by H. B. Fyfe
months!"
He climbed into the helicopter and slumped into his seat. Presently, hewas aware of Klaft edging into the seat across the aisle. He looked up.
"The police will stay until cars from town arrive. They are coming now,"said his aide.
* * * * *
Kinton stared at his hands, wondering at the fact that they were notshaking. He felt dejected, empty, not like a man who had just been ata high pitch of excitement.
"Why did you not let him go, George?"
"What? Why ... why ... he would have destroyed the ship you worked sohard to build. There is no safe path through the Dome of Eyes."
"No predictable path," Klaft corrected. "But what then? We would havebuilt you another ship, George, for it was you who showed us how."
Kinton flexed his fingers slowly.
"He was just no good. You know the murder he did here; we can only guesswhat he did among my own ... among Terrans. Should he have a chance togo back and commit more crimes?"
"I understand, George, the logic of it," said Klaft. "I meant ... it isnot my place to say this ... but you seem unhappy."
"Possibly," grunted Kinton wrily.
"We, too, have criminals," said the aide, as gently as was possible inhis clicking language. "We do not think it necessary to grieve for thepain they bring upon themselves."
"No, I suppose not," sighed Kinton. "I ... it's just--"
He looked up at the pointed visage, at the strange eyes regarding himsympathetically from beneath the sloping, purple-scaled forehead.
"It's just that now I'm lonely ... again," he said.
Transcriber's Note:
This e-text was produced from Space Science Fiction February 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
