"Tama Princes of Mercury" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

There was no further menace.
Ah, if we had but known!
The newscaster's voice interrupted my thoughts: "We feel
sure that within a short time now the whereabouts of Jack
Dean and the others will be disclosed. The Broadcasters'
Press Association has every hope of being able shortly to
supply its millions of subscribers with television scenes of the
strange Mercurian girl Tama"
"Not a chance," Guy gibed. "Get that right out of your
mind, young fellow."
Rowena, Guy and I were sitting before our audiophone
grid in a secluded new cabin set in a lonely spot in one of
the northern states not far from the Canadian border. Forests
surrounded us. A little lake was nearby. It was a clear, frosty
evening of mid-March. The lake was frozen now. Snow
lay thick on the ground and edged the naked tree branches
with white. The underbrush, ice-coated, gleamed with a white
brilliance in the sunlight. The snow was piled high against
our windows; but inside, with a roaring log fire, we were
snug enough.
Toh came into the living room. He was a slim, straight and
boyish fellow, this Mercurian youth of twenty-one. In height
he was no more than a little over five feet. He was dressed in
high laced leather boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel
shirt open at his slender throat. It seemed a costume utterly
incongruous to him. His thick black hair was long to the base
of his neck. A band like a ribbon of red was about his
forehead to hold the hair from his eyes; and with his high-
bridged nose, it gave him something of the aspect of a North
American Indian youth. Toh was gentle-featured, almost girl-
ish; yet there was about him an unmistakable dignity and
strength.
He joined us quietly, unobtrusively, at the radio grid.
Guy said, "Toh, listen to thishe's talking about us."
"The air always talks, these days, of the Bolton Cube,"
Toh said, in a soft, gentle voice with an indefinable accent.
He spoke perfect English. Guy, on Mercury, had had years
to teach him and Tama.
"Right," said Guy. "And they're all excited because the
news reporters can't find us."
For a time we listened to the droning voice. Guy replen-
ished our log fire.
"They don't mention Jimmy," he commented.
Jimmy Turk was my best friend. He had been with us on
that memorable test flight of the Flying Cube, when we had
gone, last fall, out of the Earth's atmosphere and met the
Mercurian spaceship. He was an operative flyer in the newly
established Interstate Patrol.
Then the newscaster did mention Jimmy: "It was thought
that James Turk might be persuaded to reveal the hiding place