A horde of small, grey-furred beings and their machines, toiled for many days, on a level area just outside the city.
NED VINCE'S mind swam gradually out of the blur that had enveloped it. He was wandering aimlessly about in a familiar room. The girders of the roof above were of red-painted steel. His tool-benches were there, greasy and littered with metal filings, just as they had always been. He had a tractor to repair, and a seed-drill. Outside of the machine-shop, the old, familiar yellow sun was shining. Across the street was the small brown house, where he lived.
With a sudden startlement, he saw Betty Moore in the doorway. She wore h blue dress, and a mischievous smile curved her lips. As though she had succeeded in creeping up on him, for a surprise.
"Why, Ned," she chuckled. "You look as though you've been dreaming, and just woke up!"
He grimaced ruefully as she approached. With a kind of fierce gratitude, he took her in his arms. Yes, she was just like always.
"I guess I was dreaming, Betty," he whispered, feeling that mighty sense of relief. "I must have fallen asleep at the bench, here, and had a nightmare. I thought I had an accident at Pit Bend—and that a lot of worse things happened. . . . But it wasn't true. . . ."
Ned Vince's mind, over which there was still an elusive fog that he did not try to shake off, accepted apparent facts simply.
He did not know anything about the invisible radiations beating down upon him, soothing and dimming his brain, so that it would never question or doubt, or observe too closely the incongruous circumstances that must often appear. The lack of traffic in the street without, for instance—and the lack of people besides himself and Betty.
He didn't know that this machine-shop was built from his own memories of the original. He didn't know that this Betty was of the same origin—a miraculous fabrication of metal and energy-units and soft plastic. The trees outside were only lantern-slide illusions.
It was all built inside a great, opaque dome. But there were hidden television systems, too. Thus Loy Chuk's kind could study this ancient man—this Kaalleee. Thus, their motives were mostly selfish.
Loy, though, was not observing, now. He had wandered far out into the cold, sad sea-bottom, to ponder. He squeaked and chattered to himself, contemplating the magnificent, inexorable march of the ages. He remembered the ancient ruins, left by the final supermen.
"The Kaalleee believes himself home," Loy was thinking. "He will survive and be happy. But there was no other way. Time is an Eternal Wall. Our archeological researches among the cities of the supermen show the truth. Even they, who once ruled Earth, never escaped from the present by so much as an instant. . . ."
THE TREE THAT GIVES MILK
There is a tree in the tropics which contains a milk-like fluid and for this reason has been called the cow-tree. It closely resembles a rubber tree in appearances, but its white liquid is sweet and very delicious to drink. The only drawback is that one must drink the milk just as soon as it is poured from the tree because the sap coagulates upon exposure to air.
