the order to set down so that they could break out rations and eat.

Raf brought the flitter down on the cracked surface of the road,
mistrusting what might lie hidden in the field grass. They got out and
walked for a space along pavement which had once been smooth.

"High-powered traffic--" That was Lablet. He had gone down on one
knee and was tracing a finger along the substance.

"Straight--" Soriki squinted against the sun. "Nothing stopped them,
did it? We want a road here and we'll get it! That sort of thing. Must
have been master engineers."

To Raf the straight highways suggested something else. Master
engineering, certainly. But a ruthlessness too, as if the builders,
who refused to accept any modifications of their original plans from
nature, might be as arrogant and self-assured in other ways. He did
not admire this relic of civilization; in fact it added to his vague
uneasiness.

The land was so still, under the whisper of the wind. He discovered
that he was listening--listening for the buzz of an insect, the squeak
of some grass dweller, anything which would mean that there was life
about them. As he chewed on the ration concentrate and drank sparingly
from his canteen, Raf continued to listen. Without result.

Hobart and Lablet were engrossed in speculation about what might lie
ahead. Soriki had gone back to the flitter to make his report to the
ship. The pilot sat where he was, content to be forgotten, but eager
to see an animal peering at him from cover, a bird winging through the