"Books," Burris said. "When you were a child. Read them."
"Sure I did," Malone said. _"Bomba the Jungle Boy_, and _Doctor
Doolittle_, and _Lucky Starr_, and _Little Women_--"
_"Little Women?"_
"When Beth died," Malone said, "I wanted to cry. But I didn't. My
father said big boys don't cry."
"And your father was right," Burris said. "Why, when I was a--never
mind. Forget about Beth and your father. Think about Lucky Starr for a
minute. Remember him?"
"Sure," Malone said. "I liked those books. You know it's funny, but
the books you read when you're a kid, they kind of stay with you. Know
what I mean? I can still remember that one about Venus, for instance.
Gee, that was--"
"Never mind about Venus, too," Burris said sharply. "Keep your mind on
the problem."
"Yes, sir," Malone said. He paused. "What problem, sir?" he added.
"The problem we're discussing," Burris said. He gave Malone a bright,
blank stare. "My God," he said. "Just listen to me."
"Yes, sir."
"All right, then." Burris took a deep breath. He seemed nervous. Once
again he stood up and went to the window. This time, he spoke without
turning. "Remember how everybody used to laugh about spaceships, and
orbital satellites, and life on other planets? That was just in those
Lucky Starr books. That was all just for kids, wasn't it?"
"Well, I don't know," Malone said slowly.
"Sure it was all for kids," Burris said. "It was laughable. Nobody
took it seriously."
"Well, _somebody_ must--"
"You just keep quiet and listen," Burris said.
"Yes, sir," Malone said.
Burris nodded. His hands were clasped behind his back. "We're not
laughing any more, are we, Malone?" he said without moving.
There was silence.
"Well, are we?"
"Did you want me to answer, sir?"
"Of course I did!" Burris snapped.
"You told me to keep quiet and--"
"Never mind what I told you," Burris said. "Just do what I told you."
"Yes, sir," Malone said. "No, sir," he added after a second.
"No, sir, what?" Burris asked softly.
"No, sir, we're not laughing any more," Malone said.
"Ah," Burris said. "And why aren't we laughing any more?"
There was a little pause. Malone said, tentatively: "Because there's
nothing to laugh about, sir?"
Burris whirled. "On the head!" he said happily. "You've hit the nail
on the head, Kenneth. I knew I could depend on you." His voice grew
serious again, and thoughtful. "We're not laughing any more because
there's nothing to laugh about. We have orbital satellites, and we've
landed on the Moon with an atomic rocket. The planets are the next
step, and after that the stars. Man's heritage, Kenneth. The stars.
And the stars, Kenneth, belong to Man--not to the Russians!"
"Yes, sir," Malone said soberly.
"So," Burris said, "we should learn not to laugh any more. But have
we?"
"I don't know, sir."
"We haven't," Burris said with decision. "Can you read my mind?"
"No, sir," Malone said.
"Can I read your mind?"