They did go back to the ship. Cochrane sent Babs and Holden up the
sling, first, while he waited down below. It was a singular sensation to
stand there. He was the only human being afoot on a planet the size of
Earth or larger, at the foot of a cliff of metal which was the
space-ship's hull. He had a weapon in his hand, and it should defend him
from anything. But he felt very lonely.
The sling came down for him. He felt sick at heart as it lifted him. He
had an overwhelming conviction of incompetence, though he could not
detail the reasons. The rope hauled him up, swaying, to the dizzy height
of the air-lock door. He could not feel elated. He was partly
responsible for humankind's greatest achievement to date. But he had not
quite the viewpoint that would let him enjoy its contemplation.
The ground quivered very faintly as he rose. It was not an earthquake.
It was merely a temblor, such as anyone would expect to feel
occasionally with six smoking volcanic cones in view. The green stuff
all around was proof that it could be disregarded.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the United States, some two-hundred-odd light-years away, it happened
to be Tuesday.
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