newspaper slowly down. "Well,
make sure it's decontaminated properly. We don't want to take any
chances."

"Oh, they always bathe them when they're brought down from the surface,"
Mary said. "They wouldn't think of letting them down without the bath.
Would they?" She hesitated, thinking back. "Don, you know, it makes me
remember--"

He nodded. "I know."

* * * * *

He knew what she was thinking. Once in the very first weeks of the war,
before everyone had been evacuated from the surface, they had seen a
hospital train discharging the wounded, people who had been showered
with sleet. He remembered the way they had looked, the expression on
their faces, or as much of their faces as was left. It had not been a
pleasant sight.

There had been a lot of that at first, in the early days before the
transfer to undersurface was complete. There had been a lot, and it
hadn't been very difficult to come across it.

Taylor looked up at his wife. She was thinking too much about it, the
last few months. They all were.

"Forget it," he said. "It's all in the past. There isn't anybody up
there now but the leadys, and they don't mind."

"But just the same, I hope they're careful when they let one of them
down here. If one were still hot--"

He laughed, pushing himself away from the table. "Forget it. This is a
wonderful moment; I'll be home for the next two shifts. Nothing to do
but sit around and take things easy. Maybe we can take in a show. Okay?"

"A show? Do we have to? I don't like to look at all the destruction, the
ruins. Sometimes I see some place I remember, like San Francisco. They
showed a shot of San Francisco, the bridge broken and fallen in the
water, and I got upset. I don't like to watch."

"But don't you want to know what's going on? No human beings are getting
hurt, you know."

"But it's so awful!" Her face was set and strained. "Please, no, Don."

Don Taylor picked up his newspaper sullenly. "All right, but there
isn't a hell of a lot else to do. And don't forget, _their_ cities are
getting it even worse."

She nodded. Taylor turned the rough, thin sheets of newspaper. His good
mood had soured on him. Why did she have to fret all the time? They were
pretty well off, as things went. You couldn't expect to have everything
perfect, living undersurface, with an artificial sun and artificial
food. Naturally it was a strain, not seeing the sky or being able to go
any place