It was, Kirk thought, like standing in a gully, watchinga boulder teeter precariously above you. It mightfall at any minute, crushing your life out instantly beneathits weight. Your only possible defenses are yourbrain and voice—but how do you argue with a boulderwhich neither sees nor hears?
'mid pleasures and palaces
By James McKimmey, Jr.
Illustrated by Philip Parsons
This planet was remote andset apart, and nothing aboutit had made William Kirk think hemight find human life. Yet just beyond,through a thorny bush shapedlike an exploding rose, Kirk hadseen eyes and nose and a flash ofyellow hair that were definitely human.
Kirk poised motionless. He wasthree miles from the rocket andLeo, who was waiting inside of it.He thought for a moment of howLeo had told him, as they madetheir landing, that this is the kind ofplanet where you could go no further.This is the kind of planet thatcould be the end of twelve years,and you'd better be careful, William,old sport.
Kirk noticed a faint breeze; hispalms were wet, and they cooledwhen the breeze touched them. Heplaced his palms against his jacket.Damn you, Leo, he thought. Damnyour rotten fortune-telling. Kirkwas superstitious when he was inspace, and the memory of Leo Mason'scool, quiet voice saying"Watch it now, sport. Be careful, becareful ..." seemed now like somecertain kiss of fate.
The bush trembled and Kirk'sright hand flicked to his holster. Hispistol was cold against his fingersand he let it fit loosely in his hand,the barrel half-raised.
The bush shivered again, andthen all at once the figure was risingfrom behind it, a tall wide figurewith a very tan face, lined andtoughened by the sun. The shoulders,bare like the chest, were massive,yet somehow stretched-looking,as though endless exposure to windand rain and sun had turned theskin to brown leather.
Kirk had his pistol pointing atthe figure's stomach now, and thefigure blinked, while the breezetouched and ruffled the longbleached hair.
The figure raised a large hand,palm up, and curled the fingers."Hello?" he said softly. Kirk wassurprised by the word and the politesound of it.
Kirk remained motionless, pistolpointing. "Who are you?" he saidthrough his teeth.
"Harry," said the figure, asthough Kirk surely should knowwho he was. "I'm Harry, of course."
"Yes?" said Kirk carefully."Harry?"
The figure nodded. "Harry Loren,don't you know?"
"Oh, yes," Kirk said, his eyeswatchful. "Harry Loren." Therewas something about the man'seyes, Kirk decided. They were deepset and very bright within theirsockets. They didn't match the softnessof the speech. Harry Lorensmiled and showed his yellow teeth."Who are you?" he asked politely.
"I'm William," Kirk said. It wasas though he might be speaking toa frightened child, he thought, whoheld a sharp knife in his hands."William Kirk, of course."
Harry Loren nodded apologetically."Oh, yes. I can't remembereveryone. It's been so long. How areyou, William?"
Kirk's eyes flickered. "I'm fine."
"That's nice," Harry Lorennodded. His wild hair brushed overhis shoulders and reflected its yellownessagainst the sun. The knifethen, the one that Kirk had thoughtabout a moment ago, appeared inthe figure's hand. "Bastard," HarryLoren hissed, and he was leaping atKirk, the knife making a sweep towardKirk's stomach.
Something kept Kirk fromsqueezing the trigger, and in