Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

Mr. Wallace pretended not to hear me. That evening I overheard his report on the interstellar radio, which functioned perfectly. His home office, interestingly enough, was not Clear-Flo, but Central Intelligence.

Mr. Wallace made a good vegetable farmer, even though he spent most of his time sneaking around with camera and notebook. His presence spurred Young Roy to greater efforts. Mavis and I stopped walking in the gloomy forest, and there didn’t seem time to return to the yellow and green fields, to finish some unfinished sentences.

But our little settlement prospered. We had other visitors. A man and his wife from Regional Intelligence dropped by, posing as itinerant fruit pickers. They were followed by two girl photographers, secret representatives of the Executive Information Bureau, and then there was a young newspaper man, who was actually from the Idaho Council of Spatial Morals.

Every single one of them blew a sphinx valve when it came time to leave.

I didn’t know whether to feel proud or ashamed. A half-dozen agents were watching me – but every one of them was a second-rater. And invariably, after a few weeks on my planet, they became involved in farmwork and their Spying efforts dwindled to nothing.

I had bitter moments. I pictured myself as a testing ground for novices, something to cut their teeth on. I was the Suspect they gave to Spies who were too old or too young, inefficient, scatterbrained, or just plain incompetent. I saw myself as a sort of half-pay retirement plan Suspect, a substitute for a pension.

But it didn’t bother me too much. I did have a position, although it was a little difficult to define. I was happier than I had ever been on Earth, and my Spies were pleasant and cooperative people.

Our little colony was happy and secure.

I thought it could go on forever.

Then, one fateful night, there was unusual activity. Some important message seemed to be coming in, and all radios were on. I had to ask a few Spies to share sets, to keep from burning out my generator.

Finally all radios were turned off, and the Spies held conferences. I heard them whispering into the small hours. The next morning, they were all assembled in the living-room, and their faces were long and somber. Mavis stepped forward as spokeswoman.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said to me. “But first, we have something to reveal to you.

Bill, none of us are what we seemed. We are all Spies for the government.”

“Huh?” I said, not wanting to hurt any feelings.

“It’s true,” she said. “We’ve been Spying on you, Bill.”

“Huh?” I said again. “Even you?”

“Even me,” Mavis said unhappily.

“And now it’s all over,” Young Roy blurted out.

That shook me. “Why?” I asked.

They looked at each other. Finally Mr. Wallace, bending the rim of his hat back and forth in his calloused hands, said, “Bill, a resurvey has just shown that this sector of space is not owned by the United States.”

“What country does own it?” I asked.

“Be calm,” Mavis said. “Try to understand. This entire sector was overlooked in the international survey, and now it can’t be claimed by any country. As the first to settle here, this planet, and several million miles of space surrounding it, belong to you, Bill.”

I was too stunned to speak.

“Under the circumstances,” Mavis continued, “we have no authorization to be here. So we’re leaving immediately.”

“But you can’t!” I cried. “I haven’t repaired your sphinx valves!”

“All Spies carry spare sphinx valves and hacksaw blades,” she said gently.

Watching them troop out to their ships I pictured the solitude ahead of me. I would have no government to watch over me. No longer would I hear footsteps in the night, turn, and see the dedicated face of a Spy behind me. No longer would the whirr of an old camera soothe me at work, nor the buzz of a defective recorder lull me to sleep.

And yet, I felt even sorrier for them. Those poor, earnest, clumsy, bungling Spies were returning to a fast, efifcient, competitive world. Where would they find another Suspect like me, or another place like my planet?

“Good-bye, Bill,” Mavis said, offering me her hand.

I watched her walk to Mr. Wallace’s ship. It was only then that I realized that she was no longer my Spy.

“Mavis!” I cried, running after her. She hurried toward the ship. I caught her by the arm. “Wait. There was something I started to say in the ship. I wanted to say it again on the picnic.”

She tried to pull away from me. In most unromantic tones I croaked, “Mavis, I love you.”

She was in my arms. We kissed, and I told her that her home was here, on this planet with its gloomy forests and yellow and green fields. Here with me.

She was too happy to speak.

With Mavis staying, Young Roy reconsidered. Mr. Wallace’s vegetables were just ripening, and he wanted to tend them. And everyone else had some chore or other that he couldn’t drop.

So here I am – ruler, king, dictator, president, whatever I want to call myself. Spies are beginning to pour in now from every country – not only America.