"Your world Earth is not ready," had said the leader of the Council of Ruun. "It is not even one world, yet. When it has become one—when it has forgotten the folly of wars and weapons—then we will not need to come to you. You will come to us."
He had softened that final refusal by an offer. "But you, who have done much for us, can stay here at Ruun if you wish."
"I can't," Birrel had said heavily. "I'm an agent, with a mission. If I didn't go back, those who sent me would never know what happened—they'd live in perpetual apprehension of attack from outside. I have to return with my report."
"Then you will be taken. And after that, no more of our ships will go there."
And now this last ship from outside was quietly coming down toward the nighted face of Earth, and Kara still was silent, and there was a sickness in Birrel's heart.
Thile, by the control-panel, told the helmsman, "Now softly, softly, are you trying to wake the whole damned continent?—softly—ah!"
They had landed.
Thile and Kara went down the ladder in the darkness, with Birrel. They stood with him by the loom of the ship.
The tall trees around them were black and vague, but the smell of pine was on the keen air, and the smells, the sounds, the feel of everything was subtly right again.
"We landed a lot farther south than last time, so you can soon find a road and people," said Thile. "Well, lad—"