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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
The Project Gutenberg eBook of To Save Earth
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: To Save Earth

Author: Edward W. Ludwig

Illustrator: Virgil Finlay

H. R. Van Dongen

Release date: September 16, 2016 [eBook #53059]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO SAVE EARTH

***
 TO SAVE EARTH

BY EDWARD W. LUDWIG

ILLUSTRATED BY VAN DOGEN

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Worlds of Tomorrow October 1963
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 The life of everyone on Earth depended on
their sanity ... which they had long ago lost!

For more than six years the silver rocket was like a tomb buried at
the Earth's center. It wore the blackness of interstellar space for a
shroud, and ten thousand gleaming stars were as the eyes of
hungry, waiting worms.
Five of the inhabitants of the rocket moved like zombies, stone-faced
and dull-eyed, numb even to their loneliness.
The sixth inhabitant did not move at all. He sat silent and unseeing.
The sixth inhabitant was mad.
There had been times when all of them—mad and near-mad—had
forgotten that they hurtled through space, that they were men and
that they were growing old. Occasionally they had even forgotten
that the destiny of mankind might lie in their hands like a fragile
flower to be preserved or crushed.
But now came a moment six years one month and five days after
their departure from Earth. The sole planet of Sirius loomed green
and blue in the ship's magni-screen. The sight of the shining planet
was like a heavenly trumpet call, a signal for resurrection.
The inhabitants stirred, rubbed their eyes, and tried to exhume
forgotten hopes and memories from the lethargy of their minds....

"What do you think?" asked Lieutenant Washington.

Captain Jeffrey Torkel, gaunt-faced and gray, stiffened his lean body.
At this moment all memory had left him, like a wind-tossed balloon
leaping out of his skull.
It's happened again, he thought. I've forgotten. Oh God, why must I
keep forgetting?
"Tell me what you think, Captain," said a balding, dark-skinned man
clad in khakis.
Captain Torkel stared at the blue-green, cloud-mottled image in the
screen. Where was he? Certainly not in South Dakota. Certainly not
on a field of golden, bristling wheat. No, he had the feeling that
much time had passed since those boyhood days on the Dakota
farm.
He glanced at the strange man who had spoken to him. The balloon
snapped back into his skull. Memory returned.
At least it wasn't gone for a week this time, he thought. Thank you,
God.
"You must be thinking something," persisted the man who had
become Lieutenant Washington.
The captain rubbed his gray stubble of beard. "I guess I'm thinking
that we're afraid and bewildered. We're not as full of strength and
hope as saviors of the race should be. Sure, what we find here today
will mean either life or death for the race. But the concept has been
with us for too long. It's already made us half-mad. And the same
part of our minds is afraid to hope lest it be disappointed. After all,
the planet might be radioactive or uninhabitable, or—"
"But, Lord, Captain! Even with the sub-spatial drive it's taken us six
years to get here. If there's a God who answers prayers, it's got to
be a good planet. Sirius has only one planet. This is the last chance
left for the race. And look at it, Captain! The blue places must be
water and the green must be land. It's bigger than Earth, but it
looks almost like it!"
Captain Torkel nodded. "Whether it's good or bad, we still can't win,
really. If it's bad, humanity dies and we stay on the ship for the rest
of our lives. If it's good, we'll still be on it for twelve more years—six
years back to Earth and another six to return here."
Lieutenant Washington began to shake. "I don't know if I could take
twelve more years in space. Twelve years of eating and sleeping and
playing chess in the silence and nothing but darkness outside, and
trying to find a micro-movie we haven't seen a hundred times—all
that, over and over—" He closed his eyes. "I don't think the others
could take it either. They'd probably become like Kelly."
Kelly was the mad one.
"We have no other choice, Lieutenant. If the planet's habitable, we
have to take the news back."
The lieutenant shuddered. "I—I need a drink," he faltered. "I know. I
said I wasn't going to drink today. I'm not either. Not much. I want
to be on my feet when we hit that planet. But—excuse me, Captain."
Captain Torkel watched the gaunt officer stride to the aft
compartment. He suddenly realized that the lieutenant was bald.
The top of his Negroid skull shone like a dark egg. When had that
happened? Only a short time ago, it seemed, the lieutenant had
been a young man with soft thick hair. Those six years did it,
thought Captain Torkel, those six dark, silent, crazy years.

