Barring space collision or an accident on a world they were exploring, nothing could happen to them.
"We checked the air, took soil and vegetation samples, before we landed," Thompson said. "There is nothing here that is harmful to a human." There was comfort in the thought.
Kurkil brightened perceptibly. "But, what happened to the race that built this city?"
"I don't know," Thompson answered. A tinge of gruffness crept into his voice as he forced out of his mind the memories of what they had seen in this building they had entered and had climbed. This had once been an office building, a place where the unknown people who had worked here had handled their business transactions and had kept their records. They had seen no bookkeeping machines, none of the elaborate mechanical devices used in Sol Cluster to record the pulse of commerce. This race had not progressed that far. But they had left behind them books written in an unintelligible script, orders for merchandise still neatly pigeonholed, all in good order with no sign of disturbance.
The workers might have left these offices yesterday, except for the carpets of dust that covered everything.
"There isn't even any animal life left," Kurkil spoke.
"I know."
"But what happened? A race that has progressed to the city-building stage doesn't just get wiped out without leaving some indication of what happened to them."
"Apparently they did just that."
"But it's not possible."