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      Origin: òÜÊ âÒÜÄÂÅÒÉ.ru. http://www.raybradbury.ru ? http://www.raybradbury.ru




      For my wife MARGUERITE with all my love

      "It is good to renew one's wonder," said the philosopher.
      "Space travel has again made children of us all."

                   January 1999:  ROCKET SUMMER

      One minute  it  was  Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows
 locked, the  panes  blind  with  frost,  icicles  fringing  every
 roof,  children  skiing  on  slopes,  housewives  lumbering  like
 great black bears in their furs along the icy streets.
      And then  a  long  wave  of  warmth  crossed the small town.
 A flooding  sea  of  hot  air;  it  seemed as if someone had left
 a bakery  door  open.  The  heat  pulsed  among  the cottages and
 bushes and  children.  The  icicles dropped, shattering, to melt.
 The doors  flew  open.  The  windows flew up. The children worked
 off  their   wool   clothes.   The  housewives  shed  their  bear
 disguises. The  snow  dissolved  and showed last summer's ancient
 green lawns.
      _Rocket summer_.  The  words  passed among the people in the
 open,  airing  houses.  _Rocket  summer_.  The  warm  desert  air
 changing the  frost  patterns  on  the  windows,  erasing the art
 work. The  skis  and  sleds  suddenly  useless. The snow, falling
 from the  cold  sky  upon  the  town, turned to a hot rain before
 it touched the ground.
      _Rocket summer_.  People  leaned from their dripping porches
 and watched the reddening sky.
      The rocket  lay  on  the  launching  field, blowing out pink
 clouds of  fire  and  oven  heat.  The  rocket  stood in the cold
 wintar morning,  making  summer  with  every breath of its mighty
 exhausts. The  rocket  made  climates, and summer lay for a brief
 moment upon the land. . . .

                       February 1999:  YLLA

      They had  a  house  of crystal pillars on the planet Mars by
 the edge  of  an  empty sea, and every morning you could see Mrs.
 K eating  the  golden  fruits  that  grew from the crystal walls,
 or cleaning  the  house  with  handfuls  of  magnetic dust which,
 taking all  dirt  with it, blew away on the hot wind. Afternoons,
 when the  fossil  sea was warm and motionless, and the wine trees
 stood stiff  in  the  yard,  and  the little distant Martian bone
 town was  all  enclosed,  and no one drifted out their doors, you
 could see  Mr.  K  himself in his room, reading from a metal book
 with raised  hieroglyphs  over  which he brushed his hand, as one
 might play  a  harp.  And  from the book, as his fingers stroked,
 a voice  sang,  a  soft  ancient  voice, which told tales of when
 the sea  was  red  steam on the shore and ancient men had carried
 clouds of metal insects and electric spiders into battle.
      Mr. and  Mrs.  K had lived by the dead sea for twenty years,
 and their  ancestors  had  lived  in the same house, which turned
 and followed the sun, flower-like, for ten centuries.
      Mr. and  Mrs.  K  were  not old. They had the fair, brownish
 skin of  the  true  Martian,  the  yellow  coin  eyes,  the  soft
 musical voices.  Once  they  had  liked  painting  pictures  with
 chemical fire,  swimming  in  the  canals in the seasons when the
 wine trees  filled  them with green liquors, and talking into the
 dawn together  by  the blue phosphorous portraits in the speaking
 room.
      They were not happy now.
      This morning  Mrs.  K  stood  between the pillars, listening
 to the  desert  sands  heat,  melt into yellow wax, and seemingly
 run on the horizon.
      Something was going to happen.
      She waited.
      She watched  the  blue  sky  of  Mars  as if it might at any
 moment grip  in  on itself, contract, and expel a shining miracle
 down upon the sand.
      Nothing happened.
      Tired of  waiting,  she  walked through the misting pillars.
 A gentle  rain  sprang  from  the  fluted  pillar  tops,  cooling
 the scorched  air,  falling  gently  on  her.  On hot days it was
 like walking  in  a creek. The floors of the house glittered with
 cool streams.  In  the distance she heard her husband playing his
 book  steadily,  his  fingers  never  tired  of  the  old  songs.
 Quietly she  wished  he  might  one  day again spend as much time
 holding and  touching  her  like  a  little  harp  as  he did his
 incredible books.
      But no.  She  shook  her  head,  an imperceptible, forgiving
 shrug. Her  eyelids  closed  softly  down  upon  her golden eyes.
 Marriage made people old and familiar, while still young.
      She lay  back  in  a chair that moved to take her shape even
 as she moved. She closed her eyes tightly and nervously.
      The dream occurred.
      Her brown  fingers  trembled,  came  up, grasped at the air.
 A moment later she sat up, startled, gasping.
      She glanced  about  swiftly,  as  if expecting someone there
 before her.  She  seemed  disappointed;  the  space  between  the
 pillars was empty.
      Her husband  appeared  in a triangular door. "Did you call?"
 he asked irritably.
      "No!" she cried.
      "I thought I heard you cry out."
      "Did I? I was almost asleep and had a dream!"
      "In the daytime? You don't often do that."
      She sat  as  if  struck  in  the  face  by  the  dream. "How
 strange, how very strange," she murmured. "The dream."
      "Oh?" He evidently wished to return to his book.
      "I dreamed about a man."
      "A man?"
      "A tall man, six feet one inch tall."
      "How absurd; a giant, a misshapen giant."
      "Somehow"--she tried  the  words--  "he  looked  all  right.
 In spite  of  being  tall.  And  he  had--oh, I know you'll think
 it silly--he had _blue_ eyes!"
      "Blue eyes!  Gods!"  cried  Mr.  K. "What'll you dream next?
 I suppose he had _black_ hair?"
      "How did you _guess?_" She was excited.
      "I picked the most unlikely color," he replied coldly.
      "Well, black  it  was!"  she cried. "And he had a very white
 skin; oh,  he  was  _most_  unusual!  He was dressed in a strange
 uniform and  he  came  down  out  of the sky and spoke pleasantly
 to me." She smiled.
      "Out of the sky; what nonsense!"
      "He came  in  a  metal  thing  that  glittered  in the sun,"
 she remembered.  She  closed  her  eyes  to  shape  it  again. "I
 dreamed there  was  the  sky  and  something sparkled like a coin
 thrown into  the  air,  and  suddenly it grew large and fell down
 softly to  land,  a  long  silver  craft,  round and alien. And a
 door opened  in  the  side  of  the  silver  object and this tall
 man stepped out."
      "If  you   worked  harder  you  wouldn't  have  these  silly
 dreams."
      "I  rather   enjoyed   it,"  she  replied,  lying  back.  "I
 never suspected  myself  of such an imagination. Black hair, blue
 eyes,  and  white  skin!  What  a  strange  man,  and  yet--quite
 handsome."
      "Wishful thinking."
      "You're unkind.  I  didn't  think him up on purpose; he just
 came in  my  mind while I drowsed. It wasn't like a dream. It was
 so unexpected  and  different. He looked at me and he said, 'I've
 come from  the  third  planet  in  my  ship. My name is Nathaniel
 York--'"
      "A  stupid   name;  it's  no  name  at  all,"  objected  the
 husband.
      "Of  course   it's   stupid,  because  it's  a  dream,"  she
 explained softly.  "And  he  said, 'This is the first trip across
 space. There  are  only  two  of  us  in  our ship, myself and my
 friend Bert.'"
      "_Another_ stupid name."
      "And he  said,  'We're  from  a  city on _Earth_; that's the
 name of  our  planet,'"  continued  Mrs. K. "That's what he said.
 'Earth' was  the  name  he  spoke.  And he used another language.
 Somehow I understood him. With my mind. Telepathy, I suppose."
      Mr. K  turned  away.  She  stopped  him  with a word. "Yll?"
 she called  quietly.  "Do  you  ever  wonder  if--well,  if there
 _are_ people living on the third planet?"
      "The third  planet  is incapable of supporting life," stated
 the husband  patiently.  "Our  scientists  have  said there's far
 too much oxygen in their atmosphere."
      "But wouldn't  it  be  fascinating  if  there _were_ people?
 And they traveled through space in some sort of ship?"
      "Really, Ylla,  you  know how I hate this emotional wailing.
 Let's get on with our work."
      It was  late  in  the day when she began singing the song as
 she moved  among  the  whispering  pillars  of  rain. She sang it
 over and over again.
      "What's that  song?"  snapped  her  husband at last, walking
 in to sit at the fire table.
      "I don't  know."  She  looked  up, surprised at herself. She
 put her  hand  to  her  mouth,  unbelieving. The sun was setting.
 The house  was  closing  itself  in,  like  a  giant flower, with
 the passing  of  light.  A  wind blew among the pillars; the fire
 table bubbled  its  fierce  pool of silver lava. The wind stirred
 her  russet   hair,  crooning  softly  in  her  ears.  She  stood
 silently looking  out  into  the  great  sallow  distances of sea
 bottom, as  if  recalling  something,  her  yellow  eyes soft and
 moist, "Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, and I will pledge
 with mine,"  she  sang,  softly,  quietly,  slowly.  "Or  leave a
 kiss within  the  cup,  and  I'll  not  ask for wine." She hummed
 now, moving  her  hands  in  the  wind  ever so lightly, her eyes
 shut. She finished the song.
      It was very beautiful.
      "Never  heard   that  song  before.  Did  you  compose  it?"
 he inquired, his eyes sharp.
      "No, Yes.  No,  I don't know, really!" She hesitated wildly.
 "I  don't   even   know  what  the  words  are;  they're  another
 language!"
      "What language?"
      She dropped  portions  of  meat  numbly  into  the simmering
 lava. "I  don't  know."  She  drew the meat forth a moment later,
 cooked, served  on  a  plate  for him. "It's just a crazy thing I
 made up, I guess. I don't know why."
      He said  nothing.  He watched her drown meats in the hissing
 fire pool.  The  sun  was  gone. Slowly, slowly the night came in
 to fill  the  room, swallowing the pillars and both of them, like
 a dark  wine  poured  to the ceiling. Only the silver lava's glow
 lit their faces.
      She hummed the strange song again.
      Instantly he  leaped  from  his  chair  and  stalked angrily
 from the room.

      Later, in isolation, he finished supper.
      When he  arose  he stretched, glanced at her, and suggested,
 yawning, "Let's  take  the  flame  birds  to  town tonight to see
 an entertainment."
      "You don't _mean_ it?" she said. "Are you feeling well?"
      "What's so strange about that?"
      "But we haven't gone for an entertainment in six months!"
      "I think it's a good idea."
      "Suddenly you're so solicitous," she said.
      "Don't talk  that  way," he replied peevishly. "Do you or do
 you not want to go?"
      She looked  out  at  the  pale  desert. The twin white moons
 were rising.  Cool  water  ran  softly  about her toes. She began
 to tremble  just  the  least  bit.  She  wanted  very much to sit
 quietly here,  soundless,  not  moving until this thing occurred,
 this thing  expected  all  day,  this  thing that could not occur
 but might. A drift of song brushed through her mind.
      "I----"
      "Do you good," he urged. "Come along now."
      "I'm tired," she said. "Some other night."
      "Here's your  scarf."  He  handed  her  a phial. "We haven't
 gone anywhere in months."
      "Except you,  twice  a  week  to Xi City." She wouldn't look
 at him.
      "Business," he said.
      "Oh?" She whispered to herself.
      From the  phial  a  liquid  poured,  turned  to  blue  mist,
 settled about her neck, quivering.

      The flame  birds  waited,  like  a  bed of coals, glowing on
 the cool  smooth  sands.  The white canopy ballooned on the night
 wind, flapping  softly,  tied  by  a  thousand  green  ribbons to
 the birds.
      Ylla laid  herself  back  in  the canopy and, at a word from
 her husband,  the  birds  leaped,  burning,  toward the dark sky,
 The ribbons  tautened,  the  canopy lifted. The sand slid whining
 under; the  blue  hills  drifted  by,  drifted  by, leaving their
 home  behind,   the  raining  pillars,  the  caged  flowers,  the
 singing books,  the  whispering floor creeks. She did not look at
 her husband.  She  heard  him  crying  out  to  the birds as they
 rose higher,  like  ten thousand hot sparkles, so many red-yellow
 fireworks in  the  heavens,  tugging  the  canopy  like  a flower
 petal, burning through the wind.
      She didn't  watch  the dead, ancient bone-chess cities slide
 under, or  the  old canals filled with emptiness and dreams. Past
 dry rivers  and  dry  lakes they flew, like a shadow of the moon,
 like a torch burning.
      She watched only the sky.
      The husband spoke.
      She watched the sky.
      "Did you hear what I said?"
      "What?"
      He exhaled. "You might pay attention."
      "I was thinking."
      "I never  thought  you  were  a  nature  lover,  but  you're
 certainly interested in the sky tonight," he said.
      "It's very beautiful."
      "I was  figuring,"  said  the husband slowly. "I thought I'd
 call Hulle  tonight.  I'd  like  to talk to him about us spending
 some time,  oh,  only  a  week or so, in the Blue Mountains. It's
 just an idea--"
      "The Blue  Mountains!"  She  held to the canopy rim with one
 hand, turning swiftly toward him.
      "Oh, it's just a suggestion."
      "When do you want to go?" she asked, trembling.
      "I thought  we  might  leave  tomorrow morning. You know, an
 early start and all that," he said very casually.
      "But we _never_ go this early in the year!"
      "Just this  once,  I  thought--"  He  smiled. "Do us good to
 get away.  Some  peace  and quiet. You know. You haven't anything
 _else_ planned? We'll go, won't we?"
      She took a breath, waited, and then replied, "No."
      "What?" His cry startled the birds. The canopy jerked.
      "No," she said firmly. "It's settled. I won't go."
      He looked  at  her.  They  did  not  speak  after  that. She
 turned away.
      The birds flew on, ten thousand flrebrands down the wind.

