“Why don’t you find yourself some nice little American girl,” his father had often repeated. But George was on Venus … and he loved pale green skin … and globular heads and most of all, George loved Gistla.
It was, Kirk thought, like standing in a gully, watching a boulder teeter precariously above you. It might fall at any minute, crushing your life out instantly beneath its weight. Your only possible defenses are your brain and voice—but how do you argue with a boulder which neither sees nor hears?
