_Parker was a trouble maker wherever they
landed. But here was the planet ideal, a
chance he had awaited a long, long time--easy,
like taking candy from a baby...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Like a lone sentinel, the house stood apart at the edge of the village,
a white cube with no windows. The door stood open, a dark hole against
the white brick. The house was silent. The village beyond was silent.
"They must have seen us land," Compton said, a little wildly. "You
can't set down a rocket ship a hundred yards from somebody and not have
them notice. They must have seen us!"
"Unless no one lives here," Parker amended. "This may be a ghost city."
"He's right," Hinckley agreed. "There might not be anyone living here,
or anyplace on the planet for that matter. We've found very little life
in these alien star-systems, and it's varied from primitive to ancient.
Perhaps this society became old and died before any of us were born."
The three Earthmen stood at the base of the spaceship, their spacesuit
headpieces thrown back so they could breathe in the cool thin air. They
stood there peering into the deathly stillness.
"I hope there are people living here," Parker said. "It's been more
than a month now--"
"Well," Hinckley said, "let's find out." He waved them forward.
They were fifty feet from the house when a woman appeared in the
doorway with a silver vase. She was dressed in a grey flowing robe that
covered her from neck to ankles.
"A young woman," Hinckley breathed, staring. "A woman just like any on
Earth!"
His voice was loud in the silence, but the woman took no notice. She
stooped and began filling the vase with sand. The two men with Hinckley
shifted anxiously, settling the sand beneath their boots. Behind them
the great spaceship pointed its nose at the sky.
Parker was staring intently at the girl. "I'm going to like this
place," he said slowly.
They walked forward, crunching sand. But the girl took no notice of
their approach. She was kneeling beside the house, scooping tiny
handfuls of sand into the silver vase. When they were within five feet
of her, Hinckley cleared his throat. She did not look up. He coughed.
"Maybe she's deaf," Parker suggested vaguely. His eyes wandered
appraisingly over her youthful body; he licked dry lips.
Hinckley moved forward and stood before the girl. Her small white hands
dug into the sand, scooping around his boots as though not aware of
them.
"And blind, too?" Compton wanted to know. "And without the sense of
touch?" There was a strange quality to his voice, as though some
primitive part of his unconsciousness was telling him to run.
Hinckley bent to tap the girl lightly upon the shoulder. "Pardon me,
Miss. We're visitors from Earth," he told her.
But she paid no attention to the sound of his voice, and he stepped
back, puzzled.
"Now what?" Compton wanted to know. He looked around him nervously, at
the house, the speckled sand, the rocket squatting behind them. "I hope
all the natives aren't like this."
"I do," Parker said, licking his lips thoughtfully and keeping his gaze
on the girl. "I'd just as soon have them all like this. It might be
interesting."