      In the  dawn  the  sun,  through the crystal pillars, melted
 the fog  that  supported  Ylla  as  she  slept. All night she had
 hung above  the  floor,  buoyed  by  the  soft  carpeting of mist
 that poured  from  the walls when she lay down to rest. All night
 she  had  slept  on  this  silent  river,  like  a  boat  upon  a
 soundless tide.  Now  the fog burned away, the mist level lowered
 until she was deposited upon the shore of wakening.
      She opened her eyes.
      Her husband  stood  over  her.  He looked as if he had stood
 there for  hours,  watching.  She did not know why, but she could
 not look him in the face.
      "You've been  dreaming  again!"  he said. "You spoke out and
 kept me awake. I _really_ think you should see a doctor."
      "I'll be all right."
      "You talked a lot in your sleep!"
      "Did I?" She started up.
      Dawn was  cold  in  the room. A gray light filled her as she
 lay there.
      "What was your dream?"
      She had  to  think  a moment to remember. "The ship. It came
 from the  sky  again,  landed,  and  the tall man stepped out and
 talked  to   me,  telling  me  little  jokes,  laughing,  and  it
 was pleasant."
      Mr.  K  touched  a  pillar.  Founts  of  warm  water  leaped
 up, steaming;  the  chill  vanished  from  the room. Mr. K's face
 was impassive.
      "And then,"  she  said, "this man, who said his strange name
 was Nathaniel  York,  told  me  I  was  beautiful and--and kissed
 me."
      "Ha!"  cried   the  husband,  turning  violently  away,  his
 jaw working.
      "It's only a dream." She was amused.
      "Keep your silly, feminine dreams to yourself!"
      "You're acting  like  a  child."  She  lapsed  back upon the
 few remaining  remnants  of  chemical  mist.  After  a moment she
 laughed  softly.  "I  thought  of  some  _more_  of  the  dream,"
 she confessed.
      "Well, what is it, what _is_ it?" he shouted.
      "Yll, you're so bad-tempered."
      "Tell me!"  he  demanded.  "You can't keep secrets from me!"
 His face was dark and rigid as he stood over her.
      "I've never  seen  you this way," she replied, half shocked,
 half entertained.  "All  that  happened  was  this Nathaniel York
 person told  me--well,  he  told  me  that he'd take me away into
 his ship,  into  the sky with him, and take me back to his planet
 with him. It's really quite ridiculous."
      "Ridiculous, is  it!"  he  almost screamed. "You should have
 heard yourself,  fawning  on  him,  talking  to him, singing with
 him, oh gods, all night; you should have _heard_ yourself!"
      "Yll!"
      "When's he  landing?  Where's he coming down with his damned
 ship?"
      "Yll, lower your voice.'
      "Voice be  damned!"  He  bent  stiffly  over  her. "And _in_
 this dream"--he  seized  her  wrist--"didn't  the  ship land over
 in Green Valley, _didn't_ it? Answer me!"
      "Why, yes--"
      "And it landed this afternoon, didn't it?" he kept at her.
      "Yes, yes, I think so, yes, but only in a dream!"
      "Well"--he  flung   her   hand   away   stiffly--"it's  good
 you're truthful!  I  heard  every  word  you  said in your sleep.
 You mentioned  the  valley  and  the  time."  Breathing  hard, he
 walked between  the  pillars  like  a  man blinded by a lightning
 bolt. Slowly  his  breath returned. She watched him as if he were
 quite  insane.   She  arose  finally  and  went  to  him.  "Yll,"
 she whispered.
      "I'm all right."
      "You're sick."
      "No." He  forced  a  tired  smile.  "Just  childish. Forgive
 me, darling."  He  gave  her  a rough pat. "Too much work lately.
 I'm sorry. I think I'll lie down awhile--"
      "You were so excited."
      "I'm all  right  now.  Fine."  He exhaled. "Let's forget it.
 Say, I  heard  a  joke  about Uel yesterday, I meant to tell you.
 What do  you  say  you  fix  breakfast,  I'll  tell the joke, and
 let's not talk about all this."
      "It was only a dream."
      "Of  course,"   He  kissed  her  cheek  mechanically.  "Only
 a dream."

      At noon  the  sun  was  high and hot and the hills shimmered
 in the light.
      "Aren't you going to town?" asked Ylla.
      "Town?" he raised his brows faintly.
      "This is  the  day  you  _always_ go." She adjusted a flower
 cage on  its  pedestal. The flowers stirred, opening their hungry
 yellow mouths.
      He closed his book. "No. It's too hot, and it's late."
      "Oh." She  finished  her  task  and  moved  toward the door.
 "Well, I'll be back soon."
      "Wait a minute! Where are you going?"
      She was  in  the  door  swiftly. "Over to Pao's. She invited
 me!"
      "Today?"
      "I haven't  seen  her  in  a  long  time. It's only a little
 way."
      "Over in Green Valley, isn't it?"
      "Yes, just a walk, not far, I thought I'd--" She hurried.
      "I'm sorry,  really  sorry,"  he  said, running to fetch her
 back,  looking   very  concerned  about  his  forgetfulness.  "It
 slipped my mind. I invited Dr. Nlle out this afternoon."
      "Dr. Nile!" She edged toward the door.
      He caught her elbow and drew her steadily in. "Yes."
      "But Pao--"
      "Pan can wait, Ylla. We must entertain Nile."
      "Just for a few minutes--"
      "No, Ylla."
      "No?"
      He shook  his  head. "No. Besides, it's a terribly long walk
 to Pao's.  All  the  way  over through Green Valley and then past
 the big  canal  and  down, isn't it? And it'll be very, very hot,
 and Dr. Nile would be delighted to see you. Well?"
      She did  not  answer.  She  wanted  to  break  and  run. She
 wanted to  cry  out.  But  she  only  sat  in  the chair, turning
 her  fingers  over  slowly,  staring  at  them  expressionlessly,
 trapped.
      "Ylla?" he murmured. "You _will_ be here, won't you?"
      "Yes," she said after a long time. "I'll be here."
      "All afternoon?"
      Her voice was dull. "All afternoon."

      Late in  the  day  Dr.  Nile  had  not put in an appearance.
 Ylla's husband  did  not seem overly surprised. When it was quite
 late he  murmured  something,  went  to  a closet, and drew forth
 an evil  weapon,  a  long  yellowish tube ending in a bellows and
 a trigger.  He  turned,  and  upon  his face was a mask, hammered
 from silver  metal,  expressionless, the mask that he always wore
 when he  wished  to  hide  his  feelings,  the  mask which curved
 and hollowed  so  exquisitely  to  his  thin  cheeks and chin and
 brow. The  mask  glinted,  and  he  held  the  evil weapon in his
 hands, considering  it.  It  hummed  constantly,  an  insect hum.
 From it  hordes  of  golden  bees  could be flung out with a high
 shriek. Golden,  horrid  bees  that  stung,  poisoned,  and  fell
 lifeless, like seeds on the sand.
      "Where are you going?" she asked.
      "What?" He  listened  to  the  bellows, to the evil hum. "If
 Dr. Nile  is  late,  I'll  be  damned if I'll wait. I'm going out
 to hunt  a  bit.  I'll  be  back.  You be sure to stay right here
 now, won't you?" The silver mask glimmered.
      "Yes."
      "And tell Dr. Nile I'll return. Just hunting."
      The triangular  door  closed.  His  footsteps faded down the
 hill.
      She watched  him  walking  through the sunlight until he was
 gone. Then  she  resumed  her  tasks  with the magnetic dusts and
 the new  fruits  to be plucked from the crystal walls. She worked
 with energy  and  dispatch,  but on occasion a numbness took hold
 of her  and  she  caught  herself  singing that odd and memorable
 song and looking out beyond the crystal pillars at the sky.
      She held her breath and stood very still, waiting.
      It was coming nearer.
      At any moment it might happen.
      It was  like  those  days  when  you  heard  a  thunderstorm
 coming and  there  was  the waiting silence and then the faintest
 pressure of  the  atmosphere  as  the  climate blew over the land
 in shifts  and  shadows  and  vapors.  And  the change pressed at
 your ears  and  you  were  suspended  in  the waiting time of the
 coming  storm.   You  began  to  tremble.  The  sky  was  stained
 and coloured;  the  clouds  were thickened; the mountains took on
 an iron  taint.  The  caged  flowers  blew  with  faint  sighs of
 warning. You  felt  your hair stir softly. Somewhere in the house
 the voice-clock  sang,  "Time,  time,  time,  time  .  .  ." ever
 so gently, no more than water tapping on velvet.
      And  then   the   storm.   The  electric  illumination,  the
 engulfments of  dark  wash and sounding black fell down, shutting
 in, forever.
      That's how  it  was.  A  storm  gathered,  yet  the  sky was
 clear. Lightning was expected, yet there was no cloud.
      Ylla moved  through  the  breathless summer house. Lightning
 would  strike   from   the   sky  any  instant;  there  would  be
 a thunderclap,  a  boil  of  smoke,  a  silence, footsteps on the
 path, a  rap  on  the  crystalline  door,  and  her  _running_ to
 answer. . . .
      Crazy Ylla!  she  scoffed.  Why think these wild things with
 your idle mind?
      And then it happened.
      There was  a  warmth  as of a great fire passing in the air.
 A whirling, rushing sound. A gleam in the sky, of metal.
      Ylla cried out.
      Running through  the  pillars,  she  flung  wide a door. She
 faced the hills. But by this time there was nothing.
      She was  about  to  race  down  the  hill  when  she stopped
 herself, She  was  supposed  to stay here, go nowhere, The doctor
 was coming  to  visit,  and her husband would be angry if she ran
 off.
      She waited in the door, breathing rapidly, her hand out.
      She strained  to  see  over  toward  Green  Valley,  but saw
 nothing.
      Silly woman.  She  went  inside.  You  and your imagination,
 she thought.  That  was  nothing but a bird, a leaf, the wind, or
 a fish in the canal. Sit down. Rest.
      She sat down.
      A shot sounded.
      Very  clearly,   sharply,  the  sound  of  the  evil  insect
 weapon.
      Her body jerked with it.
      It came  from  a  long  way off, One shot. The swift humming
 distant bees.  One  shot.  And  then  a  second shot, precise and
 cold, and far away.
      Her body  winced  again  and  for  some  reason  she started
 up,  screaming,   and   screaming,  and  never  wanting  to  stop
 screaming. She  ran  violently  through  the  house and once more
 threw wide the door.
      The echoes were dying away, away.
      Gone.
      She waited in the yard, her face pale, for five minutes.
      Finally, with  slow  steps,  her  head  down,  she  wandered
 about  the  pillared  rooms,  laying  her  hand  to  things,  her
 lips quivering,  until  finally  she  sat  alone in the darkening
 wine room,  waiting.  She  began  to wipe an amber glass with the
 hem of her scarf.
      And then,  from  far  off,  the sound of footsteps crunching
 on the thin, small rocks.
      She rose  up  to  stand in the center of the quiet room. The
 glass fell from her fingers, smashing to bits.
      The footsteps hesitated outside the door.
      Should she  speak?  Should  she  cry out, "Come in, oh, come
 in"?
      She went forward a few paces.
      The footsteps  walked  up  the ramp. A hand twisted the door
 latch.
      She smiled at the door.
      The door opened. She stopped smiling.
      It was her husband. His silver mask glowed dully.
      He entered  the  room  and  looked at her for only a moment.
 Then he  snapped  the  weapon  bellows open, cracked out two dead
 bees, heard  them  spat  on  the  floor  as they fell, stepped on
 them, and  placed  the  empty  bellows  gun  in the corner of the
 room as  Ylla  bent  down  and  tried,  over  and  over,  with no
 success, to  pick  up  the  pieces  of the shattered glass. "What
 were you doing?" she asked.
      "Nothing," he  said  with  his  back  turned. He removed the
 mask.
      "But the gun--I heard you fire it. Twice."
      "Just hunting.  Once  in  a  while you like to hunt. Did Dr.
 Nile arrive?"
      "No."
      "Wait a  minute."  He snapped his fingers disgustedly. "Why,
 I  remember  _now_.  He  was  supposed  to  visit  us  _tomorrow_
 afternoon. How stupid of me."
      They sat  down  to  eat.  She looked at her food and did not
 move her  hands.  "What's  wrong?"  he asked, not looking up from
 dipping his meat in the bubbling lava.
      "I don't know. I'm not hungry," she said.
      "Why not?"
      "I don't know; I'm just not."
      The wind  was  rising  across  the  sky;  the  sun was going
 down. The room was small and suddenly cold.
      "I've been  trying  to  remember,"  she  said  in the silent
 room, across from her cold, erect, golden-eyed husband.
      "Remember what?" He sipped his wine.
      "That song.  That  fine  and beautiful song." She closed her
 eyes and  hummed,  but  it  was not the song. "I've forgotten it.
 And, somehow,  I  don't  want to forget it. It's something I want
 always to  remember."  She moved her hands as if the rhythm might
 help her  to  remember all of it. Then she lay back in her chair.
 "I can't remember." She began to cry.
      "Why are you crying?" he asked.
      "I don't  know,  I  don't know, but I can't help it. I'm sad
 and I  don't  know  why,  I  cry  and  I  don't know why, but I'm
 crying."
      Her head  was  in  her  hands; her shoulders moved again and
 again.
      "You'll be all right tomorrow," he said.
      She did  not  look  up  at him; she looked only at the empty
 desert and  the  very  bright  stars  coming out now on the black
 sky, and  far  away  there  was  a sound of wind rising and canal
 waters stirring  cold  in  the  long  canals.  She shut her eyes,
 trembling.
      "Yes," she said. "I'll be all right tomorrow."

