"John Kessel - The Juniper Tree" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kessel John)

The Juniper Tree
John Kessel
One of the most successful transplants to the colony established by the Society of Cousins on the far side
of the moon was the juniper tree. Soon after Jack Baldwin and his daughter Rosalind emigrated in 2085,
a project under Baldwin's direction planted junipers on the inside slopes of the domed crater, where they
prospered in the low moisture environment. Visitors to the Society today may be excused if, strolling the
woods above the agricultural lands of the crater floor, the fragrance of the foliage, beneath the projected
blue sky of the dome, makes them think for a moment that they are in some low-gravity dream of New
Mexico.

It was under a juniper tree that Jack disposed of the remains of Carey Evasson, the fourteen-year-old
boy he killed.
****
Ice
The blue squad's centering pass slid through the crease, where Maryjane fanned on the shot. The puck
skidded to the boards, and Roz, who had been promoted to the red team for today's practice, picked it
up to start a rush the other way. Carey spotted her from across the rink and set off parallel to her. They'd
caught the blues off guard, with only Thabo between them and the goalie. Thabo came up to check her.
Roz swerved right, then left a drop pass for Carey.

But Thabo poked his stick between Roz's legs and deflected the pass. While Roz and Carey overran the
play, Thabo passed the puck back the other way to Maryjane.

Their breakaway was interrupted by the shriek of Coach Ingasdaughter's whistle. The coach skated onto
the ice, yelling at Roz. “What kind of a play was that? You've got a two-on-one and you go for the drop
pass? SHOOT THE PUCK!”

“But if Thabo had followed me Carey would have had an open net.”

“If if if!” She raised her eyes to the roof of the cavern far overhead. “Why do you think Thabo didn't
follow you? He knew you would pass, because you NEVER shoot! If you don't establish that you're a
threat, they're always going to ignore you. For once, let the BOY get the rebound!”

Roz's face burned. The blue and red squads stood around watching her take the heat. Carey was looking
down, brushing the blade of his stick across the ice.

Coach Ingasdaughter suddenly grabbed Roz by the shoulders, pulled her forward, and planted a kiss on
her lips. “But what can I expect from a girl whose parents were married?” she said, letting Roz go.
Someone snickered. “Ten minute break,” Ingasdaughter said, and turned away.

Roz almost took a slash at her retreating back. Instead she looked past the coach to the bleachers where
a few off-shift pressure workers sat, helmets thrown back over their shoulders, watching the practice.
Beyond the rink, the floor of the cave was one huge mass of blue ice, humped and creased, refracting the
lights and fading into the distance. The coach skated over to talk with her assistant. Most of the team
went over to the cooler by the home bench. Roz skated to the penalty box, flipped the door open and sat
down.

It was hard being the only immigrant on the hockey team. The cousins teased her, called her “High-G.”
Roz had thought that going out for hockey would be a way for her make some girlfriends who could
break her into one of the cliques. You needed a family to get anywhere among the cousins. You needed