[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of Science
Fiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: _The Earth was green and quiet. Nature had survived Man, and
Man had survived himself. Then, one day, the great silvery ships broke
the tranquillity of the skies, bringing Man's twenty-thousand-year-lost
inheritance back to Earth...._]
"_Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
And why sae sad gang ye, O?"
"O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
And I had nae mair but he, O._"
--ANONYMOUS
The Horde of sleek ships arose in the west at twilight--gleaming slivers
that reflected the dying sun as they lanced across the darkling heavens.
A majestic fleet of squadrons in double-vees, groups in staggered
echelon, they crossed the sky like gleaming geese, and the children of
Earth came out of their whispering gardens to gape at the splendor that
marched above them.
There was fear, for no vessel out of space had crossed the skies of
Earth for countless generations, and the children of the planet had
forgotten. The only memories that lingered were in the memnoscripts, and
in the unconscious _kulturverlaengerung_, of the people. Because of the
latter half-memory, the people knew, without knowing why, that the
slivers of light in the sky were ships, but there was not even a word in
the language to name them.
The myriad voices of the planet, they cried, or whispered, or chattered
in awed voices under the elms....
The piping whine of a senile hag: "The ancient gods! The day of the
judging! Repent, repent...."
The panting gasp of a frightened fat man: "The alien! We're lost, we're
lost! We've got to run for the hills!"