It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister
city of metal that glittered malignantly before the
cautious advance of three awed space-scouters.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention one
usually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected has
occurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silence
at the city a quarter-mile away.
He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into the
twilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and the
barren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before they
landed, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction.
He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant.
Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,
unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. "Shall we, gentlemen?" and with
a graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city.
Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through the
stillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilight
sky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And the
city. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to build
a city--even a city like this one--in such surroundings.
The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waiting
geometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,
and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration while
this planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe return
in their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expedition
had, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a return
flight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the only
city on the planet--the planet without any life at all, save tiny
mosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction from
the city a man moved, he would always be going north.
"Hey, Martin!" Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.
"Wind," Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the black
pile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. "That's all we need, isn't it?"
Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dust
cavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,
adjusting his radio. "Worried?"
Rodney's bony face was without expression. "Gives me the creeps, kind
of. I wonder what they were like?"