In the distance, stark, bare mountains gave promise only of a higher desolation.
Pericles watched the stagnant sea for a long time. Over the intercom his voice was shrunken, the husk of a whisper, those compelling tones beaten down by the moaning wind.
“Is it like this everywhere, Captain?’*
The spacer replied unemotionally. “Mostly. I’ve seen far worse worlds, sir … but this one is sure no prize. If I may be permitted an opinion, I’m damned if J can figure out why you want it.”
“Can’t you feel it, Captain?”
“Sir?” The spacer’s expression under his faceglass was puzzled.
“No, no. I guess you cannot. But I do, Captain. Even though this is not the Earth I believed in, I still feel it. I fell in love with a dream. The dream seems to have departed long ago, but the memory of it is still here, still here . . .” Another long pause, then, “You said ‘mostly’?”
“Well, yes.” The spacer turned and gestured at the distant range. “Being the discovering vessel, we ran a
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WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE , .,
pretty thorough survey, according to the general directives. There are places—near the poles, in the higher elevations, out in the middle of the three great oceans—where a certain amount of native life still survives. The cycle of life here has been shattered, but a few of the pieces are still around.
“But mostly, it’s like this.” He kicked at the sterile sand. “Hot or cold desert—take your pick. The soil’s barren and infertile, the air unfit for man or mal.
“We did find some ruins . . . God, they were old! You saw the artifacts we brought back. But except for its historical value, this world strikes me as particularly worthless.”