Vladislav Krapivin

»'»»»»»»»>»»>»»»»»»»»» MEETING MY BROTHER

EXPECT 'MAGELLAN' 1

Those who have visited Konsata will remember a steep narrow staircase leading to the shore. It starts at a little colonnaded landing and stops just short of the water-line, at a strip of ground, covered with porous stone and gravel that runs beneath the yellowish-white cliffs and extends from the South Valley to the Northern Spit where an obelisk—a monument to the lost astronauts—pierces the sky like a needle on a slant.

It is a good place for collecting brightly coloured stones polished smooth by the waves, and hunting ill-humoured black crabs. Boys from the school to the south of Ratalsky Cosmodrome always halt there on their way home. Having crammed their pockets with treasures whose value is never appreciated by adults, they leap up the steep steps of the old staircase in preference to using the escalator twisting down the cliffs not a hundred yards away.

I had just finished writing my report of the third expedition to the Amazon basin. Now I had a whole month to read any books I fancied, a pleasure I had missed very much during the days of hard work.

With a book of poetry or some of Randin's short stories I would go to the top landing of the old staircase. It -was a deserted place. Grass grew in cracks in the flagstones.

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Birds nestled in the scrolls of heavy capitals.

For a few days I was alone there. Then a tall dark-complexioned man wearing a grey jacket of an unusual cut appeared. At first, as if by silent agreement, we ignored each other. But as we met frequently and hardly anybody else came there, we began to greet each other. I read my book and the stranger, apparently preoccupied and worried, seemed unwilling to enter into conversation.

The man usually came towards evening, when the sun was already low over the Northern Spit beyond which the white houses of Konsata were visible. The sea would be losing its blueness and the waves taking on a grey metallic tinge. In the east, caught in the reflected rays of the setting sun, the arches of the old launching pad turned pink. It stood at the edge of the Ratalsky Cosmodrome like a monument to times before interplanetary liners were adapted for vertical take-off.

When he got to the landing the stranger would settle down on the socle of a column, prop his chin on his hand and sit in silence.

He came to life when the schoolchildren appeared on the shore. Moving to the top step of the staircase he would watch their games, apparently waiting for one fair-haired boy in a black-and-orange striped jacket to notice him and run up. Whenever the boy ran fast his tiger-coloured jacket flapped like a gay banner.

A striking change would come over the stranger. Joyously he would greet the boy and, chattering animatedly, they would leave, nodding to me as they went.

At first I thought them father and son. But then one day I overheard the boy shouting to somebody as he ran:

'I'm going to meet my brother!'

From the brothers' talk I learned later that the elder one was called Alexandr.

It happened about a week after my first encounter with Alexandr. He came at his usual time, and sat down by the column, whistling some strange, harsh tune. I was

MEETING MY BROTHER         27

reading inattentively because I knew Valentin Randin's Song of the Blue Planet almost by heart. From time to time I would glance at Alexandr and think that his face was somehow familiar.

It was a windy day. As I turned the pages of my tattered volume, one fluttered away. With a gentle rustle over the stones it settled at Alexandras feet. He picked it up and rose to bring it to me. I got up too. We met in the middle of the landing.

It was the first time I had seen Alexandr so close. He was much younger than I thought. The lines at the bridge of his nose made his face look severe. But when he smiled, they disappeared.

'Not a very interesting book, I suppose?' he said, handing me the page.

It's not that. You see, I've read it many times.'

I wanted our talk to continue, and added:

'Your brother is late today.'

'He said he'd be late, but it slipped my mind.'

Alexandr sat down beside me and asked to see the book. It was amazing that he did not know Randin's stories, but I did not comment. He opened the book holding the pages down with his hand on which I noticed an uneven scar.

Alexandr caught my look.

'That's an old one ... I got it back at Yellow Rose.'

Now I knew.

'The Snezhnaya planet?' I exclaimed. 'You are Alexandr Sneg!'

It was recent history: the unusual broadcasts, the special issues of magazines with pictures of Alexandr and his three comrades. All over the Earth people repeated their names.

Before me was a man who had returned to the Earth three hundred years after leaving it. But it was not that alone that was so surprising. After all the Banderilla and Musson had also spent over two centuries in the cosmos. And though the story of the photon frigate which had

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN • 28

carried Sneg back was more unusual than the others, it was not his case alone that puzzled me.

'Alexandr,' I said, thinking about the strange discrepancy, 'it took three hundred years, after all . . . And the boy is no more than twelve. How can he be your brother?'

'You are an archaeologist I know,' said Alexandr after a pause. 'You are more conscious of time than others. And you understand people . . . Will you help me if I tell you everything?'

'I'll try.'

'Apart from myself, what I am going to tell you is known only to three other people. They can't help me. I want your advice. But where should I start? . . . Well, everything began here on this very staircase.

2

Everything started with the staircase.

It was the first time that Naal had been there since the death of his parents. The sea, bordered by the broad arc of the town's white buildings, was blue and glittering, with here and there the white crests of waves. It lay calm and sun-lit as though no ships had ever been claimed by its hidden depths.

Naal ran down the staircase gaining speed with each step. Soon gulping in the damp and salty wind, he was running as hard as he could to reach the enormous blue expanse.

He stumbled on a rough stone, twisted his ankle, and fell. His foot hurt but not unbearably. Biting his lip and limping he continued to go down. Like every boy Naal believed that salt water was the best medicine for cuts and abrasions. He took off his sandals and was about to go into the water when he spotted a big black crab. Involuntarily he jumped back.

To surrender to a momentary fear is one thing, to show the white feather is quite another. To test himself and to

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take revenge on the crab Naal resolved to catch the black hermit and fling it far into the sea, as far as he could.

Sensing danger the crab hurried away and hid among the stones.

'Now look out!' said the boy under his breath as he heaved a big flat stone. As it flopped into the water the crab tried to scramble away. But Naal had lost all interest in it: he had seen a small blue box, round and smooth as a sea-polished stone, lying on the wet sand. It was a mystery how it had got there.

The boy sat down on the sand and inspected it. It was firmly sealed. Naal spent over an hour scratching it with the buckle of his belt before he managed to pry it open. A strange badge wrapped in a sheet of old paper lay inside it—a golden branch with a tangle of stars in its leaves. On the stem was stamped a single word—'Research.'

