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  “Well, we shall soon find out. That area beside the bay is your ancestral home?”

  Madoc Roswyn gave an uncertain affirmative; Dame Isabel nodded to Captain Gondar, the Phoebus settled a mile to the east of the city Sansue, on a stretch of stony ground, less than a hundred yards from the edge of a dense forest.

  The almost insensible vibration of the various engines died to quietness. The analyzers indicated a salubrious atmosphere; the exit-port opened; the ramp touched the soil of Yan.

  Captain Gondar, Dame Isabel, Madoc Roswyn came slowly forth, followed by Bernard Bickel, Roger and the rest of the company. For half an hour they stood breathing the strangely scented air of Yan, while the green-white sun sank below the horizon.

  The quiet was profound, broken only by the quiet voices of the folk from the Phoebus. Madoc Roswyn wandered up a little rise and stood looking west into the twilight. Here and there rose hummocks overgrown with grass and shrubbery; they might have been ruins but details were blurred in the dusk. The faint wind which blew over the plain carried a peculiar musty odor, perhaps deriving from the vegetation or the shore, or perhaps from the hummocks themselves.

  Madoc Roswyn started to move forward, as if to go down into the plain, but Roger, who had come quietly behind her, took her arm. “Not in the dark. It might be dangerous.”

  “I don’t understand any of this,” she said in an anguished mutter. “What has happened to Yan?”

  “Perhaps the traditions of your people were incorrect.”

  “It can’t be! All my life I have planned to visit this city — I know it as well as you know any city of Earth. I know the avenues, the plazas, the halls; I could find the quarter where my ancestors lived before they departed, perhaps the very palace … Now there is nothing but ruins.”

  Roger gently drew her toward the ship. “It’s getting dark.”

  She came reluctantly. “I’m hated by everyone aboard ship … They think terrible things of me — and now they think me a fool as well.”

  “Of course not,” said Roger soothingly. “At the worst you made an honest mistake.”

  Madoc Roswyn held up her hand. “Listen!” From the forest came a low-pitched ululation, which might have been produced by a human throat. It carried a whole complex of overtones, and produced an indefinable sensation in Roger. He tugged at Madoc Roswyn’s arm more urgently. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

  She came with him; they circled the ship to the entrance-ramp, where a group stood looking toward the forest, taut with the half-pleasurable dread of the unknown. Again came the low-pitched wail, perhaps a trifle closer.

  The twilight was now almost gone; only a dim olive-green glow remained in the west. The ship’s floodlights came on, illuminating the area around the ship and bathing the little group in brightness. There was a sound from the forest, a whisper of disturbed air, and a stone struck the ground only five feet from Roger.

  Everyone shrank back against the hull, then hastened up the ramp into the ship.

  In the morning Dame Isabel discussed the situation with Madoc Roswyn, Bernard Bickel and Roger. She had not slept well, and spoke very tartly. “Circumstances are not as I had expected, and I confess that I’m at a loss as how to proceed.” And she glanced around the group.

  “I suppose we could send out the lifeboat to reconnoiter the planet,” Bernard Bickel put forward thoughtfully.

  “To what purpose?” inquired Dame Isabel. “We saw no cities, nor even centers of primitive civilization from the reconnaissance orbit.”

  “True.”

  Dame Isabel turned to Madoc Roswyn. “You are certain that this is the correct planet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange.”

  “There seem to be a great number of ruins,” suggested Roger. “It might be —” his voice trailed off.

  “Might be what, Roger?” inquired his aunt in her most acid tones.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Your remark then is superfluous. Please don’t dither; we have more than enough distraction as it is. While I do not necessarily doubt Miss Roswyn’s word, the possibility remains that she is mistaken. In any case, the net result is the same: we have been brought far out of the way on a wild goose chase.”

  Madoc Roswyn rose to her feet, departed the room. Roger scowled at Dame Isabel. “There obviously has been a civilization here, of some sort, at some time.”

  “We can only hypothesize as much. One thing you must learn, Roger, is that idle philosophizing will never put bread and butter in your mouth.”

