he ship had
been. The feeble wind snuffled at the scraps of paper and trash, the
relics of man's passing.

They walked up the hill to their station, the reason for their being on
this wayside planet.

[Illustration]

Aron thought about the scenery around them. The compact, utilitarian
building that was the station did not seem out of place against the
bleak landscape. The landscape did not clash or conform to its
location--it just didn't give a damn whether there was a building there
or not.

Aron and Martha, his wife, took their time. They had an abundance of
that elusive quantity known as time at this lonely outpost. The trail up
to the station was rough, with rocks and weeds tearing at them. Aron
resolved that that would be one of his first projects, to put in a good
path to the meadow where the rocket would come for them--five years from
now.

The sunset did nothing to enhance the countryside. There was not enough
dust in the air to create any striking colors. As the shadows began to
lap at the hill, they hurried the last few steps to the building.

* * * * *

That evening they were both nervous, justifiably so, for not only were
they starting on the questionable adventure of sequestered watchdogs on
the planet, they were starting the adventure of marriage.

Aron had met Martha on Tyros, a planetary trade center of some
importance. She was a waitress.

Since he was marking time on Tyros, waiting for his assignment, he had a
chance to cultivate her acquaintance. On their dates, what he had to
tell her about his life was brief, impersonal.

Aron was in the Maintenance division of the Territorial Administration
and his duties were to hold posts on various planets and act as an
observer of that planet's caprices.

The rush of mankind from Earth, like a maddened swarm of bees from a
hive, had carried it through the galaxy in a short time. On all the
discovered planets that had to be reserved for future inhabitants, the
Territorial Administration had set up observation stations. The men
posted there were merely to record such fascinating information as
meteorological and geographical conditions.

When the time came to expand, the frail little creatures with the large
brains and larger egos would know the best havens for migration.

Another reason for these stations was the war. When man had flung
himself madly at the galaxy, he had diffused himself thinly over a
macroscopic