? What was Venus but a sanctuary, a
vacation spot, and what was Mars but mines? When a big cog like the
Chief could send a lonely man all the way to Dubbinville because of a
neighbor's summons, how could they expect little cogs to grow up to
galactic thinking?

Dubbinville and the heat of a Wisconsin summer--and June waiting in
the apartment on Connecticut (S.E.). Doak swore quietly and
thoroughly and stepped into the oven that was his Chev.

The cooling system started with the motor and the interior was
comfortable by the time he pulled into the stream of home-bound
traffic. It was a fourteen-lane highway and jammed to the curbs.

* * * * *

There were only two signals in eight miles but traffic moved in fits
and starts at this time of day. He could see the first light when he
was a hundred yards from it and was sure he could make it.

But it turned amber when he was still fifteen yards from the corner
and the force-field actuated his traffic-servant and he heard the
brake control click. Well, it avoided accidents but it sure as hell
was rough on brake linings. He skidded to a stop.

Cars, cars, cars for miles. And the glittering ashment and all the
boys and gals going home to plot the week-end. No magazines, no books,
no papers with their social columns, so the girls would be out and
looking around.

And the men would be out and looking around and what more did you
need?

The light changed and his brake was released and he moved out at the
head of his line, thinking about Dubbinville, trying to imagine it,
some hamlet tucked away in a Wisconsin hill, dreaming of yesterday.
Great, fine, dandy!

In his apartment all his video sets yammered at him and he stopped in
the doorway, staring. They should have turned off when he'd thrown the
master switch this morning.

In the hallway, he checked the switch, and it read _off_. Must be
shorted....

He went from dinette to kitchen to bedroom to living room, turning off
each set individually. All of them had the same program, Milton Berle
IV. He liked that better than wrestling though not much.

In his chrome and plastic kitchen he dialed June's number.

Her hair wasn't in the curlers. It was golden and braided and high on
her classic head. She said, "Your picture isn't coming through. Who is
this, please?"

Doak said in a falsetto, "Guess."

The screen went blank.

Doak snapped the video switch to _on_ and dialed Lateral-Americ