                  August 1999:  THE SUMMER NIGHT

      In  the   stone   galleries  the  people  were  gathered  in
 clusters and  groups  filtering  up  into  shadows among the blue
 hills. A  soft  evening  light shone over them from the stars and
 the  luminous   double   moons   of   Mars.   Beyond  the  marble
 amphitheater,  in   darkness  and  distances,  lay  little  towns
 and villas;  pools  of  silver  water stood motionless and canals
 glittered from  horizon  to  horizon. It was an evening in summer
 upon the  placid  and  temperate  planet  Mars. Up and down green
 wine canals,  boats  as  delicate  as  bronze flowers drifted. In
 the long  and  endless dwellings that curved like tranquil snakes
 across the  hills,  lovers  lay  idly  whispering  in  cool night
 beds. The  last  children  ran  in  torchlit alleys, gold spiders
 in their  hands  throwing  out films of web. Here or there a late
 supper was  prepared  in  tables  where  lava bubbled silvery and
 hushed. In  the  amphitheaters  of  a  hundred towns on the night
 side of  Mars  the  brown  Martian  people  with  gold  coin eyes
 were leisurely  met  to  fix  their  attention  upon stages where
 musicians made  a  serene  music  flow  up  like blossom scent on
 the still air.
      Upon one stage a woman sang.
      The audience stirred.
      She stopped  singing.  She  put  her hand to her throat. She
 nodded to the musicians and they began again.
      The musicians  played  and  she  sang,  and  this  time  the
 audience sighed  and  sat  forward,  a  few  of  the men stood up
 in surprise,  and  a winter chill moved through the amphitheater.
 For it  was  an  odd  and  a  frightening and a strange song this
 woman sang.  She  tried  to stop the words from coming out of her
 lips, but the words were these:

               "_She walks in beauty, like the night
               Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
              And all that's best of dark and bright
              Meet in her aspect and her eyes_ . . ."

      The singer  dasped  her  hands  to  her  mouth.  She  stood,
 bewildered.
      "What words are those?" asked the musicians.
      "What song is that?"
      "What _language_ is that!"
      And when  they  blew  again  upon  their  golden  horns  the
 strange music  came  forth  and  passed slowly over the audience,
 which now talked aloud and stood up.
      "What's wrong with you?" the musicians asked each other.
      "What tune is that you played?"
      "What tune did _you_ play?"
      The woman  wept  and  ran  from  the stage, And the audience
 moved out  of  the amphitheater. And all around the nervous towns
 of Mars  a  similar thing had happened. A coldness had come, like
 white snow falling on the air.
      In the black alleys, under the torches, the children sang:

        "--_and when she got there, the cupboard was bare,
                  And so her poor dog had none!_"

      "Children!" voices  cried.  "What  was that rhyme? Where did
 you learn it?"
      "We just  _thought_  of it, all of a sudden. It's just words
 we don't understand."
      Doors slammed.  The  streets  were  deserted. Above the blue
 hills a green star rose.
      All over  the  night  side  of  Mars  lovers awoke to listen
 to their loved ones who lay humming in the darkness.
      "What is that tune?"
      And in  a  thousand  villas,  in  the  middle  of the night,
 women awoke,  screaming.  They  had to be soothed while the tears
 ran  down  their  faces,  "There,  there.  Sleep.  What's  wrong?
 A dream?"
      "Something terrible will happen in the morning."
      "Nothing can happen, all is well with us."
      A hysterical  sobbing.  "It  is  coming  nearer  and  nearer
 and _nearer!_"
      "Nothing can happen to us. What could? Sleep now. Sleep."
      It was  quiet  in  the  deep  morning of Mars, as quiet as a
 cool and  black  well,  with  stars  shining in the canal waters,
 and, breathing  in  every  room,  the  children curled with their
 spiders in  closed  hands, the lovers arm in arm, the moons gone,
 the torches cold, the stone amphitheaters deserted.
      The only  sound,  just  before  dawn,  was a night watchman,
 far away  down  a  lonely  street, walking along in the darkness,
 humming a very strange song. . . .

                    August 1999:  THE EARTH MEN

      Whoever was  knocking  at the door didn't want to stop. Mrs.
 Ttt threw the door open. "Well?"
      "You  speak   _English!_"   The   man   standing  there  was
 astounded.
      "I speak what I speak," she said.
      "It's wonderful  _English!_"  The  man was in uniform. There
 were three  men  with  him,  in  a  great hurry, all smiling, all
 dirty.
      "What do you want?" demanded Mrs. Ttt.
      "You  are  a  _Martian!_"  The  man  smiled.  "The  word  is
 not familiar  to  you,  certainly.  It's  an  Earth  expression."
 He  nodded   at  his  then.  "We  are  from  Earth.  I'm  Captain
 Williams. We've  landed  on  Mars  within  the hour. Here we are,
 the _Second_  Expedition!  There  was  a First Expedition, but we
 don't know  what  happened  to  it.  But here we are, anyway. And
 you are the first Martian we've met!"
      "Martian?" Her eyebrows went up.
      "What I  mean  to say is, you live on the fourth planet from
 the sun. Correct?"
      "Elementary," she snapped, eyeing them.
      "And we"--he  pressed  his  chubby  pink hand to his chest--
 "we are from Earth. Right, men?"
      "Right, sir!" A chorus.
      "This is  the  planet  Tyrr,"  she said, "if you want to use
 the proper name."
      "Tyrr, Tyrr."  The  captain  laughed  exhaustedly.  "What  a
 _fine_ name!  But,  my  good  woman,  how  is  it  you speak such
 perfect English?"
      "I'm not  speaking,  I'm  thinking,"  she  said. "Telepathy!
 Good day!" And she slammed the door.
      A moment later there was that dreadful man knocking again.
      She whipped the door open. "What now?" she wondered.
      The  man   was   still   there,  trying  to  smile,  looking
 bewildered.  He   put   out   his   hands.  "I  don't  think  you
 _understand_--"
      "What?" she snapped.
      The man gazed at her in surprise. "We're from _Earth!_"
      "I haven't  time,"  she  said.  "I've a lot of cooking today
 and there's  cleaning  and  sewing and all. You evidently wish to
 see Mr. Ttt; he's upstairs in his study."
      "Yes," said  the  Earth  Man  confusedly,  blinking. "By all
 means, let us see Mr. Ttt."
      "He's busy." She slammed the door again.
      This time  the  knock  on  the  door  was most impertinently
 loud.
      "See here!"  cried  the  man  when  the door was thrust open
 again. He  jumped  in  as  if to surprise her. "This is no way to
 treat visitors!"
      "All over  my  clean  floor!"  she  cried. "Mud! Get out! If
 you come in my house, wash your boots first."
      The man  looked  in  dismay  at  his muddy boots, "This," he
 said, "is  no  time  for  trivialities.  I  think,"  he said, "we
 should be  celebrating."  He  looked  at  her for a long time, as
 if looking might make her understand.
      "If  you've   made  my  crystal  buns  fall  in  the  oven,"
 she exclaimed,  "I'll  hit  you with a piece of wood!" She peered
 into a  little  hot  oven.  She came back, red, steamy-faced. Her
 eyes were  sharp  yellow,  her  skin was soft brown, she was thin
 and quick  as  an insect. Her voice was metallic and sharp. "Wait
 here. I'll  see  if  I  can  let  you have a moment with Mr. Ttt.
 What was your business?"
      The man  swore  luridly,  as  if  she'd  hit  his  hand with
 a hammer.  "Tell  him  we're  from  Earth  and  it's  never  been
 done before!"
      "What hasn't?"  She  put  her  brown  hand  up. "Never mind.
 I'll be back."
      The sound of her feet fluttered through the stone house.
      Outside, the  immense  blue Martian sky was hot and still as
 a warm  deep  sea  water.  The  Martian  desert lay broiling like
 a prehistoric  mud  pot,  waves  of  heat  rising and shimmering.
 There was  a  small  rocket ship reclining upon a hilltop nearby.
 Large footprints  came  from the rocket to the door of this stone
 house.
      Now there  was  a  sound  of quarreling voices upstairs. The
 men within  the  door  stared  at  one another, shifting on their
 boots, twiddling  their  fingers,  and  holding  onto  their  hip
 belts.  A   man's  voice  shouted  upstairs.  The  woman's  voice
 replied. After  fifteen  minutes  the  Earth men began walking in
 and out the kitchen door, with nothing to do.
      "Cigarette?" said one of the men.
      Somebody got  out  a  pack  and  they  lit  up.  They puffed
 slow streams  of  pale white smoke. They adjusted their uniforms,
 fixed their  collars.  The  voices  upstairs  continued to mutter
 and chant. The leader of the men looked at his watch.
      "Twenty-five minutes,"  he  said.  "I wonder what they're up
 to up there." He went to a window and looked out.
      "Hot day," said one of the men.
      "Yeah,"  said   someone  else  in  the  slow  warm  time  of
 early afternoon.  The  voices  had  faded  to  a  murmur and were
 now silent.  There  was  not  a  sound  in the house. All the men
 could hear was their own breathing.
      An  hour   of  silence  passed.  "I  hope  we  didn't  cause
 any trouble,"  said  the  captain.  He  went  and peered into the
 living room.
      Mrs. Ttt  was  there,  watering  some  flowers  that grew in
 the center of the room.
      "I knew  I  had  forgotten something," she said when she saw
 the captain.  She  walked  out  to  the kitchen. "I'm sorry." She
 handed him  a  slip  of  paper.  "Mr.  Ttt is much too busy." She
 turned to  her  cooking.  "Anyway,  it's  not Mr. Ttt you want to
 see; it's  Mr.  Aaa.  Take  that  paper over to the next farm, by
 the blue  canal,  and  Mr. Aaa'll advise you about whatever it is
 you want to know."
      "We don't  want  to  know  anything,"  objected the captain,
 pouting out his thick lips. "We already _know_ it."
      "You have  the  paper,  what  more  do  you want?" she asked
 him straight off. And she would say no more.
      "Well," said  the  captain,  reluctant  to  go.  He stood as
 if waiting  for  something.  He  looked  like  a child staring at
 an empty Christmas tree. "Well," he said again. "Come on, men."
      The four men stepped out into the hot silent day.

