The children ran out in time to see their father hurrying about the garden, pulling up radishes, onions, and carrots from their beds.
«Cora, come look!»
They handled the onions, the radishes, the carrots among them.
«Do they look like carrots?»
«Yes… No.» She hesitated. «I don't know.»
«They're changed.»
«Perhaps.»
«You know they have! Onions but not onions, carrots but not carrots. Taste: the same but different. Smell: not like it used to be.» He felt his heart pounding, and he was afraid. He dug his fingers into the earth. «Cora, what's happening? What is it? We've got to get away from this.» He ran across the garden. Each tree felt his touch. «The roses. The roses. They're turning green!»
And they stood looking at the green roses.
And two days later, Tim came running. «Come see the cow. I was milking her and I saw it. Come on!»
They stood in the shed and looked at their one cow.
It was growing a third horn.
And the lawn in front of their house very quietly and slowly was colouring itself, like spring violets. Seed from Earth but growing up a soft purple.
«We must get away,» said Bittering. «We'll eat this stuff and then we'll change — who knows to what. I can't let it happen. There's only one thing to do. Burn this food!»
«It's not poisoned.»
«But it is. Subtly, very subtly. A little bit. A very little bit. We mustn't touch it.»
He looked with dismay at their house. «Even the house. The wind's done something to it. The air's burned it. The fog at night. The boards, all warped out of shape. It's not an Earthman's house any more.»
«Oh, your imagination!»
He put on his coat and tie. «I'm going into town. We've got to do something now. I'll be back.»
«Wait, Harry!» his wife cried.
But he was gone.
In town, on the shadowy step of the grocery store, the men sat with their hands on their knees, conversing with great leisure and ease.
Mr.Bittering wanted to fire a pistol in the air.
What are you doing, you fools! he thought. Sitting here! You've heard the news — we're stranded on this planet. Well, move! Aren't you frightened? Aren't you afraid? What are you going to do?
«Hello, Harry,» said everyone.
«Look,» he said to them. «You did hear the news, the other day, didn't you?»
They nodded and laughed. «Sure. Sure, Harry.»
«What are you going to do about it?»
«Do, Harry, do? What can we do?»
«Build a rocket, that's what!»
«A rocket, Harry? To go back to all that trouble? Oh, Harry!»
«But you must want to go back. Have you noticed the peach blossoms, the onions, the grass?»
«Why, yes, Harry, seems we did,» said one of the men.
«Doesn't it scare you?»
«Can't recall that it did much, Harry.»
«Idiots!»
«Now, Harry.»
Bittering wanted to cry. «You've got to work with me. If we stay here, we'll all change. The air. Don't you smell it? Something in the air. A Martian virus, maybe; some seed, or a pollen. Listen to me!»
They stared at him.
«Sam,» he said to one of them.
«Yes, Harry?»
«Will you help me build a rocket?»
«Harry, I got a whole load of metal and some blueprints. You want to work in my metal shop, on a rocket, you're welcome. I'll sell you that metal for five hundred dollars. You should be able to construct a right pretty rocket if you work alone, in about thirty years.»
Everyone laughed.
«Don't laugh.»
Sam looked at him with quiet good humour.
«Sam,» Bittering said. «Your eyes ―»
«What about them, Harry?»
«Didn't they used to be grey?»