  Bernard Bickel tactfully intervened. “As Roger points out, there seem to be ruins about — and beyond dispute there is sentient life in the forest. Personally, I’m quite willing to believe that Miss Roswyn brought us here in good faith.”

  “Miss Roswyn’s good faith or lack of it are not the immediate question,” snapped Dame Isabel. “What concerns me —”

  The mess steward appeared in the doorway. “Miss Roswyn has left the ship,” he blurted. “She’s gone into the forest!”

  Roger sprang from the saloon, ran pell-mell along the corridor down the off-ramp. Here he found a group of musicians who had been sunning themselves but who now stood gazing uneasily toward the forest.

  “What happened?” asked Roger.

  “The girl went crazy!” a cellist told him. “She came out of the ship, stood looking at the forest, then before we could stop her, she just ran off — through there.” He pointed. Roger went a few tentative steps toward the forest, peered into the dim shadows. The trees were similar to those of Earth, somewhat thicker of trunk, with a black-brown bark and foliage of various tones of green, green-blue, dark blue. Below, in the mulch of dead leaves, were marks of Madoc Roswyn’s passage.

  Roger edged toward the forest, trying to see through the shadows. And now there came a sudden sharp scream, muffled by distance. Roger hesitated the time between heart-beats, then plunged into the forest.

  Abruptly he was in a new world. Foliage cut off the sunlight, dead leaves were soft underfoot, and gave off a resinous rank odor as he disturbed them. There were no sounds in the forest: it was as quiet as a closed room, and there were no signs of small life: birds, insects, rodents and the like.

  Roger went on a space in a mingling of urgency and awe, until the traces left by Madoc Roswyn became confused. He halted, suddenly feeling helpless and futile. He went forward a few paces, called. There was no reply: his voice lost itself among the tree trunks.

  He cleared his throat, called again, more loudly … He felt a prickling at the back of his neck, and turned about, but saw nothing. He stole forward, twenty feet, fifty feet, dodging from tree trunk to tree trunk, then paused to listen. From somewhere came a rustle of leaves, and a stone thudded against the tree trunk six inches from his head. He stared down at it as if mesmerized: it was round and black, about three inches in diameter. He swung about, crouching; another smaller stone struck him in the side. Two more stones hissed by his head, another bruised his leg. Roger roared out curses and insults, ingloriously retreated … The edge of the forest was farther than he remembered; he felt a wave of panic: was he lost? Ahead came the gleam of light and a moment later he came blinking out into the open a hundred yards from where he had entered. There was the Phoebus. Ungainly construction of globes and tubes though it might be, it seemed the most secure, desirable shelter imaginable. He hurried across the open space, limping on his bruised leg and holding his aching ribs.

  Almost all the company stood in front of the ship, Captain Gondar, Neil Henderson and Bernard Bickel with hand-weapons. Dame Isabel cried out sharply, “Roger, what in the world possessed you to act like that?”

  “I went to help Miss Roswyn,” said Roger. He looked hopelessly toward the forest. “I heard her scream. I thought I could help her.”

  “The impulse was rash and foolish,” said Dame Isabel severely. Then she added in a kinder voice: “Though by no means discreditable.”

  “If we unshipped the lifeboat,”
said Roger desperately, “and flew over the forest —”

  “It would be useless,” said Bernard Bickel. “To do any good we’d be forced to fly at tree-top level, and who knows what capabilities the creatures have? A well-aimed arrow could disable the boat.”

  “I don’t want to seem unkind,” said Dame Isabel, “but I refuse to let anyone risk their life to no purpose.”

  Captain Gondar muttered, “She’s probably dead right now.”

  And all again fell silent, looking off toward the forest.

  “I frankly don’t know what to do,” said Dame Isabel finally. “There seems no possibility of making contact with the creatures who inhabit this world. And no matter how much we regret this terrible occurrence we can’t remain here indefinitely.”

  “We can’t just abandon her!” protested Roger in a shocked voice.