      Half  an  hour.  later,  Mr.  Aaa,  seated  in  his  library
 sipping a  bit  of  electric  fire  from  a  metal cup, heard the
 voices outside  in  the stone causeway. He leaned over the window
 sill and  gazed  at  the  four  uniformed  men who squinted up at
 him.
      "Are you Mr. Aaa?" they called.
      "I am."
      "Mr. Ttt sent us to see you!" shouted the captain.
      "Why did he do that?" asked Mr. Aaa.
      "He was busy!"
      "Well, that's  a  shame,"  said Mr. Ass sarcastically. "Does
 he think  I  have  nothing  else  to do but entertain people he's
 too busy to bother with?"
      "That's  not   the   important   thing,  sir,"  shouted  the
 captain.
      "Well, it  is  to  me.  I  have  much reading to do. Mr. Ttt
 is inconsiderate.  This  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  been
 this thoughtless  of  me.  Stop  waving  your  hands,  sir, until
 I finish.  And  pay  attention.  People usually listen to me when
 I talk. And you'll listen courteously or I won't talk at all."
      Uneasily the  four  men  in  the  court  shifted  and opened
 their mouths,  and  once  the  captain,  the  veins  on  his face
 bulging, showed a few little tears in his eyes.
      "Now," lectured  Mr.  Aaa,  "do you think it fair of Mr. Ttt
 to be so ill-mannered?"
      The four  men  gazed  up through the heat. The captain said,
 "We're from Earth!"
      "I think it very ungentlemanly of him," brooded Mr. Aaa.
      "A _rocket_ ship. We came in it. Over there!"
      "Not the first time Ttt's been unreasonable, you know."
      "All the way from Earth."
      "Why, for half a mind, I'd call him up and tell him off."
      "Just the  four  of  us;  myself  and  these  three  men, my
 crew."
      "I'll call him up, yes, that's what I'll do!"
      "Earth. Rocket. Men. Trip. Space."
      "Call him  and  give  him  a  good  lashing!" cried Mr. Aaa.
 He vanished  like  a puppet from a stage. For a minute there were
 angry voices  back  and forth over some weird mechanism or other.
 Below, the  captain  and his crew glanced longingly back at their
 pretty rocket  ship  lying  on  the hillside, so sweet and lovely
 and fine.
      Mr.  Aaa   jerked   up  in  the  window,  wildly  triumphant
 "Challenged him to a duel, by the gods! A duel!"
      "Mr. Aaa--" the captain started all over again, quietly.
      "I'll shoot him dead, do you hear!"
      "Mr. Aaa,  I'd  like  to  _tell_  you. We came sixty million
 miles."
      Mr. Aaa  regarded  the  captain for the first time. "Where'd
 you say you were from?"
      The  captain  flashed  a  white  smile.  Aside  to  his  men
 he  withpered,  "_Now_  we're  getting  someplace!"  To  Mr.  Aaa
 he called, "We traveled sixty million miles. From Earth!"
      Mr. Aaa  yawned.  "That's  only  _fifty_  million miles this
 time of  year."  He  picked up a frightful-looking weapon. "Well,
 I have  to  go  now.  Just  take  that silly note, though I don't
 know what  good  it'll  do  you,  and  go over that hill into the
 little town  of  Iopr  and  tell Mr. Iii all about it. _He's_ the
 man you  want  to  see.  Not Mr. Ttt, he's an idiot; I'm going to
 kill him. Not me, because you're not in my line of work."
      "Line of  work,  line of work!" bleated the captain. "Do you
 have to be in a certain line of work to welcome Earth men!"
      "Don't  be   silly,   everyone   knows   _that!_"   Mr.  Aaa
 rushed downstairs.  "Good-by!"  And  down  the causeway he raced,
 like a pair of wild calipers.
      The  four  travelers  stood  shocked.  Finally  the  captain
 said, "We'll find someone yet who'll listen to us."
      "Maybe we  could  go out and come in again," said one of the
 men in  a  dreary  voice.  "Maybe  we  should  take  off and land
 again. Give them time to organize a party."
      "That might be a good idea," murmured the tired captain.
      The little  town  was  full  of  people  drifting in and out
 of doors,  saying  hello to one another, wearing golden masks and
 blue masks  and  crimson  masks  for pleasant variety, masks with
 silver lips  and  bronze  eyebrows,  masks  that  smiled or masks
 that frowned, according to the owners' dispositions.
      The four  men,  wet  from  their long walk, paused and asked
 a little girl where Mr. Iii's house was.
      "There." The child nodded her head.
      The  captain  got  eagerly,  carefully  down  on  one  knee,
 looking into  her  sweet young face. "Little girl, I want to talk
 to you."
      He seated  her  on his knee and folded her small brown hands
 neatly in  his  own  big  ones,  as if ready for a bed-time story
 which he  was  shaping  in  his  mind  slowly  and  with  a great
 patient happiness in details.
      "Well, here's  how  it  is,  little  girl.  Six  months  ago
 another rocket  came  to  Mars. There was a man named York in it,
 and his  assistant.  Whatever  happened  to  them, we don't know.
 Maybe they  crashed.  They  came  in  a  rocket.  So  did we. You
 should  see   it!   A   _big_   rocket!  So  we're  the  _Second_
 Expedition, following  up  the  First!  And  we  came all the way
 from Earth. . . ."
      The little  girl  disengaged one hand without thinking about
 it, and  clapped  an  expressionless  golden  mask over her face,
 Then she  pulled  forth  a  golden  spider  toy and dropped it to
 the ground  while  the  captain talked on. The toy spider climbed
 back up  to  her  knee  obediently,  while she speculated upon it
 coolly  through  the  slits  of  her  emotionless  mask  and  the
 captain shook her gently and urged his story upon her.
      "We're Earth Men," he said. "Do you believe me?"
      "Yes." The  little  girl  peeped at the way she was wiggling
 her toes in the dust.
      "Fine."  The   captain   pinched   her  arm,  a  little  bit
 with joviality,  a  little  bit  with meanness to get her to look
 at him. "We built our own rocket ship. Do you believe _that?_"
      The little girl dug in her nose with a finger. "Yes."
      "And--take your  finger  out  of your nose, little girl--_I_
 am the captain, and--"
      "Never before  in  history  has anybody come across space in
 a big rocket ship," recited the little creature, eyes shut.
      "Wonderful! How did you know?"
      "Oh, telepathy." She wiped a casual finger on her knee.
      "Well,  aren't  you  just  _ever_  so  excited?"  cried  the
 captain. "Aren't you glad?"
      "You just  better  go  see  Mr. Iii right away." She dropped
 her toy  to  the  ground. "Mr. Iii will like talking to you." She
 ran off, with the toy spider scuttling obediently after her.
      The captain  squatted  there looking after her with his hand
 out. His  eyes  were  watery  in his head. He looked at his empty
 hands. His  mouth  hung  open:  The  other  three  men stood with
 their shadows under them. They spat on the stone street. . . .

      Mr. Iii  answered  his door. He was on his way to a lecture,
 but he  had  a  minute,  if  they would hurry inside and tell him
 what they desired. . . .
      "A  little   attention,"  said  the  captain,  red-eyed  and
 tired. "We're  from  Earth,  we  have a rocket, there are four of
 us, crew  and  captain,  we're exhausted, we're hungry, we'd like
 a place  to  sleep.  We'd  like someone to give us the key to the
 city or  something  like  that,  and  we'd like somebody to shake
 our hands  and  say  'Hooray' and say 'Congratulations, old man!'
 That about sums it up."
      Mr. Iii  was  a  tall,  vaporous,  thin man with thick blind
 blue crystals  over  his  yellowish  eyes.  He bent over his desk
 and brooded  upon  some  papers,  glancing  now  and  again  with
 extreme penetration at his guests.
      "Well, I  haven't  the forms with me here, I don't _think_."
 He rummaged  through  the  desk  drawers. "Now, where _did_ I put
 the forms?"  He  mused. "Somewhere. Somewhere. Oh, _here_ we are!
 Now!" He  handed  the  papers  over crisply. "You'll have to sign
 these papers, of course."
      "Do we have to go through all this rigmarole?"
      Mr. Iii  gave  him  a  thick  glassy  look.  "You say you're
 from Earth,  don't  you?  Well,  then  there's nothing for it but
 you sign."
      The captain  wrote  his  name.  "Do you want my crew to sign
 also?"
      Mr. Iii  looked  at the captain, looked at the three others,
 and burst  into  a  shout  of  derision.  "_Them_  sign!  Ho! How
 marvelous! Them,  oh,  _them_  sign!" Tears sprang from his eyes.
 He slapped  his  knee  and  bent  to let his laughter jerk out of
 his gaping  mouth.  He  held  himself  up  with the desk. "_Them_
 sign!"
      The four men scowled. "What's funny?"
      "Them sign!"  sighed  Mr.  Iii, weak with hilarity. "So very
 funny. I'll  have  to  tell  Mr.  Xxx  about  this!"  He examined
 the filled-out  form,  still  laughing.  "Everything  seems to be
 in order."  He  nodded.  "Even  the  agreement  for euthanasia if
 final decision on such a step is necessary." He chuckled.
      "Agreement for _what?_"
      "Don't talk.  I  have  something  for  you.  Here. Take this
 key."
      The captain flushed. "It's a great honor."
      "Not the  key  to  the  city,  you  fool!"  snapped Mr. Iii.
 "Just a  key  to  the  House.  Go  down that corridor, unlock the
 big door,  and  go  inside and shut the door tight. You can spend
 the night there. In the morning I'll send Mr. Xxx to see you."
      Dubiously the  captain  took  the  key  in  hand.  He  stood
 looking at  the  floor.  His  men  did  not  move. They seemed to
 be emptied  of  all  their  blood  and  their  rocket fever. They
 were drained dry.
      "What is  it?  What's  wrong?"  inquired  Mr. Iii. "What are
 you waiting  for?  What  do you want?" He came and peered up into
 the captain's face, stooping. "Out with it, you!"
      "I don't  suppose  you  could even--" suggested the captain.
 "I mean,  that  is,  try  to, or think about . . ." He hesitated.
 "We've worked  hard,  we've  come a long way, and maybe you could
 just shake  our  hands  and  say 'Well done!' do you--think?" His
 voice faded.
      Mr. Iii  stuck  out  his  hand  stiffly.  "Congratulations!"
 He smiled  a  cold  smile.  "Congratulations." He turned away. "I
 must go now. Use that key."
      Without noticing  them  again,  as  if  they had melted down
 through the  floor,  Mr.  Iii  moved  about  the  room  packing a
 little manuscript  case  with  papers. He was in the room another
 five minutes  but  never  again addressed the solemn quartet that
 stood with  heads  down,  their  heavy  legs  sagging,  the light
 dwindling from  their  eyes.  When  Mr.  Iii went out the door he
 was busy looking at his fingernails. . . .

