. . .rough the thin air, its voice more highly pitched than it would have been in denser atmosphere. Martin Devere had looked up from his work in time to see its braking jets vanish behind the low Martian hills a few kilometers distant.

It was much too large to be an automatic supply rocket, even if there had been reason to expect another one. Martin Devere knew it could mean only one thing—someone was paying him an unannounced visit.

He waited, watching through the igloo wall to see who had come to poke around and bother him after all these years.

At first he was annoyed that the people at the Institute hadn't let him know visitors were coming. Then he reminded himself that it had been years since he'd taken the trouble to listen to his radio receiver, or to read the messages they sent him along with supplies.

After a long time, he made out a smaller dust-puff, and then a little sandcat advancing slowly across the desert. Riding on to. . . Read More