"Murray Leinster - Keyhole (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Leinster Murray)

miniature mining machinery coming up by the next rocket. I'm supposed to see if you can learn to
run it.”
Butch made scratching sounds on the floor. It was unintelligible of course, but it was an
expression of interest at least. Butch seemed to enjoy the vibrations of Worden’s voice, just as a
dog likes to have his master talk to him. Worden grunted.
“We humans class you as an animal, Butch. We tell ourselves that all the animal world
should be subject to us. Animals should work for us. If you act too smart well hunt down all your
relatives and set them to work digging minerals for us. You’ll be with them. But I don’t want you
to work your heart out in a mine, Butch! It’s wrong!”
Butch remained quite still. Worden thought sickishly of small furry creatures like Butch
driven to labor in airless mines in the Moon’s frigid depths. With guards in spacesuits watching
lest any try to escape to the freedom they’d known before the coming of men. With guns mounted
against revolt. With punishments- for rebellion or weariness.
It wouldn’t be unprecedented. The Indians in Cuba when the Spanish càme . . . Negro
slavery in both Americas . . . concentration camps . . .
Butch moved. He put a small furry paw on Worden’s knee. Worden scowled at him.
“Bad business,” he said harshly. “I’d rather not get fond of you. You’re a likable little
cuss but your race is doomed. The trouble is that you didn’t bother to develop a civilization. And
if you had, I suspect we’d have smashed it. We humans aren’t what you’d call admirable.” -
Butch went over to the blackboard. He took a piece of pastel chalk—ordinary chalk was too
hard for his Moon-gravity muscles -to use—and soberly began to make marks on the slate. The marks
formed letters. The letters made words. The words made sense.
YOU, wrote Butáh quite incredibly in neat pica lettering, GOOD FRIEND.
He turned his head to stare at Worden. Worden went white. “I haven’t taught you those
words, Butch!” he said very quietly. “What’s up?”
He’d forgotten that his words, to Butch, were merely vibrations in the air or in the
floor. He’d forgotten they had no meaning. But Butch seemed to have forgotten it too. He marked
soberly: -
MY FRIEND GET SPACESUIT. He looked at Worden and marked once more. TAKE ME OUT. I COME
BACK WITH YOU.
He looked at Worden with large incongruously soft and appealing eyes. And Worden’s brain
seemed to spin inside his skull. After a long time Butch printed again— YES.
Then Worden sat very still indeed. There was only Moon gravity in the nursery and he
weighed only one eighth as much as on Earth. But he felt very weak. Then he felt grim.
“Not much else to do, I suppose,” he said slowly. “But I’ll have to carry you through
Earth gravity to the air lock.”
He got to his feet. Butch made a little leap up into his arms. He curled up there, staring
at Worden’s face. Just before Worden stepped through the door Butch reached up a skinny paw and
caressed Worden’s cheek tentatively.
“Here we go!” said Worden. “The idea was for you to be a traitor. I wonder—”
But with Butch a furry ball, suffering in the multiplied weight Earth-gravity imposed upon
him, Worden made his way to the air lock. He donned a spacesuit. He went out.
It was near sunrise then. A long time had passed and Earth was now in its last quarter and


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the very highest peak of all that made up the crater wall glowed incandescent in the sunshine. But
the stars were still quite visible and very bright. Worden walked away from the station, guided by