Naal examined the badge and quite forgot about the piece of paper. He would have ignored it altogether had not the wind thrown it into his lap. The boy smoothed it out—it was a page from an extremely old magazine. The box had been water-tight and the paper was unspoiled.

The boy started reading, making out the old lettering with great difficulty. His face grew very grave when, towards the end of the page, he found words as striking as the sudden loud twang of a tent string.

Two hours later some schoolchildren came and found Naal sitting in the same place with his elbows on a sun-warmed stone intently watching the white crests of the breaking waves.

'We've been looking for you everywhere,' said the eldest boy. 'We didn't know you had come back here. Why are you sitting alone?'

Naal did not hear. The wind blew sharper now, and the waves came pounding in. Have you ever heard the roaring of the waves? Above the sound of the surf is heard the boom as the waves crash and then the hiss of the waters as they spread over the shore .. •

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3

Like the other schoolchild in South Valley, he delighted in flying high on the swing in dangerous proximity to twisted and gnarled old trees and chasing a bright-coloured ball among the trees of the sun-flooded grove. He was not very keen on learning the history of the discoveries of the bigger planets. He could run faster than many boys but his swimming was not above average. He was an eager participant in every game but never excelled at any of them. Only once did he manage to do what not everyone else could.

A springy branch whipped the golden badge with the blue stars off the front of his shirt and it fell into the water. He could see it sinking deeper and deeper. Without a second's hesitation he dived from a six-metre sheer cliff, by some miracle missing the sharp stones below.

Soon he was climbing back. One hand clutched the badge, and with the other he started in obstinate silence to wring the water out of his shirt.

No one knew where he had got the badge or why he valued it so much, but nobody asked him. After all, a boy may have his secrets. After his parents died Naal seemed to grow up all at once; he was often silent and ignored his friends' questions.

Outwardly his life went on very much the same. Even before, Naal used to spend the greater part of his time at school. Both his father and mother had been experts on probing the ocean depths and would often leave on expeditions. But now the boy knew that the bathyscaphe 'Reindeer' would never come back, never again would he see his father come through the leafy avenue over there, a man he could run to meet, throw his arms round, and forget everything in the world.

Months passed. There were many quiet morning hours spent in study at school, there were days full of sunshine, noisy play and welcome rain. Perhaps the grief would

MEETING MY BROTHER         31

have passed, had not one day the waves brought the small blue box, no one knew from where, and deposited it by the old staircase. No, the box was not a memento of the lost bathyscaphe.

At night when the orange reflections of the Ratalsky beacons fell on the window panes, he would take the crumpled page of the magazine out of the blue box. He did not need any light, he knew every line by heart. The magazine, published about three hundred years before, told of the launching of the photon space cruiser Magellan.

In his history book on flights to stars the cruiser was dealt with in one short dry passage: The Magellan was launched to one of the yellow stars with the aim of finding a planet resembling Earth. The crew obviously used incorrect information received from the cruiser Globe which was later presumed lost. The Magellan was expected to return in one hundred and twenty years. However, nothing was heard of it. It was presumed that its young inexperienced astronauts, misled by what must have been a legend, perished before they reached their goal.

The book did not even give their names. Naal learned them from the page he had found. The captain's name was Alexandr Sneg.

Naal once heard from his father that one of his ancestors had been an astronaut. That day by the sea when he read the name Sneg he experienced both pride and bitter resentment. Resentment with his history book for the miserly and obviously incorrect passage about the cosmonauts. There could have been numerous reasons for the loss of the cruiser. Was the crew really to blame?

'Maybe they didn't find anything on that yellow star and continued to fly? What if they are still flying?' thought Naal arguing with the history book. But just as the thought struck him he shut his eyes tight as if frightened by the very idea. He saw very clearly the long dark avenue in the school garden, and at the other end of it—the tall man in the silvery jacket of an astronaut, the man Naal

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would run to greet, forgetting everything else in the world.

But what if he never came back? Why, he could still come back, time in cosmos ships passes only one-tenth as quickly as on the Earth. What if the cruiser were to come back? In that case Naal would meet not an ancestor or a stranger from another century, but his own brother. At the bottom of the page the boy had read what somebody had said to the crew of the Magellan.

\ . . Do not forget the old names. Many years hence you will come back and the grandsons of your friends will meet you as their own friends. The grandsons of your brothers will become your brothers . . .'

Naal knew that these were only words. Nevertheless, he could clearly picture how it would happen. It would be morning . . .

He could see that morning: the bright sun quite high in the sky, and the sky so blue that the white houses, the white clothes of the people and the silvery body of the spaceship had a blue tinge. The auxiliary rockets had gently lowered it onto the cosmodrome only a moment before. It stood perfectly still, supported by the black cylinders of the photon reflectors—a huge space cruiser, a shining tower with a black fin, a hundred and fifty metres long with the name Magellan printed in clear light-coloured old-fashioned lettering on it. Naal saw the tiny figures of the astronauts slowly descend the spiral staircase. Any moment now they would step onto the ground and walk towards the people. Naal, standing in front of the others, would be the first to meet them. He would ask right away which was Alexandr Sneg. Then . . . No, he would say nothing. He would simply introduce himself—he too was Sneg . . .

Naal was not accustomed to hiding his joys and sorrows. Yet he didn't tell anybody about all this. Without realising it he started dreaming about a miracle. But could one believe in miracles? Still, sometimes at night as he

MEETING MY BROTHER         33

watched the reflections of the cosmodrome's beacons, Naal would take that crumpled page out. After all, everyone had a right to a dream even if that dream happened to be a futile one.

Miracles do not happen. But the same year, through a strange coincidence, the fifth pilot station received a call signal which rocked the whole planet: 'Magellan calling Earth, Magellan calling Earth. Can you hear me? Expect my arrival. Over to you.'

4

The moon was not up yet though the upper part of the Power Ring could already be seen over the hills as a high irregular arc. Its yellowish diffused light seeped through the window to lie in a wide stripe across the carpet.

Naal switched off his wrist radio. There was no additional news. He could wait no longer. After a moment's hesitation he jumped up, hurriedly dressed and made his bed. Throwing his jacket over his shoulders he went to the window. It was slightly open. It could not be shut properly because outside grew a purple Martian convolvulus which clung with its tiny tendrils to the cornice outside. The thin stem would be cut off should the window be shut tight.