The lieutenant returned a few seconds later, calmer now, reeking

with the stench of laboratory alcohol spilled on his jacket.
Captain Torkel, as always, pretended not to notice the stench.
"Captain," said Lieutenant Washington deeply.
"Yes?"
"Suppose the astrophysicists back on Earth were wrong. They said
the sun would blow up in exactly twelve years, two months and
fifteen days. How could they get it that close? Suppose this planet is
habitable, suppose it could be a new home for humanity. And
suppose we start back home with the news, and then the sun turns
into a nova ahead of schedule—say, in twelve years, two months and
three days, when we're still a week away."
Captain Torkel swallowed hard. "We have to allow a margin for error,
of course. But I don't think those predictions will be off by more than
a day or two. After all, they've been corroborated in all the
broadcasts we've been able to pick up."
He smiled grimly. "So if the planet's habitable, we have to start back
to Earth almost at once. We can't allow ourselves more than a day to
rest and try to get the madness out of our systems."
"Oh, God," murmured Lieutenant Washington, closing his eyes.
"If we only had our transmitter," Captain Torkel mused, "we could
stay here. We wouldn't have to—"
"Damn him," interrupted the lieutenant, opening his eyes and
clenching his fists. "Damn him!"
"Kelly?"
"Kelly. Why did he do it, Captain? Why did he throw every piece of
transmitting equipment over-board?"
"Maybe a part of his mind hated Earth. Maybe unconsciously he
didn't want to save humanity. Kelly's crazy. You can't account for the
actions of a crazy man."
Lieutenant Washington was shaking again. "And so we can't radio
Earth about what we find. If the planet's good, we have to tell Earth
the hard way—by traveling through space for six more years.
Captain, I—I think I'm going to have to get a dr—"
Footsteps sounded on the deck behind them. Van Gundy, the lean,
hawk-nosed jetman, rushed up to them. He was breathing heavily
and trembling.
"Captain, Fox stole my harmonica!"
Captain Torkel scowled. For a moment he forgot Van Gundy's name
and who the lean man was. Then he remembered.
"Stole your harmonica. Why?"
"He won't tell me. He's a thief, Captain. He's always stealing things.
You ought to—"
"Tell him I said for him to give it back to you. Tell him I said that."
"Yes, sir." Van Gundy clasped his trembling hands. "But that isn't all,
Captain. Garcia said if I got my harmonica back and kept playing it,
he'd kill me."
"Oh, God. Tell Garcia I said he couldn't."
"Yes, sir." Van Gundy turned toward the aft compartment, then spun
back, eyes blazing. "I won't let 'em scare me, Captain. If they don't
leave me alone. I'll kill them."

"The men are like rotting trees," said Captain Torkel a few moments
later, "and you can't tell which way they'll fall. Fox steals. Van Gundy
is afraid of everything and everybody. Garcia keeps breaking things
and threatening violence. Someday he'll break a port, and that'll be
it. Finis."
Lieutenant Washington said, with a hiccough, "Too bad we didn't
insist on having a psychiatrist in the crew. Fox probably thinks he's
been cheated out of his youth, and unconsciously he's trying to steal
it back. Van Gundy has been knocked around so much that
everything in the universe is a source of terror to him. Garcia breaks
things."
He laughed sourly, blowing hot alcoholic breath into the captain's
face. "And me, I'm a dipso who's no good to himself or anyone. You,
Captain ... sometimes I suspect that your memory isn't quite what it
use to be."
Captain Torkel scratched his stubbled chin. "Six psycho-specimens
trying to save humanity. How did we become so detestable? Are all
Earthmen like us?"
"Don't you remember?"
"Remember?"
"Yes. How when the U. N. announced about the blowup every
interstellar rocket and spaceman in the System was commissioned to
discover new worlds. Each ship was given a destination and an
interstellar ether-radio to send back its findings. Mechanics and
technicians still on Earth were put to work building new rockets to
carry the race to its future home—if one were found. We and the
Star Queen were at the bottom of the barrel. The oldest ship; the
crew that ordinarily would have been grounded."
Captain Torkel murmured, "I remember. There were fourteen
interstellar ships then. Six cracked up smashing through the Einstein
Barrier, according to what we picked up on the ether receiver. The
others reached their destinations and not one found a habitable
world. And newer ships sent out later had no better luck. Now, all
the nearest star systems have been reached, and there isn't time for
the ships to go on to other systems. By an ugly little prank of Fate,
we're Earth's last chance."
He straightened. He pressed the warning buzzer and flicked on the
rocket's intercom.
"All hands to their crash-chairs," he intoned.

