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HOMO INFERIOR
By Mari Wolf
Illustrated by Rudolph Palais
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science
Fiction November 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _The world of the new race was peaceful, comfortable,
lovely--and completely static. Only Eric knew the haunting loneliness
that had carried the old race to the stars, and he couldn't communicate
it, even if he had dared to!_]
_The starship waited. Cylindrical walls enclosed it, and a transparent
plastic dome held it back from the sky and the stars. It waited, while
night changed to day and back again, while the seasons merged one into
another, and the years, and the centuries. It towered as gleaming and as
uncorroded as it had when it was first built, long ago, when men had
bustled about it and in it, their shouting and their laughter and the
sound of their tools ringing against the metallic plates._
_Now few men ever came to it. And those who did come merely looked with
quiet faces for a few minutes, and then went away again._
_The generations kaleidoscoped by. The Starship waited._
* * * * *
Eric met the other children when he was four years old. They were out in
the country, and he'd slipped away from his parents and started wading
along the edge of a tiny stream, kicking at the water spiders.
His feet were soaked, and his knees were streaked with mud where he'd
knelt down to play. His father wouldn't like it later, but right now it
didn't matter. It was fun to be off by himself, splashing along the
stream, feeling the sun hot on his back and the water icy against his
feet.
A water spider scooted past him, heading for the tangled moss along the
bank. He bent down, scooped his hand through the water to catch it. For
a moment he had it, then it slipped over his fingers and darted away,
out of his reach.
As he stood up, disappointed, he saw them: two boys and a girl, not much
older than he. They were standing at the edge of the trees, watching
him.
He'd seen children before, but he'd never met any of them. His parents
kept him away from them--and from all strangers. He stood still,
watching them, waiting for them to say something. He felt excited and
uncomfortable at the same time.
They didn't say anything. They just watched him, very intently.
He felt even more uncomfortable.
The bigger boy laughed. He pointed at Eric and laughed again and looked
over at his companions. They shook their heads.
Eric waded up out of the water. He didn't know whether to go over to
them or run away, back to his mother. He didn't understand the way they
were looking at him.
"Hello," he said.
The big boy laughed again. "See?" he said, pointing at Eric. "He can't."
"Can't what?" Eric said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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