[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science
Fiction September 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _Benson did his best to keep his colony from going native,
but what can you do when the Natives have a rare human intelligence and
know all about the facts of life?_]
It was the afternoon of our arrival. Our fellow members of the "test
colony" were back in the clearing at the edge of the lake, getting their
ground-legs and drinking in the sweet, clean air of Sirius XXII. I was
strolling along the strip of sandy beach with Phillip Benson, leader of
our group, sniffing the spicy perfume of the forest that crowded within
twenty feet of the water's edge.
Half a billion miles overhead, Sirius shone with an artificially white
glow. Somewhere on the horizon, Earth lay, an invisible, remote speck of
dust we had forsaken 24 dreary, claustrophobic months ago.
The trip had taken its toll from all of us, even tough-minded Phil
Benson. We both found it difficult to relax and enjoy the invigorating,
oxygen-rich air and the balmy climate. As official recorder, I was
trying to think of words suitable to capture the magnificence, the sheer
loveliness of the planet which would be our home for at least four
years, perhaps forever.
Each absorbed in his own thoughts, Benson and I were some 500 yards from
the clearing when he stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Who is that?" he
demanded.
Up the beach where he pointed, two naked forms emerged from the calm
waters. They skipped across the sand and began rolling together
playfully in the soft grasses at the forest's edge. Even at this
distance they were visibly male and female.
"I can't make them out," I said. My only thought was that one of the
young couples had swum down ahead of us and was enjoying the first
privacy attainable in two years.