WILLIE'S PLANET
BY MIKE ELLIS
The most fitting place for a man to die
is where he dies for man. Yet Willie chose
a sterile, alien world that wouldn't even
see a man for millions of years....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, April 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Tom stood in front of the filtered porthole of the tiny cabin and soaked up the sunlight that came through. It felt good after ten months of deep space blackness.
"By golly, Willie, this is luck," he said to the little man standing at the cabin's instruments, "our hundredth and last star, and it's an Earth type sun. How much difference is there from our sun?"
Willie held the color chart up beside the spectrum screen. "Almost on. Couple of degrees difference." He tossed the chart on the desk and came to stand at Tom's side, the top of his head even with Tom's erect shoulder. His thin face was tense and worried.
"Tom," he said, "I have a hunch about this star." He stared at the screen morosely.