Transcriber's note:
This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science Fiction November 1954.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.
Illustrated by Paul Orban
BY PATRICK WILKINS
FOR EVERY MAN A REASON
The thunder of the jets died away, the sound drifting wistfully off intothe hills. The leaves that swirled in the air returned to the groundslowly, reluctantly.
The rocket had gone.
Aron Myers realized that he was looking at nothing. He noticed that hisface was frozen into a meaningless smile. He let the smile slowlydissolve as he turned to look at his wife.
She was a small woman, and he realized for the first time how fragileshe was. Her piquant face, framed by long brown, flowing hair, was anattractive jewel when set on the plush cushion of civilization. Now herface, set in god-forsaken wilderness, metamorphosed into the frightenedmask of a small animal.
They were alone.
Two human beings alone on this wild, lonely planet. Aron's mind suddenlysnapped from that frame of reference—his subjective view of theirposition—to the scale of galaxies. It was a big planet to them, but itwas a marble in the galaxy that man had discovered and claimed, and wasnow fighting with himself to retain. This aggregate of millions ofpebbles was wracked with the violence of war, where marbles were moreexpendable than the microbes that dwelt on them.
The two walked hand in hand away from the meadow where the ship hadbeen. The feeble wind snuffled at the scraps of paper and trash, therelics of man's passing.
They walked up the hill to their station, the reason for their being onthis wayside planet.
Aron thought about the scenery around them. The compact, utilitarianbuilding that was the station did not seem out of place against thebleak landscape. The landscape did not clash or conform to itslocation—it just didn't give a damn whether there was a building thereor not.
Aron and Martha, his wife, took their time. They had an abundance ofthat elusive quantity known as time at this lonely outpost. The trail upto the station was rough, with rocks and weeds tearing at them. Aronresolved that that would be one of his first projects, to put in a goodpath to the meadow where the rocket would come for them—five years fromnow.
The sunset did nothing to enhance the countryside. There was not enoughdust in the air to create any striking colors. As the shadows began tolap at the hill, they hurried the last few steps to the building.
That evening they were both nervous, justifiably so, for not only werethey starting on the questionable adventure of sequestered watchdogs onthe planet, they were starting the adventure of marriage.
Aron had met Martha on Tyros, a planetary trade center of someimportance. She was a waitress.
Since he was marking time on Tyros, waiti