      They straggled  along  the  corridor  in  the  dull,  silent
 afternoon light.  They  came  to  a  large burnished silver door,
 and the  silver  key  opened  it.  They  entered,  shut the door,
 and turned.
      They were  in  a  vast  sunlit  hall.  Men  and woman sat at
 tables and  stood  in conversing groups. At the sound of the door
 they regarded the four uniformed men.
      One Martian  stepped  forward,  bowing.  "I  am Mr. Uuu," he
 said.
      "And I  am  Captain  Jonathan  Williams,  of  New York City,
 on Earth," said the captain without emphasis.
      Immediately the hall exploded!
      The rafters  trembled  with  shouts  and  cries. The people,
 rushing  forward,  waved  and  shrieked  happily,  knocking  down
 tables,  swarming,   rollicking,  seizing  the  four  Earth  Men,
 lifting them  swiftly  to their shoulders. They charged about the
 hall six  times,  six  times  making a full and wonderful circuit
 of the room, jumping, bounding, singing.
      The Earth  Men  were  so stunned that they rode the toppling
 shoulders for  a  full  minute  before  they  began  to laugh and
 shout at each other:
      "Hey! This is more _like_ it!"
      "This is the life! Boy! Yay! Yow! Whoopee!"
      They winked  tremendously  at  each  other.  They  flung  up
 their hands to clap the air. "Hey!"
      "Hooray!" said the crowd.
      They set the Earth Men on a table. The shouting died.
      The captain  almost  broke  into  tears.  "Thank  you.  It's
 good, it's good."
      "Tell us about yourselves," suggested Mr. Uuu.
      The captain cleared his throat.
      The  audience   ohed   and   ahed  as  the  captain  talked.
 He introduced  his  crew;  each  made  a  small  speech  and  was
 embarrassed by the thunderous applause.
      Mr.  Uuu  dapped  the  captain's  shoulder,  "It's  good  to
 see another man from Earth. I am from Earth also."
      "How was that again?"
      "There are many of us here from Earth."
      "You?  From   Earth?"  The  captain  stared.  "But  is  that
 possible? Did  you  come  by  rocket? Has space travel been going
 on  for  centuries?"  His  voice  was  disappointed.  "What--what
 country are you from?"
      "Tuiereol. I came by the spirit of my body, years ago."
      "Tuiereol." The  captain  mouthed  the  word.  "I don't know
 that country. What's this about spirit of body?"
      "And Miss  Rrr  over  here,  she's from Earth, too, _aren't_
 you, Miss Rrr?"
      Miss Rrr nodded and laughed strangely.
      "And so is Mr. Www and Mr. Qqq and Mr. Vvv!"
      "I'm from Jupiter," declared one man, preening himself.
      "I'm from Saturn," said another, eyes glinting slyly.
      "Jupiter, Saturn," murmured the captain, blinking.
      It was  very  quiet  now; the people stood around and sat at
 the tables  which  were strangely empty for banquet tables. Their
 yellow eyes  were  glowing,  and  there  were  dark shadows under
 their cheekbones.  The  captain  noticed  for the first time that
 there were  no  windows;  the light seemed to permeate the walls.
 There  was   only   one   door.  The  captain  winced.  "This  is
 confusing.  Where   on   Earth  is  this  Tuiereol?  Is  it  near
 America?"
      "What is America?"
      "You never  heard  of America! You say you're from Earth and
 yet you don't know!"
      Mr. Uuu  drew  himself up angrily. "Earth is a place of seas
 and nothing  but  seas.  There  is  no land. I am from Earth, and
 know."
      "Wait a  minute."  The  captain  sat  back.  "You  look like
 a regular Martian. Yellow eyes. Brown skin."
      "Earth is  a  place of all _jungle_," said Miss Rrr proudly.
 "I'm from Orri, on Earth, a civilization built of silver!"
      Now the  captain  turned  his  head from and then to Mr. Uuu
 and then  to  Mr. Www and Mr. Zzz and Mr. Nnn and Mr. Hhh and Mr.
 Bbb. He  saw  their  yellow  eyes waxing and waning in the light,
 focusing and  unfocusing.  He  began to shiver. Finally he turned
 to his men and regarded them somberly.
      "Do you realize what this is?"
      "What, sir?"
      "This is  no  celebration,"  replied  the  captain  tiredly.
 "This is  no  banquet.  These  aren't government representatives.
 This is no surprise party. Look at their eyes. Listen to them!"
      Nobody breathed.  There  was  only a soft white move of eyes
 in the close room.
      "Now I  understand"--the  captain's  voice  was  far  away--
 "why everyone  gave  us  notes  and  passed  us  on, one from the
 other, until  we  met  Mr.  Iii, who sent us down a corridor with
 a key to open a door and shut a door. And here we are . . ."
      "Where are we, sir?"
      The captain exhaled. "In an insane asylum."

      It  was   night.   The   large  hall  lay  quiet  and  dimly
 illuminated by  hidden  light  sources  in the transparent walls.
 The four  Earth  Men sat around a wooden table, their bleak heads
 bent over  their  whispers.  On  the  floors,  men  and women lay
 huddled. There  were  little  stirs in the dark corners, solitary
 men or  women  gesturing  their  hands.  Every  half-hour  one of
 the captain's  men  would  try  the silver door and return to the
 table. "Nothing doing, sir. We're locked in proper."
      "They think we're really insane, sir?"
      "Quite. That's  why  there  was no hullabaloo to welcome us.
 They merely  tolerated  what,  to  them,  must  be  a  constantly
 recurring  psychotic   condition."   He   gestured  at  the  dark
 sleeping shapes  all  about  them.  "Paranoids, every single one!
 What a  welcome  they gave us! For a moment there"--a little fire
 rose and  died  in  his  eyes--"I  thought  we  were  getting our
 true  reception.  All  the  yelling  and  singing  and  speeches.
 Pretty nice, wasn't it--while it lasted?"
      "How long will they keep us here, sir?"
      "Until we prove we're not psychotics."
      "That should be easy."
      "I _hope_ so."
      "You don't sound very certain, sir."
      "I'm not. Look in that corner."
      A man  squatted  alone  in darkness. Out of his mouth issued
 a blue  flame  which turned into the round shape of a small naked
 woman. It  flourished  on  the  air  softly  in  vapors of cobalt
 light, whispering and sighing.
      The  captain   nodded  at  another  corner.  A  woman  stood
 there, changing.  First  she  was  embedded  in a crystal pillar,
 then she  melted  into  a  golden  statue,  finally  a  staff  of
 polished cedar, and back to a woman.
      All through  the  midnight  hall  people  were juggling thin
 violet flames,  shifting,  changing,  for  nighttime was the time
 of change and affliction.
      "Magicians, sorcerers," whispered one of the Earth Men.
      "No, hallucination.  They  pass  their insanity over into us
 so   that   we   see   their   hallucinations   too.   Telepathy.
 Autosuggestion and telepathy."
      "Is that what worries you, sir?"
      "Yes. If  hallucinations  can  appear  this  'real'  to  us,
 to  anyone,   if   hallucinations   are   catching   and   almost
 believable, it's  no  wonder  they  mistook us for psychotics. If
 that man  can  produce  little  blue  fire  women  and that woman
 there melt  into  a  pillar, how natural if normal Martians think
 _we_ produce our rocket ship with _our_ minds."
      "Oh," said his men in the shadows.
      Around  them,   in   the  vast  hall,  flames  leaped  blue,
 flared, evaporated.  Little  demons  of  red sand ran between the
 teeth of  sleeping  men.  Women  became  oily snakes. There was a
 smell of reptiles and animals.
      In the  morning  everyone stood around looking fresh, happy,
 and normal.  There  were  no  flames  or  demons in the room. The
 captain and  his  men  waited by the silver door, hoping it would
 open.
      Mr.  Xxx   arrived  after  about  four  hours.  They  had  a
 suspicion that  he  had  waited  outside  the door, peering in at
 them for  at  least  three  hours before he stepped in, beckoned,
 and led them to his small office.
      He was  a  jovial,  smiling  man,  if  one could believe the
 mask he  wore,  for upon it was painted not one smile, but three.
 Behind  it,  his  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  not  so  smiling
 psychologist. "What seems to be the trouble?"
      "You think we're insane, and we're not," said the captain.
      "Contrarily, I  do  not  think  _all_  of  you  are insane."
 The psychologist  pointed  a  little  wand  at  the captain. "No.
 Just _you_, sir. The others are secondary hallucinations."
      The captain  slapped  his  knee, "So _that's_ it! That's why
 Mr. Iii laughed when I suggested my men sign the papers too!"
      "Yes, Mr.  Iii  told  me."  The  psychologist laughed out of
 the  carved,   smiling   mouth.   "A  good  joke.  Where  was  I?
 Secondary hallucinations,  yes.  Women  come  to  me  with snakes
 crawling from their ears. When I cure them, the snakes vanish."
      "We'll be glad to be cured. Go right ahead."
      Mr. Xxx  seemed  surprised.  "Unusual.  Not many people want
 to be cured. The cure is drastic, you know."
      "Cure ahead! I'm confident you'll find we're all sane."
      "Let me  check  your  papers to be sure they're in order for
 a 'cure.'"  He  checked  a  file.  "Yes.  You know, such cases as
 yours  need  special  'curing.'  The  people  in  that  hall  are
 simpler forms.  But  once you've gone this far, I must point out,
 with    primary,     secondary,    auditory,    olfactory,    and
 labial  hallucinations,   as   well   as   tactile   and  optical
 fantasies,  it   is  pretty  bad  business.  We  have  to  resort
 to euthanasia."
      The captain  leaped  up with a roar. "Look here, we've stood
 quite  enough!   Test  us,  tap  our  knees,  check  our  hearts,
 exercise us, ask questions!"
      "You are free to speak."
      The captain raved for an hour. The psychologist listened.
      "Incredible," he  mused.  "Most  detailed dream fantasy I've
 ever heard."
      "God damn  it,  we'll  show  you  the rocket ship!" screamed
 the captain.
      "I'd like to see it. Can you manifest it in this room?"
      "Oh, certainly. It's in that file of yours, under R."
      Mr. Xxx  peered  seriously  into his file. He went "Tsk" and
 shut the  file  solemnly.  "Why  did  you  tell  me  to look? The
 rocket isn't there."
      "Of course  not,  you  idiot!  I  was joking. Does an insane
 man joke?"
      "You find  some  odd  senses  of  humor. Now, take me out to
 your rocket. I wish to see it."

      It was  noon.  The  day  was  very hot when they reached the
 rocket.
      "So." The  psychologist  walked  up  to  the ship and tapped
 it. It gonged softly. "May I go inside?" he asked slyly.
      "You may."
      Mr. Xxx stepped in and was gone for a long time.
      "Of  all   the  silly,  exasperating  things."  The  captain
 chewed a  cigar  as  he  waited.  "For two cents I'd go back home
 and tell  people  not  to  bother  with  Mars.  What a suspicious
 bunch of louts."
      "I gather  that  a  good  number  of  their  population  are
 insane, sir. That seems to be their main reason for doubting."
      "Nevertheless, this is all so damned irritating."
      The psychologist  emerged  from  the ship after half an hour
 of prowling, tapping, listening, smelling, tasting.
      "_Now_ do  you  believe!" shouted the captain, as if he were
 deaf.
      The psychologist  shut  his  eyes  and  scratched  his nose.
 "This is  the  most  incredible  example of sensual hallucination
 and hypnotic  suggestion  I've  ever  encountered. I went through
 your 'rocket,'  as  you  call  it."  He  tapped the hull. "I hear
 it.  Auditory   fantasy."   He   drew  a  breath.  "I  smell  it.
 Olfactory  hallucination,   induced  by  sensual  telepathy."  He
 kissed the ship. "I taste it. Labial fantasy!"
      He shook  the  captain's  hand. "May I congratulate you? You
 are a  psychotic  genius!  You have done a most complete job! The
 task of  projecting  your  psychotic  image  life  into  the mind
 of another  via  telepathy  and  keeping  the hallucinations from
 becoming sensually  weaker  is almost impossible. Those people in
 the House  usually  concentrate  on  visuals  or,  at  the  most,
 visuals and  auditory  fantasies  combined. You have balanced the
 whole conglomeration! Your insanity is beautifully complete!"
      "My insanity." The captain was pale.
      "Yes,  yes,   what   a   lovely   insanity.  Metal,  rubber,
 gravitizers,  foods,  clothing,  fuel,  weapons,  ladders,  nuts,
 bolts, spoons.  Ten  thousand  separate  items  I checked on your
 vessel. Never  have  I  seen  such  a complexity. There were even
 shadows  under   the   bunks   and   under   _everything!_   Such
 concentration of  will!  And  everything,  no  matter how or when
 tested, had  a  smell,  a  solidity,  a  taste,  a  sound! Let me
 embrace you!"
      He stood  back  at  last.  "I'll write this into my greatest
 monograph! I'll  speak  of  it at the Martian Academy next month!
 _Look_ at  you!  Why,  you've  even  changed  your eye color from
 yellow  to  blue,  your  skin  to  pink  from  brown.  And  those
 clothes,  and   your   hands   having  five  fingers  instead  of
 six! Biological  metamorphosis  through  psychological imbalance!
 And your three friends.--"
      He took  out  a  little  gun.  "Incurable,  of  course.  You
 poor, wonderful  man.  You  will  be  happier  dead. Have you any
 last words?"
      "Stop, for God's sake! Don't shoot!"
      "You sad  creature.  I  shall  put  you  out  of this misery
 which has  driven  you  to  imagine  this  rocket and these three
 men. It  will  be  most engrossing to watch your friends and your
 rocket vanish  once  I have killed you. I will write a neat paper
 on the  dissolvement  of  neurotic  images  from  what I perceive
 here today."
      "I'm  from   Earth!   My  name  is  Jonathan  Williams,  and
 these--"
      "Yes, I know," soothed Mr. Xxx, and fired his gun.
      The captain  fell  with  a  bullet  in  his heart. The other
 three men screamed.
      Mr. Xxx  stared  at  them.  "You  continue  to  exist?  This
 is superb!  Hallucinations  with  time  and spatial persistence!"
 He  pointed   the  gun  at  them.  "Well,  I'll  scare  you  into
 dissolving."
      "No!" cried the three men,
      "An auditory  appeal,  even with the patient dead," observed
 Mr. Xxx as he shot the three men down.
      They lay on the sand, intact, not moving.
      He kicked them. Then he rapped on the ship.
      "_It_ persists!  _They_  persist!"  He  fired  his gun again
 and again  at  the  bodies.  Then he stood back. The smiling mask
 dropped from his face.
      Slowly the  little  psychologist's  face  changed.  His  jaw
 sagged. The  gun  dropped  from  his  fingers. His eyes were dull
 and vacant  He  put  his  hands  up  and turned in a blind cirde.
 He fumbled at the bodies, saliva filling his mouth.
      "Hallucinations," he  mumbled  frantically.  "Taste.  Sight.
 Smell. Sound.  Feeling."  He  waved  his  hands. His eyes bulged.
 His mouth began to give off a faint froth.
      "Go  away!"   he  shouted  at  the  bodies.  "Go  away!"  he
 screamed  at   the   ship.   He  examined  his  trembling  hands.
 "Contaminated,"  he   whispered   wildly.   "Carried   over  into
 me.  Telepathy.   Hypnosis.   Now   _I'm_   insane,   Now   _I'm_
 contaminated.  Hallucinations   in   all  their  sensual  forms."
 He stopped  and  searched around with his numb hands for the gun.
 "Only one cure. Only one way to make them go away, vanish."
      A shot rang out, Mr. Xxx fell.
      The four bodies lay in the sun. Mr. Xxx lay where he fell.
      The rocket  reclined  on  the  little  sunny hill and didn't
 vanish.
      When the  town  people  found  the  rocket  at  sunset  they
 wondered what  it  was.  Nobody knew, so it was sold to a junkman
 and hauled off to be broken up for scrap metal.
      That night  it  rained  all night. The next day was fair and
 warm.

