“No, sir.”
“And does it seem logical that there should be an asteroid where no asteroid should be?”
“It does not.”
They stared at the glass, by turns.
“Do you see that, Friden?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“A lake. A lake and a house by it and trees … tell me, how many of us are left?”
Mr. Friden held up his right hand and began unbending fingers.
“Yourself, sir, and myself; Lieutenant Peterson, Mr. Chitterwick, Mr. Goeblin, Mr. Milton and. …”
“Great scott, out of thirty men?”
“You know how it was, sir. That business with the Martians and then, our own difficulties—”
“Yes. Our own difficulties. Isn’t it ironic, somehow, Friden? We band together and fly away from war and, no sooner are we off the earth but we begin other wars. … I’ve often felt that if Appleton hadn’t been so aggressive with that gun we would never have been kicked off Mars. And why did we have to laugh at them? Oh, I’m afraid I haven’t been a very successful captain.”
“You’re in a mood, sir.”
“Am I? I suppose I am. Look! There’s a farm, an actual farm!”
“Not really!”
“Why, I haven’t seen one for twenty years.”
The door flew open and Lieutenant Peterson came in, panting. “Mr. Milton checked off every instruction, sir, and we’re going down now.”
“He’s sure there’s enough fuel left for the brake?”
“He thinks so, sir.”
“Lieutenant Peterson.”
“Yes sir?”
“Come look into this glass, will you.”
The young man looked.
“What do you see?”
“A lot of strange creatures, sir. Are they dangerous? Should we prepare our weapons?”
“How old are you, Lieutenant?”
“Nineteen, Captain Webber.”
“You have just seen a herd of cows, for the most part—” Captain Webber squinted and twirled knobs “—Holsteins.”
“Holsteins, sir?”
“You may go. Oh, you might tell the others to prepare for a crash landing. Straps and all that.”
The young man smiled faintly and left.
“I’m a little frightened, Friden; I think I’ll go to my cabin. Take charge and have them wait for my orders.”
Captain Webber saluted tiredly and walked back down the long corridor. He paused as the machines suddenly roared more life, rubbed his cheek and went into the small room.
“Cows,” said Captain Webber bracing himself.
The fiery leg fell into the cool air, heating it, causing it to smoke; it burnt into the green grass and licked a craterous hole. There were fireflags and firesparks, hisses and explosions and the weary groaning sound of a great beast suddenly roused from sleep.
The rocket landed. It grumbled and muttered for a while on its finny tripod, then was silent; soon the heat vanished also.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Yes. The rest?”
“All but Mr. Chitterwick. He broke his glasses and says he can’t see.”
Captain Webber swung himself erect and tested his limbs. “Well then, Lieutenant, has the atmosphere been checked?”
“The air is pure and fit to breathe, sir.”
“Instruct the others to drop the ladder.”
“Yes sir.”
A door in the side of the rocket opened laboriously and men began climbing out: “Look!” said Mr. Milton, pointing. “There are trees and grass and—over there, little bridges going over the water.”
He pointed to a row of small white houses with green gardens and stony paths.
Beyond the trees was a brick lodge, extended over a rivulet which foamed and bubbled. Fishing poles protruded from the lodge window.
“And there, to the right!”
A steel building thirty stories high with a pink cloud near the top. And, separated by a hedge, a brown tent with a barbeque pit before it, smoke rising in a rigid ribbon from the chimney.
Mr. Chitterwick blinked and squinted his eyes. “What do you see?”
Distant and near, houses of stone and brick and wood, painted all colors, small, large; and further, golden fields of wheat, each blown by a different breeze in a different direction.
“I don’t believe it,” said Captain Webber. “It’s a park—millions of miles away from where a park could possibly be.”
“Strange but familiar,” said Lieutenant Peterson, picking up a rock.
Captain Webber looked in all directions. “We were lost. Then we see a city where no city should be, on an asteroid not shown on any chart, and we manage to land. And now we’re in the middle of a place that belongs in history-records. We may be crazy; we may all be wandering around in space and dreaming.”
The little man with the thin hair who had just stepped briskly from a treeclump said, “Well, well,” and the men jumped.
The little man smiled. “Aren’t you a trifle late or early or something?”
Captain Webber turned and his mouth dropped open.
“I hadn’t been expecting you, gentlemen, to be perfectly honest,” the little man clucked, then: “Oh dear, see what you’ve done to Mr. Bellefont’s park. I do hope you haven’t hurt him—no, I see that he is all right.”
Captain Webber followed the direction of the man’s eyes and perceived an old man with red hair seated at the base of a tree, apparently reading a book.
“We are from Earth,” said Captain Webber.
“Yes, yes.”
“Let me explain: my name is Webber, these are my men.”
“Of course,” said the little man.
Mr. Chitterwick came closer, blinking. “Who is this that knows our language?” he asked.
“Who—Greypoole, Mr. Greypoole. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Then you are also from Earth?”
“Heavens yes! But now, let us go where we can chat more comfortably.” Mr. Greypoole struck out down a small path past scorched trees and underbrush. “You know, Captain, right after the last consignment something happened to my calendar. Now, I’m competent at my job, but I’m no technician, no indeed: besides, no doubt you or one of your men can set the doodad right, eh? Here we are.”
They walked onto a wooden porch and through a door with a wire screen; Lieutenant Peterson first, then Captain Webber, Mr. Friden and the rest of the crew. Mr. Greypoole followed.
“You must forgive me—it’s been a while. Take chairs, there, there. Now, what news of—home, shall I say?” The little man stared.
Captain Webber shifted uncomfortably. He glanced around the room at the lace curtains, the
