The robant led her from the control room. The closing of the hydraulic safety doors cut off her thin cry abruptly.

Andrews relaxed, his body sagging. "God." He lit a cigarette shakily. "What a racket she makes."

"We're almost down," Norton said frigidly.

Cold wind lashed at them as they stepped out cautiously. The air smelled bad -- sour and acrid. Like rotten eggs. The wind brought salt and sand blowing up against their faces.

A few miles off the thick sea lay. They could hear it swishing faintly, gummily. A few birds passed silently overhead, great wings flapping soundlessly.

"Depressing damn place," Andrews muttered.

"Yeah. I wonder what the old lady's thinking."

Down the descent ramp came the glittering robant, helping the little old woman. She moved hesitantly, unsteady, gripping the robant's metal arm. The cold wind whipped around her frail body. For a moment she tottered -- and then came on, leaving the ramp and gaining the uneven ground.

Norton shook his head. "She looks bad. This air. And the wind."

"I know." Andrews moved back toward Mrs Gordon and the robant. "How is she?" he asked.

"She is not well, sir," the robant answered.

"Captain," the old woman whispered.

"What is it?"

"You must tell me the truth. Is this -- is this really Earth?"

She watched his lips closely. "You swear it is? You swear?" Her voice rose in shrill terror.

"It's Earth!" Andrews snapped irritably. "I told you before. Of course it's Earth."

"It doesn't look like Earth." Mrs Gordon clung to his answer, panic-stricken. "It doesn't look like Earth, Captain. Is it really Earth?"

"Yes!"

Her gaze wandered toward the ocean. A strange look flickered across her tired face, igniting her faded eyes with sudden hunger. "Is that water? I want to see."

Andrews turned to Norton. "Get the launch out. Drive her where she wants."

Norton pulled back angrily. "Me?"

"That's an order."

"Okay." Norton returned reluctantly to the ship. Andrews lit a cigarette moodily and waited. Presently the launch slid out of the ship, coasting across the ash toward them.

"You can show her anything she wants," Andrews said to the robant. "Norton will drive you."

"Thank you, sir," the robant said. "She will be grateful. She has wanted all her life to stand on Earth. She remembers her grandfather telling her about it. She believes that he came from Earth, a long time ago. She is very old. She is the last living member of her family."

"But Earth is just a --" Andrews caught him. "I mean --"

"Yes, sir. But she is very old. And she has waited many years." The robant turned to the old woman and led her gently toward the launch. Andrews stared after them sullenly, rubbing his jaw and frowning.

"Okay," Norton's voice came from the launch. He slid the hatch open and the robant led the old woman carefully inside. The hatch closed after them.

A moment later the launch shot away across the salt flat, toward the ugly, lapping ocean.

A moment later the launch shot away across the salt flat, toward the ugly, lapping ocean.

"Go on," Andrews said. "What then?"

"That's all. She got out of the launch. She and the robant. I stayed inside. They stood looking across the ocean. After a while the old woman sent the robant back to the launch."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She wanted to be alone, I suppose. She stood for a time by herself. On the shore. Looking over the water. The wind rising. All at once she just sort of settled down. She sank down in a heap, into the salt ash."

"Then what?"

"While I was pulling myself together, the robant leaped out and ran to her. It picked her up. It stood for a second and then it started for the water. I leaped out of the launch, yelling. It stepped into the water and disappeared. Sank down in the mud and filth. Vanished." Norton shuddered. "With her body."

Andrews tossed his cigarette savagely away. The cigarette rolled off, glowing behind them. "Anything more?"

"Nothing. It all happened in a second. She was standing there, looking over the water. Suddenly she quivered -- like a dead branch. Then she just sort of dwindled away. And the robant was out of the launch and into the water with her before I could figure out what was happening."

The sky was almost dark. Huge clouds drifted across the faint stars. Clouds of unhealthy night vapors and particles of waste. A flock of immense birds crossed the horizon, flying silently.

Against the broken hills the moon was rising. A diseased, barren globe, tinted faintly yellow. Like old parchment.

"Let's get back in the ship," Andrews said. "I don't like this place."

"I can't figure out why it happened. The old woman." Norton shook his head.

"The wind. Radioactive toxins. I checked with Centaurus II. The War devastated the whole system. Left the planet a lethal wreck."

"Then we won't --"

"No. We won't have to answer for it." They continued for a time in silence. "We won't have to explain. It's evident enough. Anybody coming here, especially an old person --"

"Only nobody would come here," Norton said bitterly. "Especially an old person."

Andrews didn't answer. He paced along, head down, hands in pockets. Norton followed silently behind. Above them, the single moon grew brighter as it escaped the mists and entered a patch of clear sky.

"By the way," Norton said, his voice cold and distant behind Andrews. "This is the last trip I'll be making with you. While I was in the ship I filed a formal request for new papers."

"Oh."

"Thought I'd let you know. And my share of the kilo positives. You can keep it."

Andrews flushed and increased his pace, leaving Norton behind. The old woman's death had shaken him. He lit another cigarette and then threw it away.

Damn it -- the fault wasn't his. She had been old. Three hundred and fifty years. Senile and deaf. A faded leaf, carried off by the wind. By the poisonous wind that lashed and twisted endlessly across the ruined face of the planet.

The ruined face. Salt ash and debris. The broken line of crumbling hills. And the silence. The eternal silence. Nothing but the wind and the lapping of the thick stagnant water. And the dark birds overhead.

Something glinted. Something at his feet, in the salt ash. Reflecting the sickly pallor of the moon.

Andrews bent down and groped in the darkness. His fingers closed over something hard. He picked the small disc up and examined it.

"Strange," he said.

"Strange," he said.

He slid away from the control panel, searching his pockets for it.

The disc was worn and thin. And terribly old. Andrews rubbed it and spat on it until it was clean enough to make out. A faint impression -- nothing more. He turned it over. A token? Washer? Coin?

On the back were a few meaningless letters. Some ancient, forgotten script. He held the disc to the light until he made the letters out.

E PLURIBUS UNUM

He shrugged, tossed the ancient bit of metal into a waste disposal unit beside him, and turned his attention to the star charts, and home...