Outside the bushes glistened after the recent rain, and the white walls and the wide windows of the school had a barely perceptible greenish tinge. A ray of orange light appeared momentarily in the sparse clouds over the hills. The Ratalsky cosmodrome was again signalling somebody.

Naal opened the window and stepped out onto the path.

Alexei Oscar, the rector of the school, was not yet in bed. When the door opened, it let in fresh air that smelled of rain and stirred the pages of the book he was reading.

A boy stood at the door.

Ts that you, Naal?'

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'Yes.'

For the first time Naal told his story; in a hurry to get it over, the words fairly tumbled out.

Oscar rose and turned to the window. Despite the general opinion he did not consider himself an experienced teacher. He simply possessed a knack of arriving at the right decision at the right time. But now he was at a loss. What could he say? Try to explain things to this boy, try to dissuade him from doing what he had decided to do? But would he be able to? Would he be right in doing so?

The rector remained silent for so long that it became embarrassing.

'Look here, Naal,' he started, and stopped, not knowing how to continue. 'It's late . . .'

'Oscar, please let me go to the Shore of Summer,' said the boy softly. It was not even a request: his voice was full of anguish very much like that invincible yearning for the Earth which drives cosmonauts to desperate actions.

There are things that make the usual conceptions and rules powerless. What could Oscar say? Only that it was late and that Naal could go in the morning. But did it matter?

Til take you to the station,' said Oscar.

'No, don't bother. It's better if I go alone.*

And he left.

Oscar moved over to the videophone, called the Summer Shore, then dialled the call number of the pilot station, and pressed hard on the key of the emergency signal.

Nobody answered. The automatic service gave a soothing answer:

'All's well.'

THE NIGHT JOURNEY 1

It would have been much better if Naal had not taken that particular road.

He decided to take the path over the hills since it was shorter. In a quarter of an hour he was at the pass. Above the rounded hill tops hung the white moon in the pale ellipsis of Power Ring. On his right the Ratalsky beacons winked slowly. The lights of Konsata, partly obscured by a small range gleamed on his left. Beyond the wide arc of lights, the sea was like a carpet gleaming dully in the moonlight.

The enormous black bulk of Ratalsky bridge—an old launching pad—cut across the whole width of the valley.

Up to now Naal had no hesitation and looked forward to the meeting. The news of the Magellan was so sudden and miraculous that his joy left no room for anxiety.

Anxiety appeared as soon as he saw the launching pad. He could not have explained why he suddenly felt that way. Could it be the very size and gloominess of those two-hundred-metre high arches rising before him like some gigantic gateway? They seemed to bring home to him the unfathomable magnitude of everything connected with the cosmos, the great distances travelled by the Magellan, and those three hundred years . . . 'The grandchildren of your brothers will become your brothers!' But those were only words, and uttered three hundred years ago at that!

The black supports of the launching pad were like a double line of giants silently asking the boy where he was going, and why? What foolish thoughts was he harbouring in his head?

Naal looked around as if searching for reassurance. But

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the lights of the South Valley were obscured behind a hill.

He stopped for a moment, then darted towards the launching pad. He ran in a direct line through the tall, still wet grass. Some prickly plant scratched his leg. He paused, pulled the plant out furiously, and began to run again. He ran hard to prevent that strange anxiety from catching up with him. Having crossed that wide strip of meadow, the black gates of the Ratalsky bridge would be left behind . . .

2

The express carriage of the ring-way train which ran from the Summer Shore to the northern tip of the continent was empty. Naal settled in an armchair with his feet tucked under him, and watched the darkness beyond the windows fly back at a speed of five hundred kilometres per hour.

He was tired. Any other time he would certainly have fallen asleep but now the same old anxiety plagued him like a tiresome bass string: 'What if he said nothing in reply? Or took it all as a joke? And would a cosmos hero returning to Earth after three hundred years have any time to spare for a mere boy?'

Suddenly he pictured the huge cosmodrome full of thousands of people. Thousands of greetings, thousands of hands stretched out for a handshake. What would he be doing there? And what could he say?

He was struck by the thought that instead of spending the night in the town, of waiting for the morning and the landing of the ship he would tell Alexandr everything right now.

'Pilot-5' station had been in constant touch with the cruiser. The station was some forty kilometres from the Summer Shore. That meant another five minutes.

At the next turning Naal stepped off onto a moving ring-platform. Jumping from one concentric platform to

MEETING MY BROTHER         37

another at a slower speed he reached the motionless centre, and went out through a tunnel.

Before him was a black expanse. Behind—the soft lights of the platform, far ahead the spire of the pilot station glowed blue. The wind rustled in the grass, and that sound somehow reassured him. He set off towards the blue spire.

Here, too, were signs of recent rain. Damp leaves clung to his knees, and the wind's breath was warm and damp.

Soon Naal reached the road where the going was easier; the wind blew stronger, trying to whip his light jacket off his shoulders.

3

For some time 'Pilot-5' station had refused to divulge any information. All inquiries were met by the automatic answer: 'Everything is going well.' Many people tried to tune in on the cruiser's wave-length but failed because nobody knew the three-hundred-year-old systems.

The Jupiter intermediate station was the first to receive the news of the photon spaceship. Now the Earth was in direct communication with it, and the pilots did not leave the station for a moment: three of them were on duty by the vectorial beacon, while the fourth slept in an armchair. The ship„'s crew had already passed the cruiser's control over to the scientists on the ground. The pilots expected to land the spaceship on the Shore cosmodrome.

Qmy a few hours previously Sergei Koster had established two-way communications with the spaceship. But so far the crew had given no more detailed news than the reading of the automatic systems necessary for their landing.

The pilots manoeuvred the ship to a circular orbit, where it became an Earth satellite with the same orbital speed. Sergei was at the end of the transmitting co-ordinates when Miguel Nuvios said:

'Somebody has been signalling for over an hour with an inquiry.'

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'Somebody's having a bout of sleeplessness,' said Sergei without turning around. He was closely watching the vector crossing through the cosmodrome—a black spot on a luminous map.

'Six signals—an urgent call. I don't think it's the usual curiosity.*

'If it was something important it would come in direct.'

'Well, I don't know . . .'

A few minutes later Sergei, too, heard the sound of an urgent call. But neither he nor the two other pilots at their posts by the auxiliary transmitters could spare time to answer the videophone.

'Miguel, take the call, can't you?' asked Sergei.

