The Green Hills Of Earth

Adventures in time and space, transcribed in future, it's Demander! This is a story of Riesling, the singer of the spaceways. You've probably sung his songs in school. In English, French, or German, the language doesn't matter, but it was an earth tongue.

But the real story of Riesling is not found in the footnotes of a scholar's critique or a publisher's biography. It is in the memories of the old-time spacemen, the pioneers who pushed the thundering old-fashioned rockets to the far-strange ports that are our commonplace heritage.

These men know the true story of Riesling. The arching skies calling spacemen back to their trade. All hands stand by free, falling on the light, The low was fair. By the sons of terror, far drive the thundering jet, All bleeps the rain so.

When I first met Riesling, he was hustling drinks in the twin moon's bar at dry water bars. He'd wound a guitar off a Chinese barkeep at Loona City by cheating at one thumb. And he made his whiskey by singing in the bar and passing Listen to her.

Your cheese drum pretty, like a 16-year-old gal. Tell me what you collect on that last song. $3.00 Martian and a slug. Al grabbed it from a bill. You don't trust me no more. Funny. Never did have no luck with hound dogs in a Martian barking.

Hey, recently. Look over there by the bar. There's an Institute for Striper giving it the eye. No one? Captain Hicks off the gosh-hoaked. Are you sure I've given you the once-over? Sure giving you the once over.

Maybe he's got a job. They don't make never know mind to me. I've been blacklisted. Hicks logged me for making up a song on what? Right fine song to him. Now hold it. You can come to the bright song.