Night came before they returned to the rocket.
Hinckley shook his head in the gathering darkness. "He could be
anyplace out there, damn him."
"Let's get out of here," Compton suggested again. "Leave him here, if
that's what he wants. Let him do what he wants here; what difference
does it make if the natives don't know what's happening?"
Hinckley's look was cold. "We'll wait until morning," he said. "If he
isn't back by then, we'll leave."
But the next morning, the rays of the alien sun found the white
squatting houses silent; Parker had not returned.
Hinckley turned on the outer loudspeaker. "Parker," he said. The words
crashed across the still village. "Parker, this is Hinckley. We're
blasting off in five minutes. If you're not aboard, we're leaving
without you."
After a few minutes, Compton said, "He's not coming. He's probably
dead, and so will we be if we wait long enough."
"More likely, he's ignoring us," Hinckley said, consulting his watch.
"He's got two minutes more."