Did not the queen bee and her consort, flying high above the hive on a night of perfumed darkness, remember best what was bliss to recall, the shifting lights and shadows and honey-scented murmurings of their nuptial trance?
Would not the brightest, furthest star be "home" to the star-beguiled?
The rocket-ship was out of subspace now and traveling on its murmuring overdrive. It was well within sight of green valleys and purple-rimmed hills.
The planet had grown from a tiny dot to a shining silver sphere swimming in misty radiance; for a moment it had wavered against the brightly burning stars, caught in a web of darkness—
Then, swiftly, had exploded into a close, familiar world, as beautiful as a flower opening snowy petals to the dawn.
It was a simple matter to bring the rocket down. The valley seemed to sweep up toward them, and gravity jets took over in automatic sequence. There was a gentle hiss of air as the Star Mist settled to rest on hard-packed soil, a scant fifty yards from a blue and vermillion flower garden.
Through a dancing blue haze a dwelling loomed, white and serene in the rosy flush of evening.
Cynthia looked at her husband, her eyes wide with surmise.
"Just shows how close you can come when you follow dial readings!" Ned said. "The first lean-to shack stood just about here. I remember the slope of the soil—"