But Miguel was fast asleep in his armchair.

The signal was not repeated.

Another thirty minutes passed. The spaceship's automatic systems received the final order. Sergei closed his eyes in relief. But the red-coloured figures continued to dance before his aching eyes.

At that moment somebody tugged at his sleeve. The pilot took his hand away from his eyes and saw a boy of about twelve, fair and suntanned, his unbuttoned striped jacket revealing a golden badge on a light green shirt, his legs covered with fresh scratches.

The boy was looking up at Sergei. In his hurry to explain everything at once he spoke so confusedly that the pilot could hardly understand him.

'What are you talking about? How did you get here?' he asked.

Reaching the central building Naal went through a door and found himself in a long narrow corridor. His step echoed as he went along the smooth shining floor on which the big lamps were reflected as though it were a sheet of glass. Once again Naal heard those nagging anxious sounds in his head. He felt uneasy, a hard lump was in his throat and his heart beat madly like a ball bumping down stairs.

The corridor ended in a sharp turn. Naal walked up a

MEETING MY BROTHER         39

wide flight of steps; hesitating for a moment with his hand raised, he screwed up his courage and pushed the frosted glass door open. He found himself in a round hall with low walls and a transparent cupola sectioned off with strange white lines through which stars peeped. The black-and-white checkerboard sloped gently upwards towards a small platform in the centre, where three men stood beside a black conical apparatus. In one of the chairs round the platform slept a fourth man. The men by the apparatus were talking, and their voices echoed and sounded unnatural. Every word reached Naal yet failed to make sense. His head was spinning, perhaps from tiredness. Everything seemed unreal. He walked across the black-and-white floor, stepped up onto the platform and tugged at the sleeve of one of the men. The man turned. His look of surprise told Naal that his approach had not been observed.

Coming straight to the point, he said:

'I am here to meet my brother . ..'

Everything had a dreamlike quality. As he talked, Naal could hear his own voice bounce off the walls and disappear in the enormous hall. He could not remember how long he had been talking. Perhaps a very short time. Signals flashed on and off on the control panels along the circular walls, blue flashes swiftly changing their pattern.

Tell me please, pilot, he won't refuse, he'll answer me?' Naal pleaded, overcoming his torpor for a moment. There was a short, tense silence. Then somebody said something which, in its simplicity and ordinariness, was in strong contrast with the dramatic discussion that was taking place.

'So that's how it is . . .'

Somebody else called to the sleeping man:

'Miguel, Miguel, listen to this!

Lichts still darted across the panels, and the senior pilot, Sergei, suddenly remarked:

'You ire asleep, my boy.'

He picbd him up and put him into a big soft chair. But Naal was rot asleep. He kept his eyes on the dancing

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light signals and heard the words droning under the cupola:

'The man . . .*

'The three centuries . . .'

'Wasn't frightened ... But what if . ..?'

'He's asleep.'

'No, he isn't.'

The voice which said 'he isn't' asked:

'What's your name, brother of the cosmonaut?'

'Naal.'

Though the question was not asked again he felt that they did not understand him, so he said:

'Nathaniel Sneg.'

'Sneg . . .' the voice repeated.

'A strange combination . . .'

'Nothing strange about it,' Naal wanted to say. 'They called me that in honour of Nathaniel Leed, the Captain of the bathyscaphe "Svet" . . .'

Somebody touched the chair, and said:

'Asleep . . .'

'I'm not,' said Naal, and opened his eyes. 'Did the Magellan answer, pilot?'

Sergei bent over him:

'Now you go to sleep . . . They said they'll meet you in a week's time. The crew decided to land in the forest zone . . . Evidently they want to avoid a noisy reception. They've been missing the feel of the ground, the wind, the forest. It'll take them a few days to reach the Summer Shore on foot as they plan.'

Naal's sleep quickly melted away.

'What about me? And the people? Don't they want to s&e them?'

'Now, don't take on so,* said Sergei. 'They promised to meet you in a week.'

Now Naal could see that the hall at the pilot station was not particularly big. The sky above the transpai^nt cupola was low and overcast.

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'Where are they going to land?' he asked.

They asked us not to tell anybody.'

'Not even me?'

Well ... at the White Cape Peninsula.'

Naal got to his feet.

'Stay the night here,' suggested Sergei. 'And then we'll see.'

'No, I think I'll be getting on home.'

Til see you off.'

'Don't bother.'

So that was that. There was once a silly fairytale which, like a fool, he had believed. Well, three hundred years . ..

Without listening to what the pilot was saying he started off over the black-and-white checks, broke into a run, along the glassy floor in the corridor, along the gravel path outside. He was out in the black field again, headed for the distant platform. Now he walked slowly. He had nowhere to hurry to any more. 'We'll meet in a week's time . . .' If a person were looking forward to a meeting he would not wait one single hour.

4

Perhaps everything would have ended there. But a hundred paces before the station Naal came across the 'bee' park. A thought crossed his mind which at first seemed childish but ten steps later made him pause in his tracks. 'What if it were too late for Alexandr to change their plans when he heard the pilot tell him everything? After all, he is not alone,' thought Naal.

Hesitantly he approached the flying machines, feeling his heart beat fast with renewed hope. He was three months short of the earliest age—twelve—when a boy was allowed to pilot one of these 'bees'. Should he do right to break the rules?

Still undecided he climbed into the cabin and lowered the

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protective cowl. Then he checked the engine. Yellow lights twinkled encouragingly from the control board. He took off, lifting the 'cab' on its horizontal screws, opened the throttle, and headed North-east.

The high speed would enable him to reach the White Cape in two hours.

He must have slept part of the way for the flight seemed to have taken hardly any time at all. One thought was uppermost in his mind: 'I'll simply walk over and explain who I am. The rest doesn't matter now . . /

If they met him with an indifferent look he would go straight back to the cabin without another word, and fly back to the South-east.

The trouble came just when the 'bee' having passed a peaceful gulf mirroring the starts, was flying over a black mass of forest towards the promontory. The sky in the East was beginning to show blue while directly above him it was still dark. Somewhere up there hung the Magellan deserted by its crew.

