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Updated: May 9, 2025
In fact, we find words from the French in almost every field. "Uncle" and "cousin," "rabbit" and "falcon," "trot" and "stable," "money" and "soldier," "reason" and "virtue," "Bible" and "preach," are instances in point. French words often displaced Saxon ones. Thus, the Saxon Haelend, the Healer, gave way to the French Savior, wanhope and wonstead were displaced by despair and residence.
Now that he was obliged to consider the point, did he have any friends let alone a close one among the crew of the RS 10? Certainly he did not claim Wonstead who had shared his quarters he honestly did not care if he never saw him again. The officers, the experts such as Lablet quickly face and character of each swept through his mind and was as swiftly discarded.
They had broken out of their own solar system, made the big jump, and before them lay the unknown. Now it was within their reach. "D'you hear that, kid?" demanded Wonstead, his voice no longer an accusing whine, more steady than Raf ever remembered hearing it. "We got through! We'll hit dirt again! Dirt " his words trailed away as if he were sinking into some blissful daydream.
And sometime in the midst of that survey he did fall asleep, so deeply that Wonstead had to shake him awake in the morning. He bolted his food and was out at his job before it was far past dawn.
Raf turned and stumbled back to his cabin, staggered to throw himself once more on his pad as he fumbled with the straps he must buckle over him. He heard rather than saw Wonstead blunder in to follow his example, and for the first time in months the other was dumb, not uttering a word as he stowed away for the breakthrough which should take them back into normal space and the star worlds.
Raf's expert training and instruction paid off. By evening he had the flitter assembled save for the motor which still reposed on the turning block. One party had gone questing out into the grass and returned with the story of a stream hidden in a gash in the plain, and Wonstead carried the limp body of a rabbit-sized furred creature he had knocked over at the waterside. "Acted tame."
That is, if it worked and they were not caught up forever within this thick trap where there was no time, light, or distance. The gong sounded, but Raf made no move to rise. He heard Wonstead move, saw from the corner of his eye the other's bulk heave up obediently from the pad. "Hey mess gong!" He pointed out the obvious to Raf. With a sigh the other levered himself up on his elbows.
But the patch remained stubbornly gray, the murmur of Wonstead went on and on, a drone in his aching ears, the throb of the ship's life beat through his own thin body.
If he did not move, Wonstead was capable of reporting him to the captain for strange behavior, and they were all too alert to a divagation which might mean trouble. He had no desire to end in confinement with Morris. "I'm coming," Raf said sullenly. But he remained sitting on the edge of the pad until Wonstead left the cabin, and he followed as slowly as he could.
Suddenly he wished that Wonstead had not killed it, though he supposed that Chou, their biologist, would be grateful. But the animal looked particularly defenseless. It would have been better not to mark their first day on this new world with a killing even if it were the knocking over of a stupid rabbit thing. The pilot was glad when Chou bore it off and he no longer had to look at it.
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