The sweat dampness of my uniform evaporated only to be replaced by the
stains of new perspiration. I sucked in great gulps of E-T's air and
found it consistently comfortable in my lungs. Insects came,
investigated, and retreated, mostly because of urging. I was not
approached by anything larger than a line of creatures the size of
Vici-Terran milatants, and I was able to avoid them by evasive action.
As far as I could determine, I wasn't invaded by anything microscopic or
sub-microscopic either, because at the end of the three hours, I felt
nothing beyond the personal infirmities that I'd brought with me.
The definite decline of E-T's sun forced me to give up.
The walk back to the plain wasn't entirely fruitless; I found something
that I'd overlooked previously: the scattered remains of a small
vertebrate. Many of the bones were missing.
"What happened to you?" I mused. "Did you come for a meal and got killed
by a larger animal? Or were you caught in the same disaster that--?"
There was no way to tell.
What was it about Epsilon-Terra that could accept one survey team for
months of occupancy--occupancy that had involved detailed examination of
the region within miles of the plain and the hillside, and cursory
examination of thousands of square miles of the rest of the insular mass
by air, including touchdowns at key points for short stays--and that
five years later could entice, enmesh, and destroy the entire
complement of a modern star ship, indiscriminately, within a matter of
hours?
* * * * *
It was late afternoon when I reached the camp.