"N-not like any rock of Earth," Paul stammered. "Defies erosion." And I am speaking with the pride of a home lover.... "The open ground is a little dangerous—flying carnivores. Come and meet our friends."
Captain Slade had already seen the giants and pygmies at the edge of the woods; his small monkey face was ablaze with friendly curiosity and the startled amusement that will wake at anything new, but he said, "In just a moment. Let me take this in. If I can.... We've done it, Nora." He filled his lungs deeply, blinking at a few tears of pleasure. "A world like ours—a new world. Oh, Nora, it'll be a long time before we can believe this, you and I.... High oxygen, we noticed—feels like it. Sir, your ship—"
"Lost," said Wright, tranquilly now, no longer shaking from head to foot. "Out of control in descent, fell in a lake"—he motioned over his shoulder—"a few miles over there. We call it Lake Argo. Too deep even to think of salvage. One of the lifeboats cracked up; we used the other for about a year. Our friends, Captain—you'll like our friends—"
Slade murmured, "Speculation on parallel evolution seems to have been sound—here anyway. Humanoid, I see. Two species?"
"Human," said Wright. "Their English, by the way, is better than mine. They are close to us, Captain—very dear to us."
"I—see," said Captain Slade kindly. Paul thought: He can't see—it's too new. But maybe he will try to see.
"How many in your party, Captain?"
Slade grinned. "Only four, Mr. Mason." Heavens! Mister? That's me. "A smaller crew, bigger ship. Federation thought best. We left thirteen years after you. Twelve years on the journey. Of course we've had to double in brass considerably. The other two are a young couple—Jimmy Mukerji; he's from Calcutta—Oh, and by the way, Dr. Wright, his mother was Sigrid Hoch, anthropologist, one of your students."
"Sigrid—" Wright groped in the past. "Of course. I remember." But Paul guessed that he did not.
"Jimmy's a botanist and engineer and—oh, general technician, good anywhere. Sally Marino—another good technician. Frankly I didn't want specialists—wanted kids who could turn a hand to anything, and I got 'em." Slade's friendly face saddened; he and Dr. Stern were walking clumsily to the woods, feeling the change in gravity. "Ours was to be the last interstellar ship, Dr. Wright, until either you or we came home. There'll be no building going on now. A Federation decision—matter of public opinion as well as economics. Well, the old lady over there did cost twice as much as your Argo, upped the Federation poll tax three per cent just to pay for her on paper. Could have got around that, maybe, but there was a beginning of public hysteria, protest—resentment at the idea of throwing lives and billions into space with nothing to show for it for many years. Fanatics on both sides, and both noisy, plus the war scare of course. Short-term thinking. Human."