_Regardless of scientific attainment, any culture
is vulnerable to inhibition. And Saxon was a good
agent; no culture nor individual would sway his
loyal appraisal...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Planetfall.
Here the forest was green and cool. A soft, damp wind promised rain.
The colonists moved down the ramp, staring at the crew members piling
crates of supplies in the meadow beyond.
Frowns. Then whispers.
Saxon glanced up. His nostrils flared. "Hurry," he told the crewmen,
and came forward, beaming. He was tired. It showed in his feverish,
too-bright smile as he said, "Afraid Engineering's a little behind
schedule. They'll be here tomorrow morning to erect your city. Tonight
you'll have to rough it."
Reactions varied. The women murmured and moved closer to their men.
Some smiled. One man thoughtfully eyed the mounting pyramid of supplies.
"You're getting a choice world, Jarl," Saxon said, clapping him on
the shoulder. "Survey spent thirty years here, balancing the ecology,
wiping out the bugs and carnivores. Eden." Saxon tasted the word like
wine.