II

The crewmen appeared in the rear of the control room. Hesitantly,

they approached the massive, semicircular control panel with its
hundred flashing red and blue lights.
Fox was in the lead.
"Captain," the small-boned, brown-bearded radarman said solemnly,
"can we take a look before we belt down?"
"A short one."
The men looked.
Fox seemed ready to kiss the image of the planet. Van Gundy, wide-
eyed, trembled before it as if at any instant it might destroy him.
Garcia, the swarthy engineer, glowered at it as though threatening to
crush it like an eggshell.
"I want Kelly to see this," said Fox. He hurried aft, nervously stroking
his beard.
An instant later he returned, leading the former radioman by the
hand. Kelly's soft blue eyes stared vacantly out of a pink, cherubic
face. He was as plump as a dumpling, and his hair was as red as
prairie fire. His short body moved woodenly.
"Come on, Kelly," said Fox. "You got to see this. Nobody's going to
stop you from seeing this, by God."
The fire-haired man stood before the magni-screen.
Fox pointed. "See it?"
Kelly stared.
"He can't see it," rumbled Garcia. "He's crazy."
"Not too crazy to see this," Fox retorted.
Kelly's head bent forward. His lip quivered. "Home," he mumbled.
Fox jerked, eyes widening. "Hey, Kelly spoke! Did you hear that? He
spoke! First time in two years!"
"Home," Kelly mumbled again.
"No, not home," Fox explained. "It's the only planet of Sirius."
"Hell," said Garcia, "if it'll make him happier, let him think it's Earth."
"No, it's the only planet of—"
"We can't be saying 'the only planet of Sirius' all the time. We got to
give it a name."
"Home," mumbled the madman.
"What kind of a name would that be?" growled Garcia.
Captain Torkel said, patiently, "Kelly didn't mean that for a name. He
was just saying the word."
Fox cried, "Let's name it after Kelly. Kelly's Planet!"
Van Gundy stepped forward. He was trembling. His trembling
seemed as much a part of him as sight in his eyes. "No," he said.
"Why not?" snapped Fox.
"Because of what he did. He took the transmitter and—"
"We know all that. He couldn't help it. He's a schizophrenic. That
doesn't mean we can't name a world after him, does it?"
Garcia balled his hands into fists. "Fox is right. I say we call it Kelly's
Planet. How about it, Captain?"
"It's all right with me," said the captain.
"Then Kelly's Planet it is!" cried Fox.
"Strap down," Captain Torkel said. "This is it. We're going to land."
Then he said the words again in his mind: This is it. This is the world
that will give death or life to humanity, madness or sanity to us.

The midnight blackness of space dissolved into gentle twilight as the

Star Queen slid into the atmosphere of Kelly's Planet. The grumble
of the jets became audible and then swelled until it was like a rebirth
of the thunderous sound of an April takeoff more than six years ago.
Captain Torkel switched on the second layer of bow jets, braced
himself in his crash-chair. Despite the effects of the deceleration
compensator, his face was swollen and distorted. It was as if the
soul was bubbling out of his body.
He realized that he should have commenced deceleration some
ninety minutes ago. But he had forgotten.
The image of the planet broadened in the magni-screen. It filled the
screen, then seemed to spill out of it. Captain Torkel beheld an
expanse of blue which, in a silent explosion, was transformed into
the cerulean calm of a sea. The blue was swept away. The brownish
gold of mountains stabbed briefly upward, faded into the shadowy
green of rushing forest. Then came the glassy green of a meadow.
The Star Queen paused, shaking with vibration. Its nose arched
upward.
The Star Queen landed with an almost imperceptible thump. The
atomic engines spluttered, coughed, died. The men unbuckled
themselves, tested their limbs, slid off their chairs. They moved to
the portholes like frightened old men treading on slippery ice.
They looked out.