In vain did Naal strain his eyes searching for lights or at least the dark shape of the landing rocket. Twice he flew to the very tip of the promontory and back over the very tops of the trees. It was then that he felt the motor was turning more slowly. The storage batteries were spent. He realised he must have taken one of the machines that had not been serviced. He climbed as high as possible to have a good look over the mass of forest. He rose until the motor gave out, the screws stopped turning, and his 'bee' let out its wings and started gliding slowly to Earth.

When it was too late Naal realised he had made a mistake. Underneath as far as the eye could see was forest, and a normal landing was out of the question.

Somehow the thought did not frighten him. Watching the tree tops rushing back beneath him he tried to keep his machine straight. Next moment he was in among the tree tops, automatically he applied the brakes. There was a crash

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and a series of sharp jolts. He felt himself flung from his seat, something pressing against his shoulder, and dry aromatic twigs clinging to his cheek. 'I wonder where the rocket is?' he thought as he stretched himself out on the grass.

THE FOURTH SUN 1

'Naturally, neither the pilots nor the boy knew the reasons for our strange decision,' said Alexandr. 'It was our utter confusion. Not just the understandable confusion which an unexpected piece of news can cause but a real helplessness and fear. What answer could we give?

'I won't speak about the flight itself. All flights are similar unless they end in disaster—work, long anabiotic sleep . . . It took us twelve years—fifty for you on Earth—to reach the planet of our destination. We by-passed the Yellow Rose.

'At first we tasted the bitterness of a scientific experiment that failed. Before us was an ice-locked land, devoid of any life, without the murmur of forests, or the lapping of waves. A big bright yellow sun wrapped in a haze of cold mist hung suspended over a broken range of mountains. It really resembled a yellow rose. The frozen ocean glistened pink and yellow. Deep blue vapours collected in the crevices between the rocks, cracks in the ice and the shadows of gloomy precipices. Ice . . . Cold glittering . . . Still.

'The only thing that was a pleasant surprise was the air. Real, very like that surrounding the Earth, and as cold as the water from a mountain stream. On the very first day we abandoned our helmets, and breathed the air through clenched teeth because of the cold. We were terribly tired of the chemically pure "unleavened" insipid air of the ship's compartments. To my mind it was the air that caused that fomenting longing to be back on Earth. Even to think about it is horrible. But there, on the Snezhnaya planet, we stopped

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feeling it so acutely. There was something familiar in that ice-bound bewitched world. But the realisation did not come to us right away. Every time we left the cruiser we saw that kingdom of snow, stone and ice . . .'

2

A blue mist which turned the orange sunbeams green where they shone down through the spaces between the sheer walls filled the deep gorges. There they sparkled from the broken ice like milliards of emeralds. When the sun's rays reached the bottom they reflected from the ice crystals great bouquets of fantastic lights.

The night sky patterned with the outlines of blue constellations was like a black wall around the Magellan. From time to time the high transparent clouds would become a shimmering yellow and light would stream down the ice-bound mountain slopes illuminating, here and there, huge piles of rocks.

Nevertheless, that cold planet was living. At times the heavy clouds would creep from the west obscuring the orange-coloured setting sun and wiping the ugly black shadows off the ice fields. They would bring snow, real snow, just as if it were somewhere by the Kara Sea or in the Antarctic. It melted in one's hands turning into ordinary water. Then the water became warm.

One day the men found a valley free of ice and snow in the southern hemisphere. There were bare cliffs, stones that shone silver in the water, and coarse sand on the banks of a sparkling stream that cascaded down the rocks. In the spray numerous, tiny rainbows seemed to be trying to bring the world out of its frozen slumber.

A short distance from the waterfall Karr found a small black-leafed plant clinging to a rock. He took off his glove and was on the point of pulling out the thin knotty stem when the plant's black pointed leaves moved to meet his hand. Instinctively Karr pulled back.

MEETING MY BROTHER         45

'Leave it alone,' was the prudent advice of Larsen. 'Who knows . . .'

But Karr took the advice in his own way. Smiling he moved his hand over the black plant, and as before the small narrow leaves stretched towards it.

'It's after warmth,' he said softly. Then he called the expedition's biologist who had dropped behind. 'Tael, here at last is a real discovery for you!'

But the navigation officer failed to grasp its full significance at the time.

That evening all five men gathered in the mess of the Magellan: Knud Larsen, blond and broad-shouldered, good-humoured and absent-minded in everything that was not related to his computers; the two Africans, high-spirited little biologist Tael, and the navigator Tey Karat known usually as Karr; Georgi Rogov, the pilot and astronomer, fair-haired like Larsen, but almost as dark-skinned as the Africans, and the youngest of the crew. And, finally, Alexandr Sneg who was their senior reconnaissance navigator and an artist. He had been so busy with his sketches of late that he had passed most of his duties over to Karr.

When they were all gathered in the mess Karr said:

'This is a strange planet, don't you agree? But one thing is clear: if it wasn't for the sheet of ice there would be life here. It is evident too that the sun, that is the Yellow Rose, will melt the ice sometime. But who can say how many mil-leniums it will take? Shouldn't we melt the ice ourselves?'

He suggested firing four artificial suns over the Snezhnaya planet according to the system of Academician Vorontsov. The system was a well-tried and simple one. Such atomic suns were fired as long ago as in the first decades after the destruction of all arms and people were able at last to divert nuclear energy to peaceful purposes. About the same time, the ice in Greenland and the coastal regions of the Antarctic continent was melted.

'But why four?' asked Georgi.

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         46

'That's the minimum. We can't have fewer . . . wouldn't be enough to melt all the ice, and the eternal winter would grip the planet again.'

However the four suns would consume two-thirds of the remaining ezan, the cosmic fuel. That meant that the ship would not have enough left to generate the required speed. It would take two hundred and fifty years to reach the Earth. Most of the flight would have to be spent in a state of anabiotic sleep. Two hundred and fifty years . . . But that would enable them to bring yet another planet within the reach of the people—a new outpost of humanity in the cosmos. The long flight would not have been in vain.

'What is needed, then?' asked Larsen.

'For us to agree,' Karr looked at each in turn.

'I'm for,' said Larsen.

'Same here,' exclaimed Tael.

Georgi inclined his head in silence.

'I'm against!' said Sneg firmly, and stood up.

A few seconds of silent surprise followed, then Sneg started speaking.

