The rock had been smoothed off to a flat surface, and at its perimeter
were several small domed buildings. Yet, as there had been in the
countryside and in the city, except at its very heart, there was an
aura of desertion at the site.

Both his alien passengers jumped out of the flitter, as if only too
pleased at their release from the Terran flyer. For the first time Raf
was shaken out of his own preoccupation with his dislike for the
aliens to wonder if they could be moved by a similar distaste for
Terrans. Lablet might be interested in that as a scientific
problem--the pilot only knew how he felt and that was not comfortable.

Soriki got out and walked across the rock, stretching. But for a long
moment Raf remained where he was, behind the controls of the flyer. He
was as cramped and tired of travel as the com-tech, perhaps even more
so since the responsibility of the flight had been his. And had they
landed in open country he would have liked to have thrown himself down
on the ground, taking off his helmet and unhooking his tunic collar to
let the fresh wind blow through his hair and across his skin. Perhaps
that would take away the arid dust of centuries, which, to his mind,
had grimed him since their hours in the city. But here was no open
country, only a landing space which reminded him too much of the roof
of the building in the metropolis.

A half-dozen of the breastplated warriors filed out of the globe and went
to the nearest dome, returning with heavy boxes. Fuel--supplies--Raf
shrugged off the problem. The pilot was secretly relieved when Captain
Hobart dropped out of the hatch in the globe and made his way over to the
flitter.