Zoth shook his head.
“Do you think I haven’t worn myself out trying to find some way? The truth is, Patrick, I’ve been afraid to wish again—afraid he will twist that also to his own evil advantage. And then I should be completely defenseless, at his mercy.
“It is only today, my friend, that a bit of hope has come to me. How could even a grosh, I wonder, spoil so modest a wish? It is little enough to ask—I’ve been so horribly lonely—”
He looked long and speculatively at the Terran.
Patrick drained the last of his stralp and stood up. He felt himself trembling.
“Zoth,” he said apologetically, “I hate to break this up, but I’m afraid I’m asleep on my feet. Let’s go to bed now, shall we? Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Oh, my friend, forgive me! Of course—you must be worn out! What a way to treat a guest—and a guest who means so much to me! You must excuse an old man who has half a century of conversation to make up! I’ll show you where you are to sleep.”
He led the way through still a third door to another huge room, a corner of which had been screened off to hold a low couch covered with some soft woolly fabric.
“My guestroom,” he smiled. “You are the first ever to occupy it. I hope you will find it comfortable. Right through here you will find the toilet facilities. You turn the light off thus.
“Sleep well, my friend. I shall be sleeping late in the morning myself—I don’t often keep such hours as this. When you wake, come to the living hall, and a meal will be ready for you.”
Patrick was alone at last.
He made no attempt to undress or go to bed. He had brought his knapsack in with him, and he checked its contents. Then he sat quietly on the edge of the couch, thinking.
He sat there for two solid hours, until there was no glimmer of light anywhere and from a distant room came the sound of faint but steady snoring.
The tall windows opened outwards, and this was the ground floor. Outside, he put on his boots.
It was very dark. No one could have seen him as he crept from tree to tree, in the shadow of the overgrown ornamental bushes, to the nearest bridge.
Once across, he set out at as rapid a pace as possible. Even so, it took three hours, and the sky was beginning to gray, before he reached his ship.
An hour later, well beyond the orbit of Xilmuch, he began to wonder if he had made a fool of himself.
. . . Who ever heard of the entire population of a planet’s being wiped out, just to grant somebody’s wish for worldwide peace? Space knew, there were enough other roads to devastation! Wasn’t the reasonable conclusion that in some entirely natural way, some epidemic or other frightful catastrophe on Xilmuch, only this man and his wife had survived? Wouldn’t it be logical that such a shock would have crazed them both? Hadn’t he spent a day and a night listening to the tale of a lunatic?
It was obvious that the man was desperately lonely, and would have kept his chance guest just as long as he could; but did it make sense that he could have done so by merely uttering an unused wish? Wasn’t Patrick Ostronsky-Vierra just as crazy as Zoth Cheruk to swallow such a story, even late at night and full of rexshan and stralp?
. . . But then why were there no carnivorous animals on Xilmuch, but plenty of herbivorous ones and every sort of vegetation? Catastrophes were not quite so selective as that.
And how . . . how else could Zoth have plunged a knife deep into his wife’s breast—Patrick’s horror-stricken eyes had seen the blade go in to the handle—and draw not a single drop of blood, elicit no sign of pain?
Xilmuch would be a wonderful planet for colonization. Its discovery would be the climax of his career as a scout; there would be no limit to his rise in the profession after that.
And how Zoth would welcome the colonists!
. . . And what unguessed harm he could do them unwittingly by that fifth wish of his!
In twenty-seven years or so Zoth and Jyk would both be dead. Zoth could do no harm then. But what would the Galactic Presidium think if a scout should announce that here was a perfect colonization-point—only it must not be approached while an old man was still alive who might jinx them?
And with or without Zoth, how about a planet evidently full of mischievous, rancorous, double-crossing grosh, with who knew what bags of tricks in their possession?
To say nothing of the Nameless, that distinctly unpretty god or devil whose image Patrick had seen for himself.
Patrick Ostronsky-Vierra, trusted and dedicated Two Star Scout, decided deliberately to violate his sacred oath of office.
When he returned to the headquarters of the Galactic Presidium, his report read:
“I visited Planet IV of Altair, which has been hitherto undiscovered, and which on first approach appeared to be suitable for colonization. On further investigation I found that the atmosphere consists mostly of methane. The planet itself is still in a semi-molten state, with incessant volcanic eruptions and violent windstorms of ethane gas.
“I advise that the planet be given a wide berth—permanently. It is completely unfit for human habitation.”
But there was another report: a private one. It was found among OstronskyVierra’s effects after his death in 4009. It was in a plastic closure marked: For the Sealed Files of the Galactic Presidium. To Be Opened 50 Years after Receipt.
In it was this complete narrative as I, Mari Swenskold-Wong, Secretary of the Presidium in this year 4060, read it to the entire Presidium at its meeting upon February 30.
We are still, as everyone knows, in great need of more living-space in the colonized planets. There has been much discussion of the possibility of colonizing Xilmuch, and there will be much