  “I’m willing to make any reasonable effort on her behalf,” said Dame Isabel, “but we can’t overlook the fact that she went off of her own volition, without taking the slightest counsel of myself or Mr. Bickel or Captain Gondar. She is, or was, a very disturbed and erratic young woman; I don’t feel that we are justified in taking drastic risks or allowing the basic purpose of the expedition to be perverted by this young woman’s self-centered ambitions.”

  Roger could produce no convincing rejoinder. He looked to Bernard Bickel and Captain Gondar for support, but found none.

  “We just can’t go away and leave her!” he repeated desperately.

  Bernard Bickel said in a gloomy voice, “There’s not much else we can do.”

  Roger turned to look at the forest. “All the rest of my life,” he said, “I’d wonder what had happened to her. Whether she were still alive, waiting for someone to come for her. Just imagine yourself out there, hurt, or perhaps tied to a tree, seeing the Phoebus rise up into the sky and leave.”

  There was silence. Then Bernard Bickel said with subdued intensity: “If we could only establish contact! If there were some way to demonstrate that we were not antagonistic!”

  “According to Madoc Roswyn,” said Roger, “the people were music lovers — why don’t we put on a performance where they can see it? If anything would convince them of our good intentions, that should do it.”

  Bernard Bickel turned to Dame Isabel. “Why not?”

  “Very well,” said Dame Isabel. “Necessarily we will be forced to play here, in front of the ship. The acoustics will be vile. Still, the scheme is worth trying. Captain, will you have the piano brought out? Andrei, look to the sets; not the backdrops, but a few symbolical properties.”

  “Of course. And the opera?”

  “I think — yes, I feel that Pelleas and Melisande will be as happy a choice as any.”

  The green-seeming sun approached the horizon; the sets were ready; a dais for the orchestra had been arranged; a sound amplification system was directed toward the forest.

  The musicians and singers ate a rather tense dinner, conversing in low voices: the performance they were about to put on, to an unseen and unknown audience, would be perhaps the most taxing of their lives.

  In the green-gray dusk the musicians went to their instruments. The air was even more still than on the previous evening: from the forest came not the slightest whisper of sound. The instruments were tuned; small lights illumined the music stands. A pink spot played on Sir Henry Rixon; tall, handsome, impeccably dressed, he made a grave bow toward the forest, raised his baton. The music of Debussy flowed across the night and into the forest.

  Spotlights illuminated the first set: a mythical forest and a fountain. The opera proceeded, and the attention from the forest was almost palpable. The first act gave way to the second act, and now the music reached that rare and wonderful region where it seemed to move of itself, naturally and inexorably … There was motion at the edge of the forest. Into the reach of the light staggered Madoc Roswyn. She was bruised, haggard, dirty; her garments were torn, her eyes were bright; she moved with a strange jerking motion, like a walking doll with a broken mechanism. Roger ran forth to meet her; she almost fell into his arms. Bernard Bickel came to help; they took her back to the ship. All the while the music proceeded; the fated lovers moved to their destiny.

  “What happened?” Roger asked in anguish. “Are you harmed, or injured?”

  She made a gesture which might have meant anything. “Evil is here,” she said in a husky broken voice. “We must leave, and put Yan far out of mind.”

  Dame Isabel said, “You must come inside, child; Dr. Shand will look after you. We will leave tomorrow morning —”

  Madoc Roswyn laughed harshly. She gestured back to the forest. “They listen to the music; it is the first heard on Yan for hundreds of years. They listen but they hate you for it, and as soon as the music stops they will attack the ship.”

  “What’s this?” demanded Dame Isabel. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “They listen,” said Madoc Roswyn, “but they listen in envy, knowing themselves and what they have done to Yan …”

  “This is ridiculous,” Dame Isabel declared. “I can’t credit human beings with such malevolence … They are human I presume?”

  “It makes no difference,” said Madoc Roswyn in a weary half-whisper. “They came to listen and to prepare their vengeance; they forgot me and I was able to slip through the forest toward the music.” She turned toward the ship. “Please let me go aboard the ship; I want to be clear of this dreadful planet …”

  Roger and Dr. Shand took her aboard the ship. Dame Isabel turned to Bernard Bickel. “What is your opinion, Bernard?”

