Case and the Dreamer by Theodore Sturgeon

man. “You have already been thoroughly briefed on the ship’s operation and on those things which are of particular interest to the public at large and to specialists. You have at your command the memory banks of this computer and all others tied to it. Case Hardin—the ship is yours.”
    This seemed devastatingly abrupt, but there seemed nothing else to say except “Thanks,” which he did.
    “If this means of communication suits you,” said the blue man, “call me, and I’ll manifest this way immediately. There are quite a few other means; ask the computer. Good luck, and thank you.” And he faded, and was gone.
    Case stood looking for a long time at the place where the blue man had been, shook his head, grinned briefly, and went to the central command chair.
    He sat down. “Computer,” he said, “your name’s Buzzbox.”
    “Yes, Commander.”
    “Case.”
    “Yes, Case.”
    “Now, here’s what I want you to do.…”
    Case came in low over the beach, low and slowly. His ship was in orbit and he flew a small and highly sophisticated boat; capable beyond anything a man of his time could have dreamt of. In the small pocket adhering to his chest (like a graft; only he could will it loose) was a compact device which would command both vessels and all communications. His computer had made short work of locating this sector of space, working with the trajectory he followed when he was picked up, and feeding in an immense amount of observation on anything and everything which might have diverted the coffin during those dead years.
    “You haven’t changed things much,” he muttered, to the planetoid or to whatever lived there. The beach had a lake again; the sand was scuffled in familiar places, and a patch was worn to the edge of the woods where their house had been.
    Was. Right now.
    He drifted to it and dropped the ramp. Yes, the thatched house with the ragged piece of head-lining fluttering in the light breeze, and inside the familiar dried clay plates and even the withered remnants of fruit she had … own hands … looking up at … Jan … Jan. And his spearpoints and scrapers, oh and her voicewriter.
    He took them.
    Back in his boat, heart almost stopped, breath held, he tooled up to the spot where the coffins had been. Gone. Both gone.
    He landed again and walked slowly up to the rocks. Here she had stood, calling out readings as he checked, with the sweet air full of dust from the fallen lakeshore. Here he had bent over the opencoffin and she had kissed him, kissed him in a way that …
    There were the burn marks: his launch. Where hers had been—no marks at all. If she hadn’t launched, yet was not here …
    Oh but it’s a thousand years, man!
    He thought he heard a sound (laughter) and from the corner of his eye some sort of movement, high up, distant.
    Only a bird.
    Bird! The one thing they never saw on this planetoid—a bird.
    He turned to watch it. It was fifty meters high over the forest, coming straight for him in a flat glide. He waited grimly for it. He looked like a naked man with something attached to his chest. He was a great deal more than that.
    The bird was not a bird, but a clownlike creature with wide, intelligent eyes that seemed to be either biped or quadruped. Its wings were batlike, but rolled and folded until they were quite presentable arms. It landed and waddled fearlessly up to Case and stared at him.
    Case stared back, and did not move until the thing—
laughed
.
    It was, full and true, the laughter that had haunted them, driven them, when they dwelt here, and Case’s new status and powers could not protect him from the wave of terror and fury that swept through him. He found himself by his boat at a bound, backing up the ramp, slit-eyed, gasping. He would blast this thing into a powder. He’d crack this whole evil planet like an egg. He’d—
    The laughing thing waddled up to him on three legs, holding something dangling from its finger-claws on the