They stared for a long moment. "I don't believe it," said Fox at last.
"It's a mirage. We're still in space."
"It—it frightens me," stuttered Van Gundy. "There's death out there.
The air is poisonous. I feel it."
"We're crazy," Garcia spat. "As crazy as Kelly." His eyes widened. "Or
maybe we're dead. Could that be?"
"E—excuse me, Captain," said Lieutenant Washington. "I think I'll go
aft for a minute."
Captain Torkel said nothing. He had forgotten where he was. He was
nameless and lost, among strangers in a strange place.
But at this moment he somehow did not care. He was content to let
his hungry gaze absorb the rainbow beauty beyond the ports.
The meadow was like molten emerald stirring lazily in a slight
breeze. The meadow was spotted with flowers as large as a man's
head, shaped like teardrops, and shining purple and yellow and blue
and crimson in the light from a swollen, blood-red sun.
Some five hundred yards away on the rocket's starboard side rose a
towering green forest. In its shadow was a dark jungle of colossal
fern and twisted vines and more flowers. Beyond that, far away,
snow-cloaked mountains stretched their ponderous bulk into sea-
blue sky.
Captain Torkel returned his slow gaze to the interior of the strange
place in which he stood. He beheld a group of strange men doing
strange things.
A stern-looking man with tight lips and menacing eyes was looking
up from a litter of glass flasks and electronic devices. "Air twenty-
nine per cent oxygen—a bit higher than on Earth. Sixty-five per cent
nitrogen. Rest is a mixture of water vapor, CO2 and inert gases."
A small-boned man with a brown beard was saying, "Mass point-
eight-three. That and the increased oxygen should make us feel like
kids again."
A hawk-nosed man with trembling hands and a forehead glistening
with perspiration said, "Temperature sixty-four Fahrenheit. No
harmful radiation, pathogenic tests negative. Air pressure, eleven-
point-three."
He pointed to an odd-looking flower and a tuft of grass in the
window of a metal, box-like chamber. "Flora shows the same
oxygen-CO2 cycle as on Earth. Only the flowers here seem edible."
The men looked at one another.
"Captain, is everything all right?" the brown-bearded man asked
anxiously.
Captain Torkel sensed that the strange men desired an affirmative
answer from him. "Yes," he said.
The brown-bearded man clapped his hands. "And we can go outside!
How about it, Captain? Can we go outside without our suits? Can we
go out now—please?"
Click.

Memory returned to Captain Torkel like water crashing out of a

broken dam and into a barren valley. He blinked and took a deep
breath.
The three men before him became Garcia and Fox and Van Gundy.
He saw that Kelly was still strapped in his crash-chair. He did not see
Lieutenant Washington, but from the aft compartment came a faint
tinkling of glassware.
"Yes," he said, "we'll go outside. But first someone should go alone—
just in case. Who'll volunteer?"
"Not me," said Van Gundy. "You can't depend on those tests. There's
death out there. The whole human race will die out if it comes here."
"Why not let Kelly go?" asked Fox. "It's his planet."
"Sure," said Garcia. "If he dies, it'd serve him right, after what he
did."
Captain Torkel thought, It may be a dangerous planet. The captain
ought to go first. He shouldn't send a madman to do a captain's job.
"Let Kelly go first," he said, hating himself.
Fox helped Kelly out of the crash-chair, pushed him to the airlock.
"Go on, Kelly. This is your planet. You'll be the first to set foot on it."
Kelly did not move.
Fox pulled him to a port. "Look out there, Kelly. Damn it, don't keep
looking at your feet. Out there, out the port!"
Fox raised Kelly's head and brushed the red hair back from his eyes.
The madman looked.
"Heaven?" he whispered.
"Not Heaven. Kelly's Planet. Your planet, Kelly."
They pushed Kelly into the airlock. A minute later they saw him
stumble onto the green meadows. For eleven more minutes he stood
silent and motionless. Then he turned toward the rocket. Through
the ports the men saw his lips move.
"Heaven!" yelled Fox. "That's what he said! He said 'Heaven'!"

