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haunting memory of his childhood came to rest on a star The Deep Black Thou Wingest By Robert F. Young T HE Magellanic had landed. There was no tangible evidence to substantiate the fact; there had been no noticeable change in equilibrium, no detectable deviation in gravity. It was objectively impossible for a passenger in the sleeping compartments to know that the ship had paused in its rapier flight to the Greater Magellanic. Yet Seldin did know it, and he knew it with a certainty beyond question. He twisted on his pneumatic berth. Milk run! The bearded metaphor crystallized in his mind. An era of galactic travel and there were still ships that broke trajectory for no apparent reason at all, that came out of transphotic to land on every backwater planet in the galaxy! And when your vacation was beginning, when every cherished hour counted, it was just your luck to get on one of them! And then he thought of where he was going and of all the wonderful things he was going to do, and his irritation ran away like a reprimanded child. He thought of the blazing Magellanic suns, and the planets of happiness with their ancient love-goddess names; of Lana and Ava and Rita
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