                     March 2000:  THE TAXPAYER

      He wanted  to  go  to  Mars  on  the rocket. He went down to
 the rocket  field  in the early morning and yelled in through the
 wire fence  at  the  men in uniform that he wanted to go to Mars,
 He told  them  he  was a taxpayer, his name was Pritchard, and he
 had a  right  to  go  to Mars. Wasn't he born right here in Ohio?
 Wasn't he  a  good  citizen?  Then  why couldn't _he_ go to Mars?
 He shook  his  fists  at them and told them that he wanted to get
 away from  Earth;  anybody  with  any  sense  wanted  to get away
 from Earth.  There  was  going  to  be  a big atomic war on Earth
 in about  two  years,  and  he  didn't  want  to  be here when it
 happened. He  and  thousands  of  others  like  him,  if they had
 any sense,  would  go  to Mars. See if they wouldn't! To get away
 from  wars  and  censorship  and  statism  and  conscription  and
 government control  of  this  and  that,  of art and science! You
 could have  Earth!  He  was  offering  his  good  right hand, his
 heart, his  head,  for  the  opportunity  to go to Mars! What did
 you have  to  do,  what  did  you have to sign, whom did you have
 to know, to get on the rocket?
      They laughed  out  through the wire screen at him. He didn't
 want to  go  to  Mars,  they  said. Didn't he know that the First
 and  Second   Expeditions  had  failed,  had  vanished;  the  men
 were probably dead?
      But they  couldn't  prove  it,  they  didn't  know for sure,
 he said,  clinging  to  the  wire  fence.  Maybe it was a land of
 milk and  honey  up  there, and Captain York and Captain Williams
 had just  never  bothered  to  come  back. Now were they going to
 open the  gate  and  let  him in to board the Third Expeditionary
 Rocket, or was he going to have to kick it down?
      They told him to shut up.
      He saw the men walking out to the rocket.
      Wait  for  me!  he  cried.  Don't  leave  me  here  on  this
 terrible world,  I've  got  to  get  away; there's going to be an
 atom war! Don't leave me on Earth!
      They   dragged   him,   struggling,   away.   They   slammed
 the policewagon  door  and  drove him off into the early morning,
 his face  pressed  to  the  rear  window,  and  just  before they
 sirened over  a  hill,  he  saw  the  red  fire and heard the big
 sound and  felt  the huge tremor as the silver rocket shot up and
 left him  behind  on  an  ordinary Monday morning on the ordinary
 planet Earth.

                 April 2000:  THE THIRD EXPEDITION

      The ship  came  down  from space. It came from the stars and
 the black  velocities,  and the shining movements, and the silent
 gulfs of  space.  It  was a new ship; it had fire in its body and
 men in  its  metal  cells,  and  it  moved  with a clean silence,
 fiery and  warm.  In  it  were seventeen men, induding a captain.
 The crowd  at  the  Ohio  field had shouted and waved their hands
 up into  the  sunlight,  and  the  rocket  had  bloomed out great
 flowers of  heat  and  color  and  run  away  into  space  on the
 _third_ voyage to Mars!
      Now  it  was  decelerating  with  metal  efficiency  in  the
 upper Martian  atmospheres.  It  was  still  a  thing  of  beauty
 and strength.  It  had moved in the midnight waters of space like
 a pale  sea  leviathan; it had passed the ancient moon and thrown
 itself onward  into  one  nothingness  following another. The men
 within it  had  been  battered, thrown about, sickened, made well
 again,  each  in  his  turn.  One  man  had  died,  but  now  the
 remaining sixteen,  with  their  eyes  clear  in  their heads and
 their faces  pressed  to  the  thick  glass  ports,  watched Mars
 swing up under them.
      "Mars!" cried Navigator Lustig.
      "Good old Mars!" said Samuel Hinkston, archaeologist.
      "Well," said Captain John Black.
      The rocket  landed  on  a lawn of green grass. Outside, upon
 this lawn,  stood  an  iron  deer.  Further up on the green stood
 a  tall  brown  Victorian  house,  quiet  in  the  sunlight,  all
 covered with  scrolls  and  rococo,  its windows made of blue and
 pink and  yellow  and  green  colored  glass. Upon the porch were
 hairy geraniums  and  an  old  swing  which  was  hooked into the
 porch ceiling  and  which  now  swung  back  and  forth, back and
 forth, in  a  little  breeze.  At  the  summit of the house was a
 cupola with  diamond  leaded-glass  windows and a dunce-cap roof!
 Through  the  front  window  you  could  see  a  piece  of  music
 titled "Beautiful Ohio" sitting on the music rest.
      Around the  rocket  in  four  directions  spread  the little
 town, green  and  motionless  in  the  Martian spring. There were
 white houses  and  red  brick ones, and tall elm trees blowing in
 the wind,  and  tall  maples  and  horse  chestnuts.  And  church
 steeples with golden bells silent in them.
      The rocket  men  looked  out  and saw this. Then they looked
 at one  another  and  then  they  looked  out again. They held to
 each other's  elbows,  suddenly  unable  to  breathe,  it seemed,
 Their faces grew pale.
      "I'll be  damned,"  whispered  Lustig, rubbing his face with
 his numb fingers. "I'll be damned."
      "It just can't be," said Samuel Hinkston.
      "Lord," said Captain John Black.
      There was  a  call  from  the  chemist. "Sir, the atmosphere
 is thin for breathing. But there's enough oxygen. It's safe."
      "Then we'll go out," said Lustig.
      "Hold on,"  said  Captain  John  Black. "How do we know what
 this is?"
      "It's a  small  town  with  thin  but  breathable air in it,
 sir."
      "And it's  a  small  town  the  like  of  Earth towns," said
 Hinkston, the  archaeologist  "Incredible.  It  can't  be, but it
 _is_."
      Captain John  Black  looked  at him idly. "Do you think that
 the civilizations  of  two  planets can progress at the same rate
 and evolve in the same way, Hinkston?"
      "I wouldn't have thought so, sir."
      Captain  Black   stood   by   the  port.  "Look  out  there.
 The geraniums.  A  specialized  plant.  That specific variety has
 only  been   known  on  Earth  for  fifty  years.  Think  of  the
 thousands of  years  it  takes  to evolve plants. Then tell me if
 it is  logical  that  the Martians should have: one, leaded-glass
 windows; two,  cupolas;  three, porch swings; four, an instrument
 that looks  like  a  piano  and probably is a piano; and five, if
 you look  closely  through  this  telescopic  lens  here,  is  it
 logical that  a  Martian  composer  would  have published a piece
 of music  titled,  strangely  enough,  'Beautiful  Ohio'?  All of
 which means that we have an Ohio River on Mars!"
      "Captain Williams, of course!" cried Hinkston,
      "What?"
      "Captain Williams  and  his  crew of three men! Or Nathaniel
 York and his partner. That would explain it!"
      "That would  explain  absolutely  nothing.  As  far as we've
 been able  to  figure,  the  York  expedition  exploded  the  day
 it reached  Mars,  killing  York and his partner. As for Williams
 and his  three  men,  their  ship  exploded  the second day after
 their arrival.  At  least the pulsations from their radios ceased
 at that  time,  so  we  figure  that  if the men were alive after
 that they'd  have  contacted  us. And anyway, the York expedition
 was only  a  year  ago, while Captain Williams and his men landed
 here some  time  during  last  August.  Theorizing  that they are
 still alive,  could  they,  even  with  the  help  of a brilliant
 Martian race,  have  built  such  a town as this and _aged_ it in
 so short  a  time?  Look  at  that town out there; why, it's been
 standing here  for  the  last  seventy years. Look at the wood on
 the porch  newel;  look at the trees, a century old, all of them!
 No, this  isn't  York's  work  or Williams'. It's something else.
 I don't  like  it. And I'm not leaving the ship until I know what
 it is."
      "For that  matter,"  said Lustig, nodding, "Williams and his
 men, as  well  as  York,  landed  on the _opposite_ side of Mars.
 We were very careful to land on _this_ side."
      "An excellent  point.  Just  in  case  a hostile local tribe
 of Martians  killed  off  York and Williams, we have instructions
 to land  in  a  further region, to forestall a recurrence of such
 a disaster.  So  here  we  are,  as  far  as  we  know, in a land
 that Williams and York never saw."
      "Damn it,"  said  Hinkston,  "I  want  to  get out into this
 town, sir,  with  your  permission.  It  may be there are similar
 thought patterns,  civilization  graphs  on  every  planet in our
 sun  system.   We  may  be  on  the  threshold  of  the  greatest
 psychological and metaphysical discovery of our age!"
      "I'm willing to wait a moment," said Captain John Black.
      "It may  be,  sir,  that  we're  looking  upon  a phenomenon
 that, for  the  first  time, would absolutely prove the existence
 of God, sir."
      "There are  many  people  who are of good faith without such
 proof, Mr. Hinkston."
      "I'm one  myself,  sir. But certainly a town like this could
 not occur  without  divine  intervention.  The _detail_. It fills
 me with  such  feelings  that  I  don't  know whether to laugh or
 cry."
      "Do neither, then, until we know what we're up against."
      "Up against?"  Lustig  broke  in. "Against nothing, Captain.
 It's a  good,  quiet green town, a lot like the old-fashioned one
 I was born in. I like the looks of it."
      "When were you born, Lustig?"
      "Nineteen-fifty, sir."
      "And you, Hinkston?"
      "Nineteen fifty-five,  sir.  Grinnell,  Iowa. And this looks
 like home to me."
      "Hinkston, Lustig,  I  could  be either of your fathers. I'm
 just eighty  years  old.  Born  in  1920 in Illinois, and through
 the grace  of  God  and  a science that, in the last fifty years,
 knows how  to  make  _some_  old  men  young  again, here I am on
 Mars, not  any  more  tired  than the rest of you, but infinitely
 more suspicious.  This  town  out  here  looks  very peaceful and
 cool, and  so  much like Green Bluff, Illinois, that it frightens
 me.  It's  too  _much_  like  Green  Bluff."  He  turned  to  the
 radioman. "Radio  Earth.  Tell  them  we've  landed.  That's all.
 Tell them we'll radio a full report tomorrow."
      "Yes, sir."
      Captain Black  looked  out  the  rocket  port  with his face
 that should  have  been  the face of a man eighty but seemed like
 the face  of  a  man  in  his fortieth year. "Tell you what we'll
 do, Lustig;  you  and  I  and Hinkston'll look the town over. The
 other men'll  stay  aboard.  If anything happens they can get the
 hell out.  A  loss  of  three  men's  better  than  a whole ship.
 If something  bad  happens,  our  crew  can warn the next rocket.
 That's Captain  Wilder's  rocket,  I  think,  due  to be ready to
 take off  next  Christmas.  if  there's  something  hostile about
 Mars we certainly want the next rocket to be well armed."
      "So are we. We've got a regular arsenal with us."
      "Tell  the   men  to  stand  by  the  guns  then.  Come  on,
 Lustig, Hinkston."
      The three  men  walked  together  down through the levels of
 the ship.

      It was  a  beautiful spring day. A robin sat on a blossoming
 apple tree  and  sang  continuously. Showers of petal snow sifted
 down when  the  wind  touched the green branches, and the blossom
 scent drifted  upon  the  air.  Somewhere  in  the  town  someone
 was playing  the  piano  and  the  music  came and went, came and
 went,  softly,   drowsily.  The  song  was  "Beautiful  Dreamer."
 Somewhere else  a  phonograph,  scratchy  and  faded, was hissing
 out a  record  of  "Roamin'  in  the  Gloamin',"  sung  by  Harry
 Lauder.
      The three  men  stood  outside  the  ship.  They  sucked and
 gasped at  the  thin,  thin  air  and  moved  slowly so as not to
 tire themselves.
      Now the phonograph record being played was:

      "_Oh, give me a June night
      The moonlight and you_ . . ."

