space yacht that seemed straining toward the sky, impatient at its leash.
There was no way of knowing, of course, just by looking at it, what it had inside, but there is something about a ship that one simply cannot miss. Just looking at this one, there was no doubt that no money had been spared to make it the best that could be built. Standing there and looking at it, I found my hands itching to get hold of it.
I suppose they itched the worse because I knew I’d never go into space again. I was all washed up. I’d spend the rest of my life on Earth the best way that I could. If I ever left it, I’d be gobbled up.
I walked off the field and went through customs-if you could call it customs. They just went through the motions. They had nothing against me or anyone; they weren’t sore at me, or anyone. That, it seemed to me, was the nicest thing one could say of Earth.
I went to an inn nearby and once I’d settled in, went down to the bar.
I was on my third or fourth when a robot flunky came into the bar and zeroed in on me.
“You are Captain Ross?”
I wondered, with a flare of panic, just what trouble I was in for. There wasn’t a soul on Earth who knew me or knew that I was coming. The only contacts I had made had been with the customs people and the room clerk at the inn.
“I have a note for you,” said the robot, handing it to me. The envelope was sealed and it had no marks upon it.
I opened it and took out the card. It read:
Captain Michael Ross,
Hilton Inn
If Captain Ross will be my dinner guest tonight, I would be much obliged. My car will be waiting at the entrance of the inn at eight o’clock. And, captain, may I be among the first to welcome you to Earth.
Sara Foster
I sat there staring at it and the bottle robot came sliding down the bar. He picked up the empty glass. “Another one?” be asked.
“Another one,” I said.
Just who was Sara Foster, and how had she known, an hour after my arrival, that I was on Earth?
I could ask around, of course, but there seemed no one to ask, and for some reason I could not figure out why I felt disinclined to do so.
It could be a trap. There were people, I well knew, who hated me enough to have a try at smuggling me off the Earth. They would know by now, of course, that I had obtained a ship, but few who would believe that such a ship would carry me to Earth. And there could be none of them who could even guess I’d already reached the Earth.
I sat there, drinking, trying to get it straight in mind, and I finally decided I would take a chance.
Sara Foster lived in a huge house set atop a hill, surrounded by acres of wilderness that in turn surrounded more acres of landscaped lawns and walks, and in the center of all of this sat the huge house, built of sun-warmed bricks, with a wide portico that ran the length of the house, and with many chimneys thrusting from its roof.
I had expected to be met at the door by a robot, but Sara Foster was there, herself, to greet me. She was wearing a green dinner dress that swept the floor and served to set off, in violent contrast, the flame of her tumbled hair, with the one errant lock forever hanging in her eyes.
“Captain Ross,” she said, giving me her hand, “how nice of you to come. And on such short notice, too. I’m afraid it was impetuous of me, but I did so want to see you.”
The hall in which we stood was high and cool, paneled with white-painted wood and the floor of wood so polished that it shone, with a massive chandelier of crystal hanging from the ceiling. The place breached wealth and a certain spirit of Earth-rooted gentility and it all was very pleasant.
“The others are in the library,” she said. “Let us go and join them.”
She linked her arm through mine and led me down the hail until we came to a door that led into a room that was a far cry from the hall which I had entered. It might have been a library-there were some shelves with books- but it looked more like a trophy room. Mounted heads hung from every wall, a glass-enclosed gun rack ran across one end, and the floor was covered with fur rugs, some with the heads attached, the bared fangs forever snarling.
Two men were sitting in chairs next to the mammoth fireplace and as we entered one of them got up. He was tall and cadaverous, his face long and lean and dark, not so much darkened, I thought as I looked at him, by the outdoors and the sun as by the thoughts within his skull. He wore a dark brown cassock loosely belted at the waist by a string of beads, and his feet, I saw, were encased in sturdy sandals.
“Captain Ross,” said Sara Foster, “May I present Friar Tuck.”
He held out a bony hand. “My legal name,” he said “is Hubert Jackson, but I prefer Friar Tuck. In the course of my wanderings, captain, I have heard many things of you.”
I looked hard at him. “You have done much wandering?” For I had seen his like before and had liked none of what I saw.
He bent his bony head. “Far enough,” be said, “and always in the search of truth?’
“Truth,” I said, “at times is very hard to come by.” “And captain,” Sara said, quickly, “this is George Smith.” The second man by this time had fumbled to his feet and was holding out a flabby hand in my direction. He was a tubby little man with a grubby look about him and his eyes were a milky white.
“As you can see by now,” said Smith, “I am quite blind. You’ll excuse me for not rising when you first came in the room.”