He said that it was silly to turn the planet into an incubator. That people should not be afraid of severe ice or of fighting against the nature of £ strange planet. That without fighting life would lose its meaning . . . What if their artificial suns suddenly died out before all the ice melted? What would become of the first dwellers on the Snezhnaya planet if permanent winter returned? But even if the suns did not die out and the ice was melted what would the people see? Bare mountains, valleys without vegetation, grey desert . . .

They listened, and there was a moment when each was ready to agree with him. Not only because his words seemed to be convincing—his very passion and persistence were convincing. Sneg always argued that way when he felt strongly he was in the right. It was with the same heat that he had defended the right to fly to 'his own' star.

MEETING MY BROTHER         47

3

His friends remembered him in the big room of the Stella Palace standing before a pale thin man and saying with a fierce directness:

'I am surprised that the Union of Astronauts should entrust the decision of a question like this to you alone—a man who has no ability to believe in legends!'

The man grew pale, but the only sign of his exasperation was a slight confusion in his quiet answer:

'Every youth who has gone beyond the orbit of Jupiter considers himself well prepared for freedom in cosmic research and is ready to fly even to the centre of the Galaxy. It's ridiculous. All these fairy tales about the planets of the Yellow Rose have turned your head. The Yellow Rose is an insidious star. It's all very alluring, naturally; it's certainly true . . . fairy tales always attract.'

'You claim a knowledge of eternal truths but you forget one of them: every legend contains a grain of truth. We believe there are planets . . .'

Rotais inclined his head.

T allow myself the right to end this pointless talk. I don't see that you have any claim to undertake an expedition of free research . . . May I add that I feel distressed and find it difficult to speak: an hour ago Valentin Yantar had an accident and I am in a hurry to see him.'

Obviously he was not in a great hurry because when Alexandr came to the house of the old cosmonaut, the only people he met there were the doctors. He learned that Yantar had refused to have an operation.

'Flying is not for me any more ... As to living. Well, I've lived long enough.*

Silently Sneg entered the room where the astronaut was lying. Yantar said to the perplexed doctor:

'Please leave us alone.'

The room was in semi-darkness. Though the windows

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         48

were curtainless, branches of the flowering apple trees pressed close against them. Alexandr stood by the bed. Yan-tar was covered with a white blanket pulled up to his chin. On it lay his long matted blond beard and on his lined forehead was a streak of blood.

'Nobody can understand me except you,' Alexandr began. 'Others might accuse me of heartlessness, of being egoistic . . . But you and I, we can be frank with each other. You'll never be able to fly any more.'

'True . . .'

'They won't allow my team to do our own research,' said Alexandr quietly. 'Would you pass to us your right to make a second flight? We'll go.'

'You mean, to Leda? To my planet?' Neither his hands nor his head moved, but his eyes sparkled with joy. 'You've decided?'

At this moment Yantar must have seen the blue world of Leda, the planet whose secret had never been fully revealed, the ruins of its turquoise towns, and its white mountains rising over violet masses of impenetrable forests forever shrouded in poisonous bluish mist. But the strange vision disappeared, and again he saw before him the stern, tense face of Alexandr.

'No, I shouldn't say "mine",' said Yantar in a hollow tone.

'Every one of us has his own star,' said Sneg.

He sat down by the bed and gave a detailed account of everything: the latest news from the Globe about the mystery of the Yellow Rose, the plan for free research worked out by the five astronauts, his recent talk with Rotais.

'The Leda needs archaeologists. We are reconnaissance scouts. We want to find a planet with air like we have here. People need such planets.'

Yantar closed his eyes.

'Good . . . You have my right.'

'He won't believe me,' argued Alexandr recalling the impassive pale face of Rotais.

MEETING MY BROTHER         49

'Then take my badge. It's in the blue shell on the table.'

In a shell brought from the Leda lay a golden badge with blue stars and an inscription 'Research'.

Alexandr looked at the badge, then at the wounded astronaut. For the first time in those few last days his resolution failed him. He clenched his teeth and withdrew his hand.

'It's yours,' repeated Yantar. 'It's your right now.

'Break that window,' he commanded Alexandr when he took the badge. 'No, don't open it, break it . . . It's old and will yield easily . . . Good,' he said, when he heard the tinkle of the broken glass.

Alexandr also broke a sizable bough off a tree, letting the sun into the room.

'Happy voyage!' said Valentin Yantar, forcing down the growing pain with an effort. 'May all of you return back to Earth!'

'That doesn't happen too often!'

The more reason to wish it. . /

As Sneg was going out he met Rotais and showed him the badge in the open palm of his hand. Rotais shrugged his shoulders and inclined his head, indicating a hidden resentment with the young astronaut's action and at the same time a forced acquiescence. No one could deny a cosmonaut the right to a second flight—that is a cosmonaut was entitled to a second expedition any time, on any of the ships ready to start, after discovering a new planet and safely returning to Earth. He could also pass that right on to another Captain.

For a second Alexandr could see again the face of Yantar, the famous Captain of the Research, his wrinkled forehead with the bloody scar, and his blue eyes which seemed to reflect the fantastic world of Leda. 'You mean to Leda? To my planet?' Nevertheless, the old astronaut understood Alexandr. But Rotais?

Alexandr turned round and coldly said to Rotais, whose back was turned to him:

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         50

'Kindly inform the Eastern cosmodrome that we've chosen the Magellan?

He had done more than anybody else to make this flight possible. And it was more difficult for him to leave than it was for the others. Each of them had relatives, of course, but he alone was also leaving his sweetheart behind.

Their tacit friendship seemed strange to outsiders. Not often were they seen together. They seldom spoke of one another. Only their close friends knew of their love.

A week before the start Alexandr met her in a new, sunny garden, the place which today is known as Konsata's Golden Park. The wind was tearing at the leaves, and the sun danced on the white sand on the path. The girl was silent.

'But you knew that I was an astronaut,' said Sneg.

He could be quite calm when necessary.

Just before the start he handed her the badge ...

One day looking by chance into their Magellan messroom Georgi saw Sneg take out a small stereo-photograph and place it in front of him, then look at it intently in silence.

T would hide this picture forever, if I were you,' said Georgi.

Alexandr looked up at him with a mixture of mockery and surprise.

'And that would make me forget, you think?'

He put his hand over his eyes, then with a few rough strokes of his pencil on a piece of cardboard he drew the girl's face, a remarkably true likeness.

'There you are.'

It was their eighth year of flight in the Magellan, according to the ship's own time.