      Lustig began to tremble. Samuel Hinkston did likewise.
      The sky  was  serene  and  quiet,  and somewhere a stream of
 water ran  through  the  cool  caverns  and  tree  shadings  of a
 ravine. Somewhere  a  horse  and  wagon  trotted  and  rolled by,
 bumping.
      "Sir," said  Samuel  Hinkston,  "it must be, it _has_ to be,
 that rocket  travel  to  Mars began in the years before the first
 World War!"
      "No."
      "How else  can  you  explain  these  houses,  the iron deer,
 the  pianos,  the  music?"  Hinkston  took  the  captain's  elbow
 persuasively and  looked  into  the  captain's  face.  "Say  that
 there were  people  in  the  year  1905  who  hated  war  and got
 together with  some  scientists  in secret and built a rocket and
 came out here to Mars--"
      "No, no, Hinkston."
      "Why not?  The  world  was  a  different world in 1905; they
 could have kept it a secret much more easily."
      "But a  complex  thing  like a rocket, no, you couldn't keep
 it secret."
      "And they  came  up  here  to live, and naturally the houses
 they built  were  similar  to  Earth  houses because they brought
 the culture with them."
      "And  they've   lived   here  all  these  years?"  said  the
 captain.
      "In peace  and  quiet,  yes.  Maybe  they  made a few trips,
 enough to  bring  enough  people  here  for  one  small town, and
 then stopped  for  fear of being discovered. That's why this town
 seems so  old-fashioned.  I don't see a thing, myself, older than
 the year  1927,  do  you?  Or  maybe, sir, rocket travel is older
 than we  think.  Perhaps  it  started  in  some part of the world
 centuries ago  and  was  kept  secret  by the small number of men
 who came  to  Mars  with  only  occasional  visits  to Earth over
 the centuries."
      "You make it sound almost reasonable."
      "It has  to  be. We've the proof here before us; all we have
 to do is find some people and verify it."
      Their boots  were  deadened  of all sound in the thick green
 grass. It  smelled  from  a  fresh  mowing.  In spite of himself,
 Captain John  Black  felt  a  great  peace  come over him. It had
 been thirty  years  since  he  had  been in a small town, and the
 buzzing of  spring  bees  on  the air lulled and quieted him, and
 the fresh look of things was a balm to the soul.
      They set  foot  upon  the  porch. Hollow echoes sounded from
 under the  boards  as they walked to the screen door. Inside they
 could see  a  bead  curtain  hung  across  the  hall entry, and a
 crystal chandelier  and  a  Maxfield  Parrish  painting framed on
 one wall  over  a  comfortable  Morris  chair.  The house smelled
 old, and  of  the  attic,  and  infinitely comfortable. You could
 hear the  tinkle  of  ice  in  a  lemonade  pitcher. In a distant
 kitchen, because  of  the  heat of the day, someone was preparing
 a cold  lunch.  Someone  was  humming  under her breath, high and
 sweet.
      Captain John Black rang the bell.

      Footsteps,  dainty  and  thin,  came  along  the  hall,  and
 a kind-faced  lady  of  some  forty  years,  dressed in a sort of
 dress you might expect in the year 1909, peered out at them.
      "Can I help you?" she asked.
      "Beg your  pardon,"  said  Captain  Black  uncertainly. "But
 we're looking  for--that  is,  could  you  help us--" He stopped.
 She looked out at him with dark, wondering eyes.
      "If you're selling something--" she began.
      "No, wait!" he cried. "What town is this?"
      She looked  him  up  and  down. "What do you mean, what town
 is it? How could you be in a town and not know the name?"
      The captain  looked  as if he wanted to go sit under a shady
 apple tree.  "We're  strangers  here.  We  want  to know how this
 town got here and how you got here."
      "Are you census takers?"
      "No."
      "Everyone knows,"  she  said,  "this town was built in 1868.
 Is this a game?"
      "No, not a game!" cried the captain. "We're from Earth."
      "Out of the _ground_, do you mean?" she wondered.
      "No, we  came  from  the third planet, Earth, in a ship. And
 we've landed here on the fourth planet, Mars--"
      "This," explained  the  woman,  as  if  she  were addressing
 a  child,   "is  Green  Bluff,  Illinois,  on  the  continent  of
 America, surrounded  by  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific oceans, on a
 place called  the  world,  or,  sometimes,  the  Earth.  Go  away
 now. Goodby."
      She trotted  down  the  hall,  running  her  fingers through
 the beaded curtains.
      The three men looked at one another.
      "Let's knock the screen door in," said Lustig.
      "We can't do that. This is private property. Good God!"
      They went to sit down on the porch step.
      "Did  it   ever   strike  you,  Hinkston,  that  perhaps  we
 got ourselves  somehow,  in  some way, off track, and by accident
 came back and landed on Earth?"
      "How could we have done that?"
      "I don't know, I don't know. Oh God, let me think."
      Hinkston said,  "But  we  checked  every  mile  of  the way.
 Our chronometers  said  so  many miles. We went past the Moon and
 out into space, and here we are. I'm _positive_ we're on Mars."
      Lustig said,  "But  suppose, by accident, in space, in time,
 we got  lost  in  the  dimensions  and landed on an Earth that is
 thirty or forty years ago."
      "Oh, go away, Lustig!"
      Lustig went  to  the  door,  rang  the bell, and called into
 the cool dim rooms: "What year is this?"
      "Nineteen twenty-six,  of  course,"  said  the lady, sitting
 in a rocking chair, taking a sip of her lemonade.
      "Did you  hear  that?"  Lustig  turned wildly to the others.
 "Nineteen twenty-six!  We  _have_  gone  back  in time! This _is_
 Earth!"

      Lustig sat  down,  and  the  three  men  let  the wonder and
 terror  of   the   thought  afflict  them.  Their  hands  stirred
 fitfully on  their  knees.  The  captain  said, "I didn't ask for
 a thing  like  this.  It  scares  the  hell  out of me. How can a
 thing like this happen? I wish we'd brought Einstein with us."
      "Will anyone  in  this town believe us?" said Hinkston. "Are
 we playing  with  something  dangerous?  Time,  I mean. Shouldn't
 we just take off and go home?"
      "No. Not until we try another house."
      They walked  three  houses  down  to  a little white cottage
 under an  oak  tree.  "I like to be as logical as I can be," said
 the captain.  "And  I  don't  believe  we've put our finger on it
 yet.  Suppose,   Hinkston,  as  you  originally  suggested,  that
 rocket travel  occurred  years  ago?  And  when  the Earth people
 lived here  a  number  of  years  they  began to get homesick for
 Earth. First  a  mild  neurosis  about  it,  then  a full-fledged
 psychosis.  Then  threatened  insanity.  What  would  you  do  as
 a psychiatrist if faced with such a problem?"
      Hinkston  thought   "Well,   I   think   I'd  rearrange  the
 civilization on  Mars  so  it  resembled Earth more and more each
 day. If  there  was  any  way  of  reproducing every plant, every
 road, and  every  lake,  and  even  an  ocean, I'd do so. Then by
 some vast  crowd  hypnosis  I'd  convince everyone in a town this
 size that this really _was_ Earth, not Mars at all."
      "Good enough,  Hinkston.  I  think  we're on the right track
 now. That  woman  in  that  house  back there just _thinks_ she's
 living on  Earth.  It protects her sanity. She and all the others
 in  this  town  are  the  patients  of  the  greatest  experiment
 in migration  and  hypnosis  you  will  ever  lay eyes on in your
 life."
      "That's _it_, sir!" cried Lustig.
      "Right!" said Hinkston.
      "Well." The  captain  sighed.  "Now  we've  got somewhere. I
 feel better.  It's  all  a bit more logical. That talk about time
 and going  back  and  forth  and  traveling  through  time  turns
 my stomach  upside  down.  But  _this_ way--" The captain smiled.
 "Well, well, it looks as if we'll be fairly popular here."
      "Or will  we?"  said  Lustig. "After all, like the Pilgrims,
 these people  came  here  to  escape  Earth.  Maybe they won't be
 too happy  to  see  us. Maybe they'll try to drive us out or kill
 us."
      "We have superior weapons. This next house now. Up we go."
      But they  had  hardly  crossed  the lawn when Lustig stopped
 and  looked  off  across  the  town,  down  the  quiet,  dreaming
 afternoon street. "Sir," he said.
      "What is it, Lustig?"
      "Oh, sir,  _sir_,  what I _see_--" said Lustig, and he began
 to cry.  His  fingers came up, twisting and shaking, and his face
 was all  wonder  and  joy  and  incredulity.  He sounded as if at
 any moment  he  might  go  quite insane with happiness. He looked
 down the  street  and began to run, stumbling awkwardly, falling,
 picking himself up, and running on. "Look, look!"
      "Don't let him get away!" The captain broke into a run.
      Now Lustig  was  running  swiftly,  shouting. He turned into
 a yard  halfway  down  the  shady  street  and leaped up upon the
 porch of a large green house with an iron rooster on the roof.
      He was  beating  at  the  door,  hollering  and crying, when
 Hinkston and  the  captain  ran  up  behind  him.  They  were all
 gasping and  wheezing,  exhausted  from  their  run  in  the thin
 air. "Grandma! Grandpa!" cried Lustig.
      Two old people stood in the doorway.
      "David!"  their   voices  piped,  and  they  rushed  out  to
 embrace and  pat  him  on  the  back and move around him. "David,
 oh, David,  it's  been  so many years! How you've grown, boy; how
 big you are, boy. Oh, David boy, how are you?"
      "Grandma, Grandpa!"  sobbed  David  Lustig.  "You look fine,
 fine!" He  held  them,  turned  them,  kissed  them, hugged them,
 cried on  them,  held  them  out  again,  blinking  at the little
 old people.  The  sun  was  in  the sky, the wind blew, the grass
 was green, the screen door stood wide.
      "Come in,  boy,  come  in.  There's iced tea for you, fresh,
 lots of it!"
      "I've got  friends  here."  Lustig  turned  and waved at the
 captain and  Hinkston  frantically,  laughing.  "Captain, come on
 up."
      "Howdy," said  the  old  people.  "Come  in.  Any friends of
 David's are our friends too. Don't stand there!"

