The Un-Reconstructed Woman By HAYDEN HOWARD _At first Paul wished fervently for the return of the Doric. But now ... now that he was getting to know and understand this strange, blue-tressed vision????_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories September 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A few long bones in the fallen leaves with the shadows of the tree dancing, a glint of gold where the jawbone sat beneath the nameless tree-- "Look at the char marks on that rib!" the young man exclaimed. "So they had heat guns back then." "That wasn't so long ago." The old man peered up at Paul's face. "They stole 'em from a government arsenal. That's how they was able to massacre so many colonies. That wasn't so long ago. I watched that man drive his uniharvester out of the ship. I even remember that gold tooth shining in his mouth." "But this is an Earth tree, a peach maybe; they planted it; look how tremendous it's grown." He liked to tease the old man. "It took a long, long time." It seemed to be the only Earth-life that remained. But a mouse rustled through the leaves and confounded Paul. And he did not see the old man staring beyond the tree, jaw open. And the old man was hesitant to tell Paul what he had seen. As they climbed the opposite hill that hid the ship Paul kicked questioningly at the drums that had contained nitrogen-fixing bacteria. He raised the rusty hood of the tractor. He stopped and went into the shed again, a lot of freeze boxes in there. The way the mines on the outer planets were booming, no fresh vegetables for them, these people would have been rich by now. As he ran past the old man, his voice rang loud in that silent world: "I could fix that generator." Its power pile had given his chest geiger a friendly buzz. If his brother Harry was alive-- Over the hill the spaceship poised like a monument. To every man who ever died away from home, Paul thought as he ran over the leaves. Harry brother, there she stands, boy. She was going. Already tiny figures were dismantling the well rig. They had refilled the tanks with water, the fist for the mighty arm that was the power pile. The heat exchanger was the wrist. The steam, disassociated into H and O by the manmade sun, would provide the mass to push back, pushing them forward to a rock in the sky where there might be heavy metals and there might not. While more efficient expansion compounds were used by the military, water was most practical for poor men who went shares. "What would it take to own this land, Cap?" Paul gasped while his arm swept in endless rolling hills and many-shadowed valleys. One sun was nuzzling the horizon so the air was red with afternoon. The suns arranged it so there was no night.