III

Captain Torkel and Fox and Garcia and Van Gundy stood beside
Kelly. Lieutenant Washington, too drunk to stand, sprawled in the
grass.
They let the cool, clean air wash out their lungs like sweet perfume.
They took off their shoes. They dug their toes into the soft, silky
grass. They sniffed the poignant, spicy smell of the brilliant flowers.
Van Gundy, despite his trembling, played Turkey in the Straw on his
harmonica. Captain Torkel did a dance like that of a Russian
Cossack. Lieutenant Washington, squatting like a dark Buddha and
with his torso swaying drunkenly, clapped his hands in time with the
dance. Fox hummed the tune, and even Kelly nodded his head
rhythmically. Only Garcia stood motionless.
"It's a good planet!" exclaimed Fox at last.
Van Gundy's trembling hand whacked spit out of his harmonica. His
eyes rolled fearfully toward the forest. "We don't know for sure yet."
"I think Fox is right," said Captain Torkel. "It is a good planet. Enjoy
it, men. Breathe deeply. Smell those flowers. Feel the grass. Because
very soon we've got to start Earthward. We've got to store our
memories full of this beauty so it'll last for twelve years."
"Oh, God," sighed Fox. "Twelve years."
Garcia stepped forward, swelling his chest. Strangely, it seemed that
all the hatred had been drained out of him. "I was wrong," he said.
"We're not crazy and we're not dead. This planet is good. It's so
good that I'd like to stay here as long as I live."
"What?" asked Captain Torkel, blinking.
"I said I'd like to stay here as long as I live."
The words echoed in the still air. They were like evil seeds, falling
into fertile minds and sprouting.
"And not go back to Earth?" asked Fox, stroking his beard.
"And not go back to Earth."

Captain Torkel stiffened. "Get those thoughts out of your head,

Garcia. There are two billion people back on Earth. They'll die unless
we tell them about this planet. We've got wives, friends—"
"Not me," said Garcia sternly. "No wife and no friends."
Fox shrilled, "The only reason I volunteered for this trip was to get
away from my wife and that lousy New York apartment. You're not
married, are you, Captain?"
"N—no."
"Me neither," hiccoughed Lieutenant Washington. "Not many girls'll
marry spacemen."
"Kelly's married, though," mused Fox. "How about it, Kelly?"
"Heaven," mumbled Kelly.
Fox laughed. "Kelly means he wants to stay here."
Captain Torkel wiped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of
his hand. "We got to get these thoughts out of our minds. We're
talking like murderers. Garcia, think of the people you used to know.
Think of their faces. Imagine how it would be for them to die."
Garcia looked up into the sky, his features softening. "I can't
remember any faces, Captain. I can remember how the gulls used to
fly over the coast at Monterey and how the fishing boats used to
bounce over the waves. That's all. The gulls and the boats will be
destroyed anyway. We can't save those."
Captain Torkel turned to Fox. "You remember faces, don't you, Fox?"
The little man shrugged. "They're like those crowd scenes we used
to see in movies—hundreds and thousands of faces all huddled
together. You really can't remember a single one. They're like
shadows."
"But you remember your wife's face."
"I don't want to remember that. I might vomit. And I don't want to
remember that cheesy New York apartment either."
In desperation the captain turned to Van Gundy. "And you?"
"I—I remember the face of an old woman who sold flowers on
O'Farrell Street in Frisco. Stood there all year long, she did. In
winter, summer, spring, fall. I used to buy gardenias from her when I
had a date."
"Do you want her to die?"
"She was so old that she's probably dead by this time anyway. But
listen, Captain, I—I'm not sure yet that this planet—"
Captain Torkel whirled frantically to Lieutenant Washington, kicked
him lightly in the side. The lieutenant, apparently somewhat sobered
by the cool air, rose shakily.
"Lieutenant, you remember the people of Earth. Can't you still see
their faces in your mind?"

