The Lonely Ones Part 3

The men breakfasted, bathed, shaved, smoked, sat, twisted their fingers, looked out the ports. They were silent men, with dark shadows about their eyes and with tight, white-lipped mouths.

Frequently, the clouds near them were cut by swift, dark shapes swooping downward. The shapes were indistinct in the cotton-like whiteness, but obviously they were huge, like a dozen _Wanderers_ made into one.

"Those s.h.i.+ps are big," someone murmured, without enthusiasm.

"It's a busy s.p.a.ceport," grumbled Captain Wiley.

Thoughts, words, movements came so slowly it was like walking under water. Enthusiasm was dead. The men were automatons, sitting, waiting, eating, sitting, waiting.

A day pa.s.sed, and a night.

"Maybe they've forgotten us," said Fong.

No one answered. The thought had been voiced before, a hundred times.

Then, at last, the droning words:

"To those in the vessel from the planet Earth: You will now land. We will carry you directly over the field. Then you will descend straight down. The atmosphere is suitable to your type of life and is free of germs. You will not need protection."

The men stared at one another.

"Hey," Doyle said, "did you hear that? He says we can go down."

The men blinked. Captain Wiley swallowed hard. He rose with a stiff, slow, nervous hesitancy.

"We're going down," he mumbled, as if repeating the words over and over in his mind and trying to believe them.

The men stirred as realization sprouted and grew. They stirred like lethargic animals aroused from the long, dreamless sleep of hibernation.

"We're going to land," breathed Parker, unbelievingly.

The _Wanderer_ moved as though caught in the grip of a giant, invisible hand.

The voice said:

"You may now descend."

Captain Wiley moved to the jet-control panel. "Lieutenant!" he snapped.

"Wake up. Let's go!"

The s.h.i.+p sank downward through the thick sea of clouds. The men walked to the ports. A tenseness, an excitement grew in their faces, like dying flame being fanned into its former brilliancy.

Out of the clouds loomed monstrous, s.h.i.+ning, silver spires and towers, Cyclopean bridges, gigantic lake-like mirrors, immense golden spheres.

It was a nightmare world, a jungle of fantastic shape and color.

The men gasped, whispered, murmured, the flame of their excitement growing, growing.

"The whole planet is a city!" breathed Parker.

Thump!

The _Wanderer_ came to rest on a broad landing field of light blue stone. The jets coughed, spluttered, died. The s.h.i.+p quivered, then lay still, its interior charged with an electric, pregnant silence.

"You first, Captain." Lieutenant Gunderson's voice cracked, and his face was flushed. "You be the first to go outside."

Captain Wiley stepped through the airlock, his heart pounding. It was over now-all the bewilderment, the numbness.

And his eyes were s.h.i.+ning. He'd waited so long that it was hard to believe the waiting was over. But it was, he told himself. The journey was over, and the waiting, and now the loneliness would soon be over.

Mankind was not alone. It was a good universe after all!

He stepped outside, followed by Lieutenant Gunderson, then by Parker, Doyle and Fong.

He rubbed his eyes. This couldn't be! A world like this couldn't exist!

He shook his head, blinked furiously.

"It-it can't be true," he mumbled to Lieutenant Gunderson. "We're still on the s.h.i.+p-dreaming."

The landing field was huge, perhaps ten miles across, and its sides were lined with incredible s.h.i.+ps, the smallest of which seemed forty times as large as the _Wanderer_. There were silver s.h.i.+ps, golden s.h.i.+ps, black s.h.i.+ps, round s.h.i.+ps, transparent s.h.i.+ps, cigar-shaped s.h.i.+ps, flat-topped s.h.i.+ps.

And scattered over the field were-creatures.

A few were the size of men, but most were giants by comparison. Some were humanoid, some reptilian. Some were naked, some clad in helmeted suits, some enveloped with a s.h.i.+mmering, water-like luminescence. The creatures walked, slithered, floated, crawled.

Beyond the s.h.i.+ps and the field lay the great city, its web-work of towers, minarets, spheres and bridges like the peaks of an enormous mountain range stretching up into s.p.a.ce itself. The structures were like the colors of a rainbow mixed in a cosmic paint pot, molded and solidified into fantastic shapes by a mad G.o.d.

"I-I'm going back to the s.h.i.+p," stammered Parker. The whiteness of death was in his face. "I'm going to stay with Brown."

He turned, and then he screamed.

"Captain, the s.h.i.+p's moving!"

Silently, the _Wanderer_ was drifting to the side of the field.

The toneless voice said:

"We are removing your vessel so that other descending s.h.i.+ps will not damage it."

Captain Wiley shouted into the air. "Wait! Don't go away! Help us! Where can we see you?"

The voice seemed to hesitate. "It is difficult for us to speak in thoughts that you understand."

Silence.

Captain Wiley studied the faces of his men. They were not faces of conquerors or of triumphant s.p.a.cemen. They were the faces of dazed, frightened children who had caught a glimpse of h.e.l.l. He attempted, feebly, to smile.