Mr. Greypoole nodded his head slowly, somehow, sadder than before.
“I see. … You say there was a war on Earth?”
“They were going to set off X-Bomb; when they do, everything will go to pieces. Or everything has already.”
“What dreadful news! May I inquire, Captain, when you have learned where you are—what do you intend to do?”
“Why, live here, of course!”
“No, no—try to understand. You could not conceivably fit in here with us.”
Captain Webber glanced at the motionless people. “Why not?” Then he shouted, “What is this place? Where am I?”
Mr. Greypoole smiled.
“Captain, you are in a cemetery.”
“Good work, Peterson!”
“Thanks, sir. When we all got back and Friden didn’t know where you’d gone, well, we got worried. Then we heard you shouting.”
“Hold his arms—there. You heard this, Friden?”
Mr. Friden was trembling slightly. He brushed past a man with a van Dyke beard and sat down on a leather stool. “Yes sir, I did. That is, I think I did. What shall we do with him?”
“I don’t know, yet. Take him away, Lieutenant, for now. I want to think a bit. We’ll talk to Mr. Greypoole later on.”
Lieutenant Peterson pulled the smiling little man out into the street and pointed a gun at him.
Mr. Chitterwick blinked into the face of a small child.
“Man’s insane, I guess,” said Mr. Milton, pacing.
“Yes, but what about all this?” Mr. Goeblin looked horrified at the stationary people.
“I think I can tell you,” Mr. Friden said. “Take a look, Captain.”
The men crowded about a pamphlet which Mr. Friden had placed on the stool.
Toward the top of the pamphlet and in the center of the first page was a photograph, untinted and solemn; it depicted a white cherub delicately poised on a granite slab. Beneath the photograph, were the words: Happy Glades.
Captain Webber turned the pages and mumbled, glancing over his shoulder every once in a while.
“What is it, sir?” asked Mr. Chitterwick of a frozen man in a blue suit with copper buttons.
“It’s one of those old level cemeteries!” cried Mr. Milton. “I remember seeing pictures like it, sir.”
Captain Webber read aloud from the pamphlet.
“For fifty years,” he began, “an outstanding cultural and spiritual asset to this community, Happy Glades is proud to announce yet another innovation in its program of post-benefits. Now you can enjoy the afterlife in surroundings which suggest the here-and-now. Never before in history has scientific advancement allowed such a plan.”
Captain Webber turned the page.
“For those who prefer that their late departed have really permanent, eternal happiness, for those who are dismayed by the fragility of all things mortal, we of Happy Glades are proud to offer:
“The permanent duplication of physical conditions identical to those enjoyed by the departed on Earth. Park, playground, lodge, office building, hotel or house, etc., may be secured at varying prices. All workmanship and materials specially attuned to conditions on Asteroid K7 and guaranteed for permanence.
“Permanent conditioning of late beloved so that, in the midst of surroundings he favored, a genuine Eternity may be assured.
“Full details on Happy Glades’ newest property, Asteroid K7, may be found on page 4.”
The captain tossed the pamphlet to the floor and lit a cigarette. “Did anyone happen to notice the date?”
Mr. Milton said, “It doesn’t make any sense! There haven’t been cemeteries for ages. And even if this were true, why should anyone want to go all the way through space to a little asteroid? They might just as well have built these things on Earth.”
“Who would want all this when they’re dead, anyway?”
“You mean all these people are dead?”
For a few moments there was complete and utter silence in the lobby of the building.
“Are those things true, that we read in your booklet?” asked Captain Webber after Lieutenant Peterson had brought in the prisoner.
“Every word,” said the little man bowing slightly, “is monumentally correct.”
“Then we want you to begin explaining.”
Mr. Greypoole tushed and proceeded to straighten the coat of a middle-aged man with a cigar.
Mr. Goeblin shuddered.
“No, no,” laughed Mr. Greypoole, “these are only imitations. Mr. Conklin upstairs was head of a large firm; absolutely in love with his work, you know—that kind of thing. So we had to duplicate not only the office, but the building and even replicas of all the people in the building. Mr. Conklin himself is in an easy chair on the twentieth story.”
“And?”
“Well, gentlemen, as you know, Happy Glades is the outstanding mortuary on Earth. And, to put it briefly, with the constant explorations of planets and moons and whatnot, our Mr. Waldmeyer hit upon this scheme: Seeking to extend the ideal hereafter to our Guests, we bought out this little asteroid. With the vast volume and the tremendous turnover, as it were, we got our staff of scientists together and they offered this plan—to duplicate the exact surroundings which the Guest most enjoyed in Life, assure him privacy, permanence (a very big point, as you can see), and all the small things not possible on Earth.”
“Why here, why cart off a million miles or more when the same thing could have been done on Earth?”
“My communication system went bad, I fear, so I haven’t heard from the offices in some while—but, I am to understand there is a war beginning? That is the idea, Captain; one could never really be sure of one’s self down there, what with all the new bombs and things being discovered.”
“Hmm,” said Captain Webber.
“Then too, Mr. Waldmeyer worried about those new societies with their dreadful ideas about