      In the  living  room  of  the  old  house  it  was cool, and
 a grandfather  clock  ticked  high  and  long  and bronzed in one
 corner. There  were  soft  pillows  on  large  couches  and walls
 filled with  books  and  a  rug  cut in a thick rose pattern, and
 iced tea in the hand, sweating, and cool on the thirsty tongue.
      "Here's  to   our  health."  Grandma  tipped  her  glass  to
 her porcelain teeth.
      "How long you been here, Grandma?" said Lustig.
      "Ever since we died," she said tartly.
      "Ever since  you  what?"  Captain  John  Black  set down his
 glass.
      "Oh yes." Lustig nodded. "They've been dead thirty years."
      "And you sit there calmly!" shouted the captain.
      "Tush." The  old  woman  winked  glitteringly.  "Who are you
 to question  what  happens? Here we are. What's life, anyway? Who
 does what  for  why  and where? All we know is here we are, alive
 again, and  no  questions  asked.  A  second chance." She toddled
 over and  held  out  her  thin  wrist.  "Feel." The captain felt.
 "Solid, ain't  it?"  she  asked.  He  nodded.  "Well,  then," she
 said triumphantly, "why go around questioning?"
      "Well,"  said  the  captain,  "it's  simply  that  we  never
 thought we'd find a thing like this on Mars."
      "And now  you've  found it. I dare say there's lots on every
 planet that'll show you God's infinite ways."
      "Is this Heaven?" asked Hinkston.
      "Nonsense, no.  It's  a  world  and  we get a second chance.
 Nobody told  us  why.  But  then  nobody  told  us why we were on
 Earth, either.  That  other Earth, I mean. The one you came from.
 How do we know there wasn't _another_ before _that_ one?"
      "A good question," said the captain.
      Lustig kept  smiling  at  his grandparents. "Gosh, it's good
 to see you. Gosh, it's good."
      The captain  stood  up  and  slapped  his hand on his leg in
 a casual  fashion.  "We've  got  to  be  going. Thank you for the
 drinks."
      "You'll be  back,  of  course,"  said  the  old people. "For
 supper tonight?"
      "We'll try  to  make it, thanks. There's so much to be done.
 My men are waiting for me back at the rocket and--"
      He stopped. He looked toward the door, startled.
      Far away  in  the  sunlight  there  was  a  sound of voices,
 a shouting and a great hello.
      "What's that?" asked Hinkston,
      "We'll soon  find  out."  And Captain John Black was out the
 front door  abruptly,  running  across  the  green  lawn into the
 street of the Martian town.
      He stood  looking  at  the  rocket.  The ports were open and
 his crew  was  streaming  out,  waving  their  hands.  A crowd of
 people had  gathered,  and  in and through and among these people
 the  members  of  the  crew  were  hurrying,  talking,  laughing,
 shaking hands.  People  did  little  dances.  People swarmed. The
 rocket lay empty and abandoned.
      A brass  band  exploded  in the sunlight, flinging off a gay
 tune from  upraised  tubas  and  trumpets.  There  was  a bang of
 drums and  a  shrill  of  fifes.  Little  girls  with golden hair
 jumped up  and  down.  Little  boys  shouted,  "Hooray!"  Fat men
 passed around  ten-cent  cigars.  The  town  mayor made a speech.
 Then each  member  of  the  crew,  with  a  mother  on one arm, a
 father or  sister  on the other, was spirited off down the street
 into little cottages or big mansions.
      "Stop!" cried Captain Black.
      The doors slammed shut.
      The heat  rose  in the clear spring sky, and all was silent.
 The brass  band  banged  off  around a corner, leaving the rocket
 to shine and dazzle alone in the sunlight
      "Abandoned!" said  the  captain.  "They  abandoned the ship,
 they did! I'll have their skins, by God! They had orders!"
      "Sir," said  Lustig,  "don't be too hard on them. Those were
 all old relatives and friends."
      "That's no exuse!"
      "Think  how   they  felt,  Captain,  seeing  familiar  faces
 outside the ship!"
      "They had their orders, damn it!"
      "But how would you have felt, Captain?"
      "I  would   have   obeyed   orders--"  The  captain's  mouth
 remained open.
      Striding along  the  sidewalk  under  the Martian sun, tall,
 smiling, eyes  amazingly  clear  and  blue,  came  a young man of
 some twenty-six  years.  "John!"  the  man  called out, and broke
 into a trot.
      "What?" Captain John Black swayed.
      "John, you old son of a bitch!"
      The man  ran  up  and  gripped  his  hand and slapped him on
 the back.
      "It's you," said Captain Black.
      "Of course, who'd you _think_ it was?"
      "Edward!" The  captain  appealed now to Lustig and Hinkston,
 holding the  stranger's  hand.  "This  is  my brother Edward. Ed,
 meet my men, Lustig, Hinkston! My brother!"
      They  tugged  at  each  other's  hands  and  arms  and  then
 finally embraced.
      "Ed!"
      "John, you bum, you!"
      "You're looking  fine,  Ed,  but,  Ed,  what  _is_ this? You
 haven't changed  over  the  years. You died, I remember, when you
 were twenty-six  and  I  was  nineteen.  Good  God, so many years
 ago, and here you are and, Lord, what goes on?"
      "Mom's waiting," said Edward Black, grinning.
      "Mom?"
      "And Dad too."
      "Dad?" The  captain  almost  fell  as  if he had been hit by
 a mighty  weapon.  He  walked  stiffly and without co.ordination.
 "Mom and Dad alive? Where?"
      "At the old house on Oak Knoll Avenue."
      "The old  house."  The  captain  stared  in delighted amaze.
 "Did you hear that, Lustig, Hinkston?"
      Hinkston was  gone.  He  had  seen  his  own  house down the
 street  and  was  running  for  it.  Lustig  was  laughing.  "You
 see, Captain,  what  happened  to  everyone  on  the rocket? They
 couldn't help themselves."
      "Yes. Yes."  The  captain  shut  his  eyes.  "When I open my
 eyes you'll  be  gone." He blinked. "You're still there. God, Ed,
 but you look _fine!_"
      "Come on, lunch's waiting. I told Mom."
      Lustig said,  "Sir,  I'll  be with my grandfolks if you need
 me."
      "What? Oh, fine, Lustig. Later, then."
      Edward  seized   his  arm  and  marched  him.  "There's  the
 house. Remember it?"
      "Hell! Bet I can beat you to the front porch!"
      They ran.  The  trees  roared over Captain Black's head; the
 earth roared  under  his feet. He saw the golden figure of Edward
 Black pull  ahead  of him in the amazing dream of reality. He saw
 the house  rush  forward, the screen door swing wide. "Beat you!"
 cried Edward.  "I'm  an old man," panted the captain, "and you're
 still young. But then, you _always_ beat me, I remember!"
      In  the  doorway,  Mom,  pink,  plump,  and  bright.  Behind
 her, pepper-gray, Dad, his pipe in his hand.
      "Mom, Dad!"
      He ran up the steps like a child to meet them.

      It was  a  fine  long  afternoon. They finished a late lunch
 and they  sat  in  the  parlor  and  he  told  them all about his
 rocket and  they  nodded  and smiled upon him and Mother was just
 the  same   and   Dad  bit  the  end  off  a  cigar  and  lighted
 it thoughtfully  in  his  old  fashion.  There  was  a big turkey
 dinner at  night  and  time  flowing on. When the drumsticks were
 sucked clean  and  lay  brittle  upon  the  plates,  the  captain
 leaned back  and  exhaled his deep satisfaction, Night was in all
 the trees  and  coloring  the  sky,  and  the lamps were halos of
 pink light  in  the  gentle house. From all the other houses down
 the street came sounds of music, pianos playing, doors slammng.
      Mom put  a  record on the victrola, and she and Captain John
 Black  had   a  dance.  She  was  wearing  the  same  perfume  he
 remembered from  the  summer  when she and Dad had been killed in
 the train  accident.  She  was  very  real  in  his  arms as they
 danced lightly  to  the  music.  "It's  not every day," she said,
 "you get a second chance to live."
      "I'll wake  in  the morning," said the captain. "And I'll be
 in my rocket, in space, and all this will be gone."
      "No, don't  think  that," she cried softly. "Don't question.
 God's good to us. Let's be happy."
      "Sorry, Mom."
      The record ended in a circular hissing.
      "You're tired,  Son."  Dad  pointed  with  his  pipe.  "Your
 old bedroom's waiting for you, brass bed and all."
      "But I should report my men in."
      "Why?"
      "Why? Well,  I  don't  know. No reason, I guess. No, none at
 all. They're  all  eating  or  in bed. A good night's sleep won't
 hurt them."
      "Good night,  Son."  Mom  kissed  his  cheek.  "It's good to
 have you home."
      "It's good to _be_ home."
      He left  the  land  of  cigar  smoke  and  perfume and books
 and gentle  light  and  ascended  the  stairs,  talking,  talking
 with Edward.  Edward  pushed  a  door  open,  and  there  was the
 yellow brass  bed  and the old semaphore banners from college and
 a  very   musty   raccoon   coat  which  he  stroked  with  muted
 affection. "It's  too  much,"  said  the  captain.  "I'm numb and
 I'm tired.  Too  much  has  happened today. I feel as if I'd been
 out  in   a  pounding  rain  for  forty-eight  hours  without  an
 umbrella or a coat. I'm soaked to the skin with emotion."
      Edward slapped  wide  the  snowy  linens  and  flounced  the
 pillows. He  slid  the  window  up  and  let  the  night-blooming
 jasmine float  in.  There  was moonlight and the sound of distant
 dancing and whispering.
      "So this is Mars," said the captain, undressing.
      "This is  it."  Edward  undressed  in idle, leisurely moves,
 drawing his  shirt  off over his head, revealing golden shoulders
 and the good muscular neck.
      The lights  were  out; they were in bed, side by side, as in
 the days  how  many  decades  ago?  The  captain  lolled  and was
 flourished by  the  scent  of  jasmine  pushing the lace curtains
 out upon  the  dark  air  of  the  room.  Among the trees, upon a
 lawn, someone  had  cranked  up  a portable phonograph and now it
 was playing softly, "Always."
      The thought of Marilyn came to his mind.
      "Is Marilyn here?"
      His brother,  lying  straight  out  in  the  moonlight  from
 the window,  waited  and  then  said,  "Yes.  She's  out of town.
 But she'll be here in the morning."
      The captain  shut  his  eyes.  "I  want  to see Marilyn very
 much."
      The room was square and quiet except for their breathing.
      "Good night, Ed."
      A pause. "Good night, John."
      He lay  peacefully,  letting  his  thoughts  float.  For the
 first time  the  stress  of  the  day  was  moved aside; he could
 think  logically   now,  It  had  all  been  emotion.  The  bands
 playing, the familiar faces. But now . . .
      How? he  wondered.  How  was  all  this  made?  And why? For
 what purpose?  Out  of  the goodness of some divine intervention?
 Was God,  then,  really  that thoughtful of his children? How and
 why and what for?
      He considered  the  various  theories  advanced in the first
 heat of  the  afternoon  by Hinkston and Lustig. He let all kinds
 of new  theories  drop  in  lazy  pebbles  down through his mind,
 turning, throwing  out  dull  flashes of light. Mom. Dad. Edward.
 Mars. Earth. Mars. Martians.
      Who had  lived  here a thousand years ago on Mars? Martians?
 Or had this always been the way it was today?
      Martians. He repeated the word idly, inwardly.
      He laughed  out  loud  almost.  He  had  the most ridiculous
 theory quite  suddenly.  It  gave  him  a  kind  of chill. It was
 really  nothing   to  consider,  of  course.  Highly  improbable.
 Silly. Forget it. Ridiculous.
      But, he  thought,  just  _suppose_  . . . Just suppose, now,
 that there  were  Martians  living  on Mars and they saw our ship
 coming and  saw  us  inside  our ship and hated us, Suppose, now,
 just for  the  hell  of  it,  that  they  wanted  to  destroy us,
 as invaders,  as  unwanted  ones,  and  they wanted to do it in a
 very clever  way,  so  that  we  would  be taken off guard. Well,
 what would  the  best  weapon be that a Martian could use against
 Earth Men with atomic weapons?
      The answer  was  interesting.  Telepathy,  hypnosis, memory,
 and imagination.
      Suppose all  of  these  houses  aren't real at all, this bed
 not  real,  but  only  figments  of  my  own  imagination,  given
 substance  by   telepathy  and  hypnosis  through  the  Martians,
 thought Captain  John  Black.  Suppose  these  houses  are really
 some _other_  shape,  a  Martian  shape,  but,  by  playing on my
 desires and  wants,  these  Martians  have made this seem like my
 old home  town,  my  old  house, to lull me out of my suspicions.
 What better  way  to  fool a man, using his own mother and father
 as bait?
      And this  town,  so  old,  from  the  year 1926, long before
 _any_ of  my  men were born. From a year when I was six years old
 and there  _were_  records  of Harry Lauder, and Maxfield Parrish
 paintings _still_  hanging,  and  bead  curtains,  and "Beautiful
 Ohio,"  and   turn-of-the-century   architecture.   What  if  the
 Martians took  the  memories  of  a  town _exclusively_ from _my_
 mind? They  say  childhood  memories  are the clearest. And after
 they built  the  town  from  my  mind,  they  populated  it  with
 the most-loved  people  from  all  the  minds  of  the  people on
 the rocket!
      And suppose  those  two people in the next room, asleep, are
 not my  mother  and  father  at all, But two Martians, incredibly
 brilliant, with  the  ability  to  keep  me  under  this dreaming
 hypnosis all of the time.
      And that  brass  band  today?  What  a startlingly wonderful
 plan it  would  be.  First,  fool  Lustig,  then  Hinkston,  then
 gather a  crowd;  and  all the men in the rocket, seeing mothers,
 aunts,  uncles,   sweethearts,   dead   ten,  twenty  wears  ago,
 naturally, disregarding  orders,  rush out and abandon ship. What
 more  natural?  What  more  unsuspecting?  What  more  simple?  A
 man doesn't  ask  too  many questions when his mother is soddenly
 brought back  to  life;  he's  much  too  happy.  And here we all
 are  tonight,  in  various  houses,  in  various  beds,  with  no
 weapons to  protect  us,  and  the  rocket lies in the moonlight,
 empty. And  wouldn't  it  be  horrible and terrifying to discover
 that all  of  this  was  part  of  some  great clever plan by the
 Martians to  divide  and conquer us, and kill us? Sometime during
 the night,  perhaps,  my  brother  here  on  this bed will change
 form, melt,  shift,  and  become another thing, a terrible thing,
 a Martian.  It  would be very simple for him just to turn over in
 bed and  put  a  knife  into  my  heart.  And  in all those other
 houses down  the  street,  a  dozen  other  bro