  “She knows more about these people than we do; I think we should be ready to leave as soon as the opera is over.”

  “And leave our sets behind? Never!”

  “Then we had better start taking the sets aboard; we can do this inconspicuously and the music can continue as long as necessary. I’ll go have a word with Andrei and Sir Henry.”

  The opera went into the fifth act; the crew carried the used sets back into the ship. The opera ended; the music continued. More of Debussy: the Nocturnes. The last of the sets were carried aboard, then the lighting system, and the sound-amplifiers.

  The orchestra, who now understood the nature of the situation, played on, glancing nervously from the corners of their eyes toward the forest.

  The chairs were taken from under them, and Sir Henry’s podium: they played standing. Word was passed that all was secure; under cover of a constantly shifting spotlight, the musicians one by one took their music stands and instruments and slipped aboard the ship, with the harpist and the percussionist assisted by crew-members. Finally only Sir Henry, the great resonant piano and the violins remained outside; and now the folk in the forest comprehended what was afoot, and awoke from their dreaming. A rock arched down from space, struck the piano keyboard.

  Bernard Bickel called, “All into the ship, everybody! Quick!”

  The pianist, the violinists and Sir Henry ran for the ramp, and just barely escaped the rocks which struck down where they had been standing. Out in the shadows there was movement, a dark sliding forward. The ramp was pulled aboard, the port snapped shut; the Phoebus rose into the night, leaving behind the polished black grand piano.

  Dame Isabel, more relieved than she would have admitted to anyone, marched into the infirmary, where Madoc Roswyn, in a white nightgown, lay quietly in a hospital bed. Her eyes were open, focused on a point somewhere beyond the ceiling. Dame Isabel looked questioningly at Dr. Shand, who nodded. “She’ll be all right. Shock, exhaustion, bruises. She wants no sedation.”

  Dame Isabel approached the bed. “I am extremely sorry you suffered as you did — but you should never have run into the forest.”

  “I had to know the truth of Yan.”

  “You found out,” said Dame Isabel drily.

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly who is it that lives in the forest? What has happened to them?”

  Madoc Roswyn seemed not to hear. She stare
d at the point beyond the ceiling for almost half a minute. Dame Isabel peevishly repeated her question.

  Madoc Roswyn shook her head. “I do not care to say. It is no longer important. If I say one word, then I will never be free of the subject. No. I will say nothing. Henceforth I know nothing of the Yan that was. I am only Madoc Roswyn of Merioneth, and I will never again be anything more.”

  Dame Isabel left the infirmary, marched to the saloon where singers and musicians were drinking wine rather freely and comparing their impressions of the performance.

  Dame Isabel took Bernard Bickel aside. “The girl will say absolutely nothing of what occurred in the forest, or what has happened to that wretched planet! I have never known anyone so completely self-centered! Surely she must know that we are all curious!”

  Bernard Bickel nodded. “Perhaps she is right. Perhaps it is better that Yan remain a mystery.”

  “Bernard, you are an incorrigible romantic!”

  “No less than yourself! If not, would we be here in the first place?”

  Dame Isabel gave a sour laugh. “Of course you are right … Well, well, then: so ends our visit to Yan. And now there have been enough preliminaries, as many casual detours as necessary. We will take ourselves directly to Rlaru, with no further diversions or delays.” She rose to her feet. “Perhaps you will come with me to the bridge, while I give Captain Gondar his orders.”

  Captain Gondar stood alone looking out into the great glittering expanse of the cosmos. The ship had not yet gone into space-drive and the view was the natural light of the stars.

  “From here, Captain,” said Dame Isabel, “we will set a course directly to Rlaru.”

  Captain Gondar drew a deep breath. “That’s a terrible long pull. The detour into Hydra took us far off course. We can return to Earth almost as easily.”

  “No, Captain,” said Dame Isabel inexorably. “I insist that we pursue our original plans. Rlaru will be the next stop.”

  Captain Gondar’s chin sagged, the shadows under his eyes suddenly seemed darker. He turned away, looked out across space. “Very well,” he said in a muffled voice, “I will take you to Rlaru.”