This planet was remote and set apart, and nothing about it had made
William Kirk think he might find human life. Yet just beyond, through a
thorny bush shaped like an exploding rose, Kirk had seen eyes and nose
and a flash of yellow hair that were definitely human.
Kirk poised motionless. He was three miles from the rocket and Leo, who
was waiting inside of it. He thought for a moment of how Leo had told
him, as they made their landing, that this is the kind of planet where
you could go no further. This is the kind of planet that could be the
end of twelve years, and you'd better be careful, William, old sport.
Kirk noticed a faint breeze; his palms were wet, and they cooled when
the breeze touched them. He placed his palms against his jacket. Damn
you, Leo, he thought. Damn your rotten fortune-telling. Kirk was
superstitious when he was in space, and the memory of Leo Mason's cool,
quiet voice saying "Watch it now, sport. Be careful, be careful ..."
seemed now like some certain kiss of fate.
The bush trembled and Kirk's right hand flicked to his holster. His
pistol was cold against his fingers and he let it fit loosely in his
hand, the barrel half-raised.
The bush shivered again, and then all at once the figure was rising from
behind it, a tall wide figure with a very tan face, lined and
toughened by the sun. The shoulders, bare like the chest, were massive,
yet somehow stretched-looking, as though endless exposure to wind and
rain and sun had turned the skin to brown leather.
[Illustration]
Kirk had his pistol pointing at the figure's stomach now, and the figure
blinked, while the breeze touched and ruffled the long bleached hair.
The figure raised a large hand, palm up, and curled the fingers.
"Hello?" he said softly. Kirk was surprised by the word and the polite
sound of it.
Kirk remained motionless, pistol pointing. "Who are you?" he said
through his teeth.
"Harry," said the figure, as though Kirk surely should know who he was.
"I'm Harry, of course."
"Yes?" said Kirk carefully. "Harry?"