"The only face I remember," drawled Lieutenant Washington, "is my

Mom's. A good face, with a lot of work in it, but thin around the lips
and wrinkled around the eyes. It was a cold face, though. Mom was
born in Louisiana and then moved up to Maine as a girl. Her bones
weren't the kind to take those New England winters. So Mom slept,
ate, lived and died cold. Been dead now for eight years, and I think
she's still cold, even in her grave. I don't believe Mom'd mind one bit
if the Earth burns up. She'd be warm then. I think she'd like it."
"That's not the point," said Captain Torkel angrily. "The point is—"
Fox broke in: "What do you remember, Captain?"
Captain Torkel swallowed hard. "Me? Why, I remember, I—" His
mouth remaining open, he scratched the back of his neck. His
memories suddenly vanished like puffs of smoke.
"Just like the rest of us!" burst Garcia, triumphantly.
"You know, Captain," said Fox, "if we didn't go back, the race
wouldn't have to roast. People would still escape in their emergency
rockets."
"But they wouldn't know where to go. They'd float around a few
years, and then those flimsy mass-production ships would break up.
Good Lord, men, we've got to act like human beings!"
Garcia stepped forward. "Why don't we decide this later? Can't we
relax for a few hours, Captain?"
Lieutenant Washington nodded agreement. "He's right. You said
yourself, Captain, that if the planet was good we'd spend a day or so
getting the madness out of our systems."
"All right," murmured Captain Torkel, shoulders drooping. "We'll look
around some more."
They walked toward the forest. Fox led Kelly by the hand. Lieutenant
Washington advanced under his own power.
They saw trees five hundred feet high with brown trunks like
twisted, lumpy crullers and leaves like elephant ears of green velvet.
From smaller trees hung fruit that shimmered like golden snow as
light touched it. Here and there were clusters of scarlet berries as
large as apples, and chocolate-brown balls the size of coconuts.
"Don't touch 'em," said Van Gundy, trembling. "I'll bet they're deadly
poison."
"They look delicious," said Captain Torkel, stuffing three specimens
in his knapsack, "but we'll test them first."
Van Gundy screamed.
The others whirled to look at him.
Van Gundy, speechless, pointed with a trembling forefinger.
A brown, smiling face broke out of the fern foliage. Then another
appeared, and another and another.
A score or more of brown-skinned humanoids walked up to them.

IV

The Sirians were dressed in loin cloths as bright and multi-colored as

the tear-shaped meadow flowers. Their resemblance to Earthmen
made Captain Torkel gasp.
He could discern no appreciable difference save for the perfect
roundness of their dark eyes and a slight elongation of their ears.
Their flesh was golden tan.
"Well, hello!" said Captain Torkel.
The Sirians moved toward him, with such grace that they seemed
not men striding through the singing forest, but part of the living
trees and ferns and flowers.
"Hello," echoed the foremost Sirian, smiling. He was a young man,
about thirty by Earth standards, with long black hair and wide,
muscular shoulders. His handsome face reminded Captain Torkel of
romantic Latin heroes in the micro-movies aboard the Star Queen.
Captain Torkel pointed to the sky. "We come from up there, from
another world."
The Sirian's eyes were like black lights spearing into the captain's
skull. "Yes, you come from star. You are Star People. Where is your
star?"
"It's a long way—"
"Hey, he spoke in English!" cried Fox. "What the hell!"
"I—I'm going back to the rocket," stammered Van Gundy, shaking.
"Lord, I need a drink," murmured Lieutenant Washington, stepping
back with Van Gundy.
"Wait, all of you," Captain Torkel commanded them. To the Sirian he
said, "We know that Earthmen haven't been here before. How do
you speak our language?"
The young man's smile broadened. "Your mind is a fire sending out
warmth to us. Within the warmth I see sounds you use to make
words."
"Telepathy," said Captain Torkel.
"Yes," the Sirian agreed. "And I see that your people are troubled.
They fear a strange thing—a coming of heat and light. Your world is
soon to be destroyed, yes?"
Suddenly the captain was afraid. The fear came to him in an invisible
cloud, settling over him, seeping into his flesh and chilling his bones.
He tried to believe that it was the senseless fear of a child whose
imagination has peopled the dark corners of his room with nameless
monsters. He tried to crush the fear, but it clung to him in fog-cold
intensity.
The Sirian nodded understandingly. "You must not worry now about
the coming of the great heat. You are tired. You must come with us
to our village. You must see how we live."
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