She was right, of course. He wasn't of earth. Never had been. My love
is in the sky, he thought, filled with an immense satisfaction.
And time slipped by, the weeks into months; the sun dwindled and earth
was gone. All around him lay the stunning star-dusted night.
He lay curled in the plastic womb when the ship turned. He awoke
sluggishly and dragged himself into awareness.
"I've changed," he thought aloud. "My face is younger; I feel
different."
The keening sound of air over the wings brought a thrill. Below him, a
great curving disk of reds and browns and yellows. He could see dust
storms raging and the heavy, darkened lines of the canals.
There was skill in his hands. He righted the rocket, balanced it. Began
the tricky task of landing. It took all of his talent, all of his
training. Ponderously, the ship settled into the iron sand; slowly, the
internal fires died.
* * * * *
Kimball stood in the control room, his heart pounding. Slowly, the ports
opened. Through the thick quartz he could see the endless plain. Reddish
brown, empty. The basin of some long ago sea. The sky was a deep,
burning blue with stars shining at midday at the zenith. It looked
unreal, a painting of unworldly quiet and desolation.
_What is reality, Kimmy?_
Steinhart was right, he thought vaguely. A tear streaked his cheek. He
had never been so alone.
And then he imagined he saw something moving on the great plain. He
scrambled down through the ship, past the empty fuel tanks and the
lashed supplies. His hands were clawing desperately at the dogs of the
outer valve. Suddenly the pressure jerked the hatch from his hands and
he gasped at the icy air, his lungs laboring to breathe.
He dropped to one knee and sucked at the thin, frigid air. His vision
was cloudy and his head felt light. But there _was_ something moving on
the plain.
A shadowy cavalcade.
* * * * *
Strange monstrous men on fantastic war-mounts, long spears and
fluttering pennons. Huge golden chariots with scythes flashing on the
circling hubs and armored giants, the figments of a long remembered
dream----
He dropped to the sand and dug his hands into the dry powdery soil. He
could scarcely see now, for blackness was flickering at the edges of his
vision and his failing heart and lungs were near collapse.
_Kimmm-eee!_
A huge green warrior on a gray monster of a thoat was beckoning to him.
Pointing toward the low hills on the oddly near horizon.
_Kimmmm-eeeee!_
The voice was thin and distant on the icy wind. Kimball knew that voice.
He knew it from long ago in the Valley Dor, from the shores of the Lost
Sea of Korus where the tideless waters lay black and deep----
He began stumbling across the empty, lifeless plain. He knew the voice,
he knew the man, and he knew the hills that he must reach, quickly now,
or die.
They were the hills of home.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note and Errata |
| |
| This etext was produced from "Future Science Fiction" No. 30 |
| 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that |
| the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. |
| |
| The following errors have been corrected: |
| |
| Error Correction |
| cooly coolly |
| fantasic fantastic |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+