They looked.  They stared.  Cochrane was a television producer, and Holden was a psychiatrist, and Babs was a highly efficient secretary.  They did not make scientific observations.  The ecological system of the valley escaped their notice.  They weren’t qualified to observe that the flying things around seemed mostly to be furry instead of feathered, and that insects seemed few and huge and fragile,—­and they did not notice that most of the plants appeared to be deciduous, so indicating that this planet had pronounced seasons.  But Holden said: 

“Up in Greenland there’s a hospital on a cliff like that.  People with delusions of grandeur sometimes get cured just by looking at something that’s so much greater and more splendid than they are.  I’d like to see a hospital up yonder!”

Babs said, shining-eyed: 

“A city could be built in this valley.  Not a tall city, with gray streets and gardens on the roofs.  This could be a nice little city like people used to have.  There would be little houses, all separate, and there’d be grass all around and people could pluck flowers if they wanted to, to take inside....  There could be families here, and homes—­not living-quarters!”

Cochrane said nothing.  He was envious of the others.  They saw, and they dreamed according to their natures.  Cochrane somehow felt forlorn.  Presently he said depressedly: 

“We’ll go back to the ship.  You can work out your woman’s viewpoint stuff with Bell, Babs.  He’ll write it, or you can give it to Alicia to put over when we go on the air.”

Babs made no reply.  The absence of comment was almost pointed.  Cochrane realized that she wouldn’t do it, though he couldn’t see why.

They did go back to the ship.  Cochrane sent Babs and Holden up the sling, first, while he waited down below.  It was a singular sensation to stand there.  He was the only human being afoot on a planet the size of Earth or larger, at the foot of a cliff of metal which was the space-ship’s hull.  He had a weapon in his hand, and it should defend him from anything.  But he felt very lonely.

The sling came down for him.  He felt sick at heart as it lifted him.  He had an overwhelming conviction of incompetence, though he could not detail the reasons.  The rope hauled him up, swaying, to the dizzy height of the air-lock door.  He could not feel elated.  He was partly responsible for humankind’s greatest achievement to date.  But he had not quite the viewpoint that would let him enjoy its contemplation.

The ground quivered very faintly as he rose.  It was not an earthquake.  It was merely a temblor, such as anyone would expect to feel occasionally with six smoking volcanic cones in view.  The green stuff all around was proof that it could be disregarded.

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the United States, some two-hundred-odd light-years away, it happened to be Tuesday.  On this Tuesday, the broadcast from the stars was sponsored by Harvey’s, the national men’s clothing chain.  Harvey’s advertising department preferred discussion-type shows, because differences of opinion in the shows proper led so neatly into their tag-line.  “You can disagree about anything but the quality of a Harvey suit!  That’s Superb!”