. “I told him it was lunch time. I said, ‘I suppose it’s about lunch time.’ I said, ‘We got to be getting back to the house.’ And he said, ‘Yes.’ And I just went on and then when I was about at the creek I looked around and—”
The Astronomer interrupted the voluble story, looking up from a magazine he had been sightlessly rummaging through. “I wouldn’t worry about my youngster. He is quite self-reliant. Don’t wait lunch for him.”
“Lunch isn’t ready in any case, Doctor.” The Industrialist turned once more to his son. “And talking about that, son, the reason for it is that something happened to the ingredients. Do you have anything to say?”
“Sir?”
“I hate to feel that I have to explain myself more fully. Why did you take the chopped meat?”
“The chopped meat?”
“The chopped meat.” He waited patiently.
Red said, “Well, I was sort of—”
“Hungry?” prompted his father. “For raw meat?”
“No, sir. I just sort of needed it.”
“For what exactly?”
Red looked miserable and remained silent.
The Astronomer broke in again. “If you don’t mind my putting in a few words—You’ll remember that just after breakfast my son came in to ask what animals ate.”
“Oh, you’re right. How stupid of me to forget. Look here, Red, did you take it for an animal pet you’ve got?”
Red recovered indignant breath. He said, “You mean Slim came in here and said I had an animal? He came in here and said that? He said I had an animal?”
“No, he didn’t. He simply asked what animals ate. That’s all. Now if he promised he wouldn’t tell on you, he didn’t. It’s your own foolishness in trying to take something without permission that gave you away. That happened to be stealing. Now have you an animal? I ask you a direct question.”
“Yes, sir.” It was a whisper so low as hardly to be heard.
“All right, you’ll have to get rid of it. Do you understand?”
Red’s mother intervened. “Do you mean to say you’re keeping a meat-eating animal, Red? It might bite you and give you blood-poison.”
“They’re only small ones,” quavered Red. “They hardly budge if you touch them.”
“They? How many do you have?”
“Two.”
“Where are they?”
The Industrialist touched her arm. “Don’t chivvy the child any further,” he said, in a low voice. “If he says he’ll get rid of them, he will, and that’s punishment enough.”
He dismissed the matter from his mind.
VIII
Lunch was half over when Slim dashed into the dining room. For a moment, he stood abashed, and then he said in what was almost hysteria, “I’ve got to speak to Red. I’ve got to say something.”
Red looked up in fright, but the Astronomer said, “I don’t think, son, you’re being very polite. You’ve kept lunch waiting.”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“Oh, don’t rate the lad,” said the Industrialist’s wife. “He can speak to Red if he wants to, and there was no damage done to the lunch.”
“I’ve got to speak to Red alone,” Slim insisted.
“Now that’s enough,” said the Astronomer with a kind of gentleness that was obviously manufactured for the benefit of strangers and which had beneath it an easily-recognized edge. “Take your seat.”
Slim did so, but he ate only when someone looked directly upon him. Even then he was not very successful.
Red caught his eyes. He made soundless words, “Did the animals get loose?”
Slim shook his head slightly. He whispered, “No, it’s—”
The Astronomer looked at him hard and Slim faltered to a stop.
With lunch over, Red slipped out of the room, with a microscopic motion at Slim to follow.
They walked in silence to the creek.
Then Red turned fiercely upon his companion. “Look here, what’s the idea of telling my Dad we were feeding animals?”
Slim said, “I didn’t. I asked what you feed animals. That’s not the same as saying we were doing it. Besides, it’s something else, Red.”
But Red had not used up his grievances. “And where did you go anyway? I thought you were coming to the house. They acted like it was my fault you weren’t there.”
“But I’m trying to tell you about that, if you’d only shut up a second and let me talk. You don’t give a fellow a chance.”
“Well, go on and tell me if you’ve got so much to say.”
“I’m trying to. I went back to the space-ship. The folks weren’t there anymore and I wanted to see what it was like.”
“It isn’t a space-ship,” said Red, sullenly. He had nothing to lose.
“It is, too. I looked inside. You could look through the ports and I looked inside and they were dead.” He looked sick. “They were dead.”
“Who were dead.”
Slim screeched, “Animals! like our animals! Only they aren’t animals. They’re people-things from other planets.”
For a moment Red might have been turned to stone. It didn’t occur to him to disbelieve Slim at this point. Slim looked too genuinely the bearer of just such tidings. He said, finally, “Oh, my.”
“Well, what are we going to do? Golly, will we get a whopping if they find out?” He was shivering.