"Exactly. There are communal furnaces now."
Mr. Greypoole winced.
"And furthermore," continued the captain, "this whole concept is
ridiculous."
Mr. Chitterwick threw down the pamphlet and began to tremble. "We should
have stayed home," he remarked to a young woman who did not answer.
"Mr. Greypoole," Webber said, "I think that you know more than you're
saying. You didn't seem very surprised when you learned we weren't the
men you expected; you don't seem very surprised now that I tell you that
your 'Happy Glades' and all the people connected with it have been dead
for ages. So, why the display of interest in our explanations, why--"
The faint murmur, "A good machine checks and double checks," could be
heard from Mr. Greypoole, who otherwise said nothing.
"I speak for my men: we're confused, terribly confused. But whatever
this is, we're stuck, can't you see? All we want is a place to begin
again--" Captain Webber paused, looked at the others and went on in a
softer tone. "We're tired men, Mr. Greypoole; we're poorly equipped, but
we do have weapons and if this is some hypnotic kind of trap...."
The little man waved his hand, offendedly.
"There are lakes and farms and all we need to make a new start--more
than we'd hoped for, much more."
"What _had_ you hoped for, Captain?"
"Something. Nothing. Just escape--"
"But I see no women--how could you begin again, as you suggest?"
"Women? Too weak; they would not have lasted. We brought along eggs and
machines--enough for our needs."
Mr. Greypoole clucked his tongue. "Mr. Waldmeyer certainly did look
ahead," he muttered, "he certainly _did_."
"Will we be honest now? Will you help us?"
"Yes, Captain, I will help you. Let us go back to your rocket." Mr.
Greypoole smiled. "Things will be better there."
Captain Webber signaled. They left the building and walked by the foot
of a white mountain.
* * * * *
They passed a garden with little spotted trees and flowers, a brown
desert of shifting sands and a striped tent; they walked by strawberry
fields and airplane hangars and coal mines; tiny yellow cottages,
cramped apartments, fluted houses and Tudor houses and houses without
description....
Past rock pools and a great zoo full of animals that stared out of
vacant eyes; and everywhere, the seasons changing gently: crisp autumn,
cottony summer, windy spring and winters cool and white....
The six men in uniforms followed the little man with the thin hair. They
did not speak as they walked, but looked around, stared, craned,
wondered....
And the old, young, middle-aged, white, brown, yellow people who did not
move wondered back at the men with their eyes....
"You see, Captain, the success of Mr. Waldmeyer's plan?"
Captain Webber rubbed his cheek.
"I don't understand," he said.
"But you do see, all of you, the perfection here, the quality of Eternal
Happiness which the circular speaks of?"
"Yes ... we see that."
"Here we have happiness and brotherhood, here there have never been wars
or hatreds or prejudices. And now you who were many and left Earth to
escape war and hatred, who were many by your own word and are now only
six, you want to begin life _here_?"
Cross-breezes ruffled the men's hair.
"To _begin_, when from the moment of your departure you had wars of your
own, and killed, and hurled mocking prejudice against a race of people
not like you, a race who rejected and cast you out into space again!
From your own account! No gentlemen, I am truly sorry. It may be that I
misjudged those of you who are left, or rather, that Happy Glades
misjudged you. You may mean well, after all--and, of course, the
location of this asteroid was so planned by the Board as to be uncharted
forever. But--oh, I am sorry." Mr. Greypoole sighed.
"What does he mean by that?" asked Mr. Friden and Lieutenant Peterson.
Captain Webber was gazing at a herd of cows in the distance.
"What do you mean, you're 'sorry'?" demanded Mr. Friden.
"Well...."
"Captain Webber!" cried Mr. Chitterwick, blinking.
"Yes, yes?"
"I feel queer."
Mr. Goeblin clutched at his stomach.
"So do I!"
"And me!"
Captain Webber looked back at the fields, then at Mr. Greypoole. His
mouth twitched in sudden pain.
"We feel awful, Captain!"
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. Follow me to your ship, quickly." Mr. Greypoole
motioned curiously with his hands and began to step briskly.
* * * * *
They circled a small pond where a motionless boy strained toe-high on an
extended board. And the day once again turned to night as they hurried
past a shadowed cathedral.
When they were in sight of the scorched trees, Mr. Milton doubled up and
screamed.
"Captain!"
Mr. Goeblin struck his forehead. "I told you, I told you we shouldn't
have drunk that wine! Didn't I tell you?"
"It was the wine--and we all drank it. _He_ did it, _he_ poisoned us!"
"Follow me!" cried Mr. Greypoole, making a hurried gesture and breaking
into a run. "Faster!"
They stumbled hypnotically through the park, over the Mandarin-bridges
to the rock.
"Tell them, Captain, tell them to climb the ladder."
"Go on up, men."
"But we're poisoned, sir!"
"_Hurry!_ There's--an antidote in the ship."
The crew climbed into the ship.
"Captain," invited Mr. Greypoole.
Captain Webber ascended jerkily. When he reached the open lock, he
turned. His eyes swept over the hills and fields and mountains, over the
rivers and houses and still people. He coughed and pulled himself into
the rocket.
Mr. Greypoole followed.
"You don't dislike this ship, do you--that is, the surroundings are not
offensive?"
"No; we don't dislike the ship."
"I am glad of that--if _only_ I had been allowed more latitude! But
everything functions so well here; no real choice in the matter,
actually. No more than the Sealing Film. And they _would_ leave me with
these human emotions! I see, of course, why the communications system
doesn't work, why my calendar is out of commission. Kind of Mr.
Waldmeyer to arrange for them to stop when his worst fears finally
materialized. Are the men all seated? No, no, they mustn't writhe about
the floor like that. Get them to their stations--no, to the stations
they would most prefer. And hurry!"
Captain Webber ordered Mr. Chitterwick to the galley, Mr. Goeblin to the
engineering chair, Mr. Friden to the navigator's room....
"Sir, what's going to happen? _Where's the antidote?_"
Mr. Milton to the pilot's chair....
"The pain will last only another moment or so--it's unfortunately part
of the Eternifier," said Mr. Greypoole. "There, all in order? Good,
good. Now, Captain, I see understanding in your face; that pleases me
more than I can say. My position is so difficult! But you can see, when
a machine is geared to its job--which is to retain permanence on HAPPY
GLADES--well, a machine is a machine. Where shall we put _you_?"
Captain Webber leaned on the arm of the little man and walked to the
open lock.
"You _do_ understand?" asked Mr. Greypoole.
Captain Webber's head nodded halfway down, then stopped; and his eyes
froze forever upon the City.
"A pity...."
The little man with the thin hair walked about the cabins and rooms,
straightening, dusting; he climbed down the ladder, shook his head and
started down the path to the wooden house.
When he had washed all the empty glasses and replaced them, he sat down
in the large leather chair and adjusted himself into the most
comfortable position.
His eyes stared in waxen contentment at the homely interior, with its
lavender wallpaper, needle-point tapestries and tidy arrangement.
He did not move.