After a long pause, Don Howard said wearily, “If Hamilton Lord can sacrifice the richest franchise in the galaxy, I suppose I can do my bit, too.”
At dawn the Ceres departed. Lord drove his men to work throughout the night stowing the prefabs and the trade goods aboard the ship. Just before the power tubes stabbed the launching fire into the earth, a delegation of villagers came into the clearing. Niaga led them and she spoke to Lord at the foot of the landing ladder.
“We still want you to stay among us, Martin Lord; we have come again to offer—”
“It is impossible!”
She put her arms around his neck and drew his lips against hers. The temptation washed over his mind, shattering his resolution and warping his reason. This was what he wanted: the golden dream of every man. But for Lord only one idea held fast. Niaga’s primitive, naive world had to be preserved exactly as it was. If he gave in to the dream, he would destroy it. Only in the central office of Hamilton Lord could he do anything to save what he had found here. He wrenched himself free of her arms.
“It’s no use, Niaga.”
She knew that she had lost, and she moved away from him. One of the other golden-skinned savages pushed a small, carved box into his hands.
“A parting gift,” Niaga said. “Open it when you are aboard your ship, Martin Lord.”
Long after the Ceres had blasted off, he sat alone in his cabin looking at the box—small, delicately carved from a strange material, like a soft plastic. It seemed somehow alive, throbbing with the memory of the dream he had left behind.