4

Yet it was Alexandr Sneg, once so eager to start on this

expedition, who was now defending the ice-locked planet,

as if they suggested its doom rather than its resurrection.

'A grey desert, sickly little plants! Even if there is not any

MEETING MY BROTHER         51

ice, what will there be? A dead land, dead stones.'

'People'll create everything!' argued Tael. 'Everything they need.*

'But let me add this,' continued Sneg. 'We can't rob people of the world we found here. It is beautiful, this world. Don't you understand that? Don't you see it?'

He threw his sketches down on the table. With bated breath they looked again at what they had seen before but which they had forgotten, depressed by this kingdom of ice. Sneg found remarkably true colours: orange-black sunsets, blue ravines full of glowing mist, mornings which fired golden sparks off the ice, the yellow sky with its untidy heaps of clouds . . .

The pages rustled as they were turned over. At last Karr said:

'All right. But who would want it—cold and death for the sake of beauty? What's the use of this dead ice?'

'It's not dead,' Alexandr shook his head. 'There is its own life here, the wind, the streams, the bushes . . . Everything here is coming slowly to life. We shouldn't hurry it, or we'll have a desert here.'

'It won't be a desert. There'll be an ocean, blue and boundless, like the oceans on Earth. The melted ice'll give enough water. Waterfalls will roar here. Just think, Alexandr: thousands of silver waterfalls amidst the rocks and the rainbow-coloured mist. The severe nature will remain with a beauty all its own. There will be life, too. That's the kind of planet we set out to find.'

'There'll be an ocean, and islands overgrown with forests,' said Tael dreamily.

'Forests? You mean those black little bushes will grow into forests?'

'People will plant the forests!'

'On stones?'

'You're wrong, Alex,' Georgi, who had been silent up to now, said gently. 'Think of the Antarctic'

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         52

Sneg was on the point of saying something when he sat down, suddenly tired, and said:

'All right, I give up.'

'And you'll take part in the necessary calculations?'

'In work, yes, but not in calculations. What sort of a mathematician do you think I am?'

5

They had been working for a long time, both with the help of their automatic machinery and pneumatic wrenches. Then they launched the four rockets into their orbits surrounded by a network of magnetic regulators. The rockets were not equipped with automatic pilots. Karr and Larsen piloted the two they had built, and later left them and parachuted down, safe in their special suits. They repeated the operation twice. The four rockets working on the cosmic fuel RY-202-ezan became the apices of a triangular pyramid, inside which the Snezhnaya planet seemed to be suspended.

They did not refer to the argument any more. Alexandr worked with enthusiasm. He even did the calculations for one of the artificial suns. Each had his own sun except Karr who undertook the general calculations and control.

When the last day of work was over, the crew of the Magellan gathered in the ravine which they had chosen for the control station.

'Well, spring-created gods,* said Karr with unnecessary solemnity.

'Everything's ready now,' Tael heaved a deep sigh.

'Ready?'

'Ready.*

The signal was given, and the three screens flashed daz-zlingly. Mountains and piles of ice appeared on them illuminated apparently by two or three suns. The fourth screen remained blank.

'It's mine,' said Sneg.

The fourth sun remained unfired.

MEETING MY BROTHER         53

Nobody quite knew what had happened. Apparently the system of magnetic regulators was at fault. The smallest impetus, a jolt from an infinitesimal meteorite would be enough, perhaps, to start the sun off in a few seconds. But what were the chances of a meteorite hitting the rocket?

'Where's the harm? All right, it'll leave an ice cap like we had in the Antarctic once . . . What the hell! Just think of it: a snowbound plateau named after Sneg!' exclaimed simple-hearted Larsen.

'Yes, marvellous,' said Alexandr dryly.

Then followed an awkward silence. None of them, naturally, thought that Sneg had calculated incorrectly on purpose. Alexandr himself understood this too, yet the fact remained that it was he who had failed!

Til take a rocket and break the regulators with my jet,* said Sneg quietly but firmly, after they all returned to the Magellan.

'Let's all turn in,' suggested Karr.

'Larsen, you check me,' called Sneg. 'I'll prove that it's possible.'

'You mean, to go to bed?'

'To break the holding back regulators and to escape the flare-up.'

Larsen obediently sat down by the keyboard of the electronic brain. Alexandr started dictating figures.

'As you see, it's possible in principle,' he said when the calculations were finished.

'In principle . . .' growled Larsen. 'Don't be a fool, you'll burn.'

'Now, Alex, let's go to bed,' said Georgi. 'Things aren't as bad as you think.'

But all of them knew that things were bad, very bad.

Two-thirds of the ezan had been used. It would take two hundred and fifty years to get back to Earth and they would return empty-handed. By that time the Snezhnaya planet would again be held in a grip of ice. Who knew when otta people would come here again, and when they would fire

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         54

the atomic suns? Yet they had seen to everything, almost. If there were no unforeseen errors the crew of the Magellan would bring to Earth the news of a planet ready for normal habitation. People needed such planets, outposts of humanity in the boundless universe, stepping-stones for further, longer strides.

They were awakened in the middle of the night by a shrill call signal. Alexandras amplified voice said:

'I am in the rocket. Don't be cross with me, boys, but I have to try/

'Alex, please,' said Georgi. 'We all ask you, don't. To hell with this planet. Think of the Earth/

Til be all right.'

'You'll burn.'

'No, I won't.'

'Sneg, return immediately, it's an order!' shouted Karr.

'Now, Karr, please don't be angry . . . But I'm the Captain.'

'Look, but you yourself wanted the planet to stay locked in ice,' pleaded Larsen.

They heard Alexandr's chuckle.

'Karr's to blame. He was so eloquent about the ocean, waterfalls, islands. And I'm an artist and wanted to paint it all'

Karr cursed quietly.

'Switch your videophone on,' asked Tael.

Sneg obeyed and they saw his face on the screen. He was bending over the control board, whistling.

'Take care of yourself,' said Georgi.

Sneg nodded, still whistling.

'Just when we're supposed to return to Earth! Why are you doing 4t?' said Karr desperately. 'What if it flares up suddenly?'

'Well, you know yourself ... It has to be seen through ... to the end.'

The roar of the engine made further speech impossible. The image on the screen swayed, Alexandr's face became

MEETING MY BROTHER         55

distorted through overloading. Then the overloading disappeared, and the speed began to slow down. High speed would have prevented Alexandr from making the necessary turn to hit the regulators with his jet. In silence they watched Alexandr's tense face—all that they could see. It continued until a blinding white flame flooded the screen . . .

