"Let's get out of here," Compton suggested again. "Leave him here, if that's what he wants. Let him do what he wants here; what difference does it make if the natives don't know what's happening?"
Hinckley's look was cold. "We'll wait until morning," he said. "If he isn't back by then, we'll leave."
But the next morning, the rays of the alien sun found the white squatting houses silent; Parker had not returned.
Hinckley turned on the outer loudspeaker. "Parker," he said. The words crashed across the still village. "Parker, this is Hinckley. We're blasting off in five minutes. If you're not aboard, we're leaving without you."
After a few minutes, Compton said, "He's not coming. He's probably dead, and so will we be if we wait long enough."
"More likely, he's ignoring us," Hinckley said, consulting his watch. "He's got two minutes more."
Two minutes later, Compton said, "Time's up."
Hinckley nodded. He switched on the rocket motors. Deep within the spaceship a turbine growled; the growl rose to a whine.
"I still don't like to leave him there. Even though they don't know what's happening to them, I feel sorry for those people out there." He switched on the loudspeaker again. "Parker," he said over it. "Last chance. We're blasting off."
"He's not coming," Compton said shrilly, "he's not coming."