For Bob Winslow, there followed hours that intrigued him. Only here
and there did he meet Taval residents. Vasper explained that by going
directly from point to point, that there was no traffic, that all duty
hours were staggered because Taval at night, was as well illuminated
as by day. The chief plants were operated by robot workers, who could
reproduce their kind in other factories. "Taval, like our other cities,
now needs only brains," Vasper went on. "We maintain sports here to
keep our bodies fit." As he spoke, Vasper undid a tiny container
hanging to one shoulder, extracted a handful of tiny pellets and
swallowed them. At Bob's look of curiosity he smiled. "Energy," he
said. "But we use more fluid food than these. Come, while I take you
to The Three, your companion is at liberty to go across there to the
stadium of sports."
"I'd like to see that too," Bob said. Vasper nodded. He pointed to an
outside screen. They entered it and found themselves in a great open
air arena. Upon the grass-mantled field a game was in progress, not
unlike basketball. Farther away, a group of young women, the first
Bob had seen, clad in trunks like any miss of the Twentieth Century,
engaged in a game, somewhat like tennis, save that the ball was
larger and a dozen took part in each court. Youths were jogging along
a circular track, and in the distance was a narrow, but rather long
swimming pool. The arena itself, was double the size of any Bob had
ever seen before. "I think," Vasper observed, "that should interest
Kenley. And now, if you have been listening carefully, there comes an
order for us."
Bob heard it now, a voice speaking slowly, some of the words not
recognizable. The speaker had no accent. Vasper was watching Bob. "The
language has changed," he explained. "That was Fator, the senior of
Taval's Three. He must examine you, assign you your future duties."
"Future duties!"
"Of course. Why else did The Three send for you out of time? Your
brain is needed, if we prepare to save the world in the centuries to
come. There are others we are summoning, if we had more apparatus.
Unfortunately, certain elements are scarce, and we have but one--the
one in which they brought you here." So speaking, Vasper led the way to
another screen.
Somehow, Bob had expected to find an aged, bearded man. Instead, Fator,
senior of The Three looked no more than sixty, was clean shaven and his
hair was hardly gray. He was at a desk, in a room minus windows, and
very similar to the other interiors Bob had already seen here. Fator
had his hands upon an inclosed cylinder which gave forth a whirring
sound. He wore a look of deep concentration, and Vasper motioned for
silence till the cylinder ceased whirring. Then Fator rose, walked
across the room and held out a hand.
"I bid you welcome to Taval, Winslow," he spoke slowly, in his stilted
manner. "You will find more--more sympathy here, than in your time.
More than you had in your own research laboratory."
"Why--you know about that?"
Fator nodded, cold gray eyes flicking over Bob's body. "I notice
you are well kept. Splendid. You shall have the same food as you
are accustomed to, sir. Your duties are to be with an advanced
group--charting our universe--as we reach the Peltior Dark."
Bob stared. "The Peltior Dark," Fator explained, "is as visible now as
the so-called--Oh yes, the Milky Way was in your century. We are going
to strike it in three hundred and twenty nine years."
"We charted the dark regions with the iconoscope," Bob put in eagerly.
"Till then, our astronomers, working with glass scopes, had only a
vague idea."
"Still," Fator told him, "our speed toward the first of these abysmal
regions accelerated in the last two centuries. Our sun first will
expand, then contract. Now you see what we are preparing for."