6

'How did you manage to escape?' I asked Alexandr.

He glanced at me from under his heavy brows.

That's the whole point . . . I'm Georgi Rogov. Sneg was killed . . . D'you understand what we felt when the pilot told us about the boy? A boy on the Earth was waiting desperately for his brother. It's difficult for you to understand, perhaps. But for us who've been missing our Earth and the people for so many years, to us that longing and anxiety were feelings we knew well. It's especially difficult when you know that there won't be a single familiar face among those you see. Three hundred years . . . Even their names would be forgotten. And suddenly a brother . . . We understood the boy well, his longing for somebody to call his own. And then, too, it was very difficult to tell the truth. Impossible.

'It was Tael who found a solution. He, gave the station an evasive answer which allowed us some time.

' "But that's not a way out," said Larsen. "What are we going to tell him later?" '

' "What's the boy's name?" ' I asked.

'Karr told me, looking at me speculatively. But he didn't add anything.

'The engine of our landing rocket failed when we were quite close to Earth, so we parachuted to safety in our protective cosmic suits.

'It was still dark. The East was just beginning to turn blue. I don't remember everything. There was the smell of leaves and the damp earth. Tael stood with his dark face

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         56

pressed against the trunk of a birch tree—just a blur of white in the dusk. Larsen threw himself down on the ground, exclaiming, "Just look at it, the grass . .."

'My eyes were on the heavens. A bright yellow streak heralded the new day, while the sky above turned clear blue. It seemed to be ringing. I never knew that it could ring like a million singing strings. A. light cloud directly overhead was slowly becoming filled with a fiery pink . . . Suddenly horror seized me. I seemed to be having the same poignant dream about the Earth which had tormented us on the Snezhnaya. My fear was like an electric shock. I lay down on the grass, and shut my eyes. I clung for all I was worth to the root of a bush. It was rough to the touch and wet . . .

'A moment later I released my grip and opened my eyes. The blue sky was ringing over the forest. Through the ringing I heard Larsen say again: "Just look at it, leaves ..."

'Then the sun rose.

'Have you ever seen the sun rising from the ground? You must watch it lying down. The grass looks like some fantastic jungle from which the bright sun rises, turning the dewdrops into multi-coloured sparks.'

Naal was watching the sun through the grass. He remembered everything, and from the corner of his eye could even see the broken 'bee.' He felt neither excitement nor belated fear. Everything that happened during the previous night came to him as a muddled blur. The boy felt the futility of his cherished dream.

When the sun rose so that its lower edge touched the heads of the tall flowers growing by the edge of the little glade, Naal stood up. His head felt dizzy, and his hurt shoulder ached. He had been lucky after all, for the shock-absorbers set him down in the soft grass. He had fallen asleep where he was, so great was his weariness.

Slowly he looked around. He had nowhere to hurry. All

MEETING MY BROTHER         57

around him, for a hundred kilometres, was forest. The wind stirred the leaves.

At this moment somebody behind him exclaimed in happy surprise:

'Look—a boy.'

Naal turned round, and stood stock-still. He saw the men in blue flying suits covered with a criss-cross of broad white straps.

Feeling his heart stop, the boy shouted:

'You are from the Magellan?

'Naal . . .' said the dark-complexioned fair-haired pilot.

'I was the last to notice him,' said Georgi, 'and the strange thing was that I had the impression that I knew the boy. Could it have been that I recalled myself as I was in my childhood? He stood tense, his whole body longing to rush to us. Small and fair, a dry blade of grass still sticking to his cheek, his shirt torn at the shoulder, and one of his knees scratched . . . His eyes were on my face—very blue, wide-open eyes. I think I called him by name.

'At this moment Karr gave me a slight push on the shoulder, saying loudly: "Go and meet your brother Alexandr."

'You may say I acted selfishly,' continued Georgi. 'But at that moment I didn't think that Naal wasn't my brother. If you knew what it is to meet a near one on this Earth when you never expected it . . . But now I am beginning to think that perhaps I had no right to do so?'

I did not understand what he meant. Georgi explained:

'Alexandr fired the sun. The last one needed to melt the ice. There is an ocean and islands there now . . . Had I the right to rob the boy of a brother like that?'

'A dead brother.'

'Yes, even a dead brother.'

'Well, Georgi,' said I, 'I can't judge. Perhaps Alexandr had other reason for risking his life? Are you sure he wanted to come back? His girl . . .'

Georgi smiled shortly. Obviously he thought my question silly.

PATH INTO THE UNKNOWN         58

'Of course he did. He loved the Earth. Who doesn't want to go back to Earth?'

A silence fell.

'It can't go on like this,' he started again. 'I not only robbed the boy of his brother, I robbed Alexandr of his heroism. People should know the story of the fourth sun.'

'You also robbed yourself of your name. Georgi Rogov is supposed to have perished.'

'My name has no special value.*

'You've asked my advice then here it is. Let everything remain as it is. The fourth sun won't grow dim because of it. You must think of Naal.'

'It's about him that I think all the time ... But what about Sneg?'

The time will come when the people'll learn everything.*

'But the memory of Alexandr? The memory of his heroism? What he did is an example for the living to follow. Perhaps some day Naal will fire his own sun.'

I looked at Georgi. He was waiting for my objections. He wanted to hear them—they were restoring a brother to him. I said,

'Perhaps . . . True . . . But over what planet will he fire his sun? Give him your knowledge, teach him, you are his brother. And he will make his sun shine.'

The sunset was gone without a trace. The half moon girdled on one side by the arc of the Power Ring hung low over the sea.

Running footsteps on the stone staircase cut our conversation short. Anyhow, there was nothing more to say.

They left, nodding to me as they went. The astronaut's hand held his little brother's firmly.

On the notebook open before me lies a golden badge whose story remained unknown. Naal gave it to me just before our take-off . . ,

We, a group of archaeologists, all flying to Leda, the

MEETING MY BROTHER         59

planet whose secret Valentin Yantar failed to reveal. We are not expected back for a long time.

Perhaps eighty years hence among the many greeting us there will be one—small or big, it does not matter—as yet unknown boy, who will say to his friends: 'I've come to meet my brother!'