THE PACIFISTS
BY CHARLES E. FRITCH
Parker was a trouble maker wherever they
landed. But here was the planet ideal, a
chance he had awaited a long, long time—easy,
like taking candy from a baby....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Like a lone sentinel, the house stood apart at the edge of the village, a white cube with no windows. The door stood open, a dark hole against the white brick. The house was silent. The village beyond was silent.
"They must have seen us land," Compton said, a little wildly. "You can't set down a rocket ship a hundred yards from somebody and not have them notice. They must have seen us!"
"Unless no one lives here," Parker amended. "This may be a ghost city."
"He's right," Hinckley agreed. "There might not be anyone living here, or anyplace on the planet for that matter. We've found very little life in these alien star-systems, and it's varied from primitive to ancient. Perhaps this society became old and died before any of us were born."