By Clifford D. Simak
greater than one thousand years have handed seeing that humankind deliberately destroyed its treacherous expertise, opting for to revert again to a primitive tribal country. during this society the rusting mind instances of long-inert robots are thought of trophies, and the scant wisdom that has survived is doled out to an inquisitive few in monastery-like “universities.” it's at one such heart of studying that younger Tom Cushing first reads of the mythical “Place of Going to the Stars,” rumored to exist on a excessive butte someplace within the western a part of the land. pushed via enthusiasm and an insatiable have to tune the parable to its resource, Tom units out on an awesome trek throughout what was known as “America,” teaming up with a witch, the world’s final closing robotic, and different strange partners. yet all of the excellent discoveries and hazards they stumble upon alongside the best way will faded prior to the revelations that wait for them at journey’s end.
Clifford D. Simak, award-winning technological know-how fiction Grand grasp, bargains a wide ranging imaginative and prescient of the long run that's either dystopian and hopeful in equivalent degree. In A background of Stars, he boldly screens the center, intelligence, and remarkable inventive powers that experience verified him as one of many all-time maximum authors of speculative fiction.
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Extra info for A Heritage of Stars
Finally, after long minutes, the horsemen began to come down the slope, the horses lurching over the edge of the bluff and coming down the slope in stiff-legged jumps. Most of the men, he saw, wore buckskins, darkened by work and weather. Some wore fur caps with the tails of wolf or fox or coon fluttering out behind. In some cases, similar animal tails were fastened to the shoulders of their buckskins. Others wore only leather trousers, the upper torso either bare or draped with furred robes or jackets.
A strange thing, you might say, to look upon a little shimmer of light as a friend, but to one who has been alone and friendless over many centuries, even such an unsubstantial thing as a sparkle in the sunshine can seem to be a friend. I came to find, however, that it was a fair-weather friend. When I was pinned beneath the tree, it deserted me and did not come back till now. During all those days, I could have used it; had it been there, I could have told myself that I was not alone. Don’t ask me what it is, for I have no idea.
The man was old; his hair and beard were gray. He was dressed in worn buckskins and stood as straight as a young oak tree, facing the west, the restless western wind tugging at his beard and hair. The woman, who appeared to be younger, was sitting to one side and behind him, her feet tucked beneath her, head and shoulders bent forward, covered by a ragged robe. They were situated beside a small patch of wild sunflowers. When Cushing and the others came up to the two, they could see that the man was standing in two shallow holes that had been clawed out of the prairie sod, standing in them barefooted, with a pair of worn moccasins lying to one side.
A Heritage of Stars by Clifford D. Simak