But the
mountains were not sloped. There were heaps of detritus at the bases of
their cliffs, but it was simply detritus. No tiniest patch of lichen
grew anywhere. No blade of grass. No moss. No leaf. Nothing.
The air was empty. Nothing flew. There were clouds, to be sure. The sky
was even blue, though a darker blue than Earth's, because there was no
vegetation to break stone down to dust, or to form dust by its own
decay.
The sea was violently active. Great waves flung themselves toward the
harsh coastline and beat upon it with insensate violence. They shattered
into masses of foam. But the foam broke--too quickly--and left the
surging water dark again. Far down the line of foam there were dark
clouds, and rain fell in masses, and lightning flashed. But it was a
scene of desolation which was somehow more horrible even than the
scarred and battered moon of Earth.
Cochrane looked out very carefully. Alicia came to him, a trifle
hesitant.
"Johnny's asleep now. He didn't sleep at first, and while we were out of
gravity he was unhappy. But he went off to sleep the instant we landed.
He needs rest. Could we--just stay landed here until he catches up on
sleep?"
Cochrane nodded.
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