an air. I
want to be a real part of the Earth again."

Michael barely nodded in agreement. He was standing very still now.

And then there was the sound of the door opening.

They both rose, like mourners at a funeral, and went into the council
chambers.

* * * * *

Again they sat in the thick chairs before the wall of desks with the
faces of the council looking across it like defenders.

The pumps were beating, beating all through the room and the quiet.

The President was standing. He faced Michael and Mary, and seemed to
set himself as though to deliver a blow, or to receive one.

"Michael and Mary," he said, his voice struggling against a tightness,
"we've considered a long time concerning what is to be done with you
and the report you brought back to us from the galaxy." He took
another swallow of water. "To protect the sanity of the people, we've
changed your report. We've also decided that the people must be
protected from the possibility of your spreading the truth, as you did
at the landing field. So, for the good of the people, you'll be
isolated. All comforts will be given you. After all, in a sense, you
_are_ heroes and martyrs. Your scar tissue will be cultured as it has
been in the past, and you will stay in solitary confinement until the
time when, perhaps, we can migrate to another planet. We feel that
hope must not be destroyed. And so another expedition is being sent
out. It may be that, in time, on another planet, you'll be able to
take your place in our society."

He paused. "Is there anything you wish to say?"

"Yes, there is."

"Proceed."

Michael stared straight at the President. After a long moment, he
raised his hand to the tiny locket at his throat.

"Perhaps you remember," he said, "the lockets given to every member of
the expedition the night before we left. I still have mine." He raised
it. "So does my wife. They were designed to kill the wearer instantly
and painlessly if he were ever faced with pain or a terror he couldn't
endure."

The President was standing again. A stir ran along the barricade of
desks.

"We can't endure the city," went on Michael, "or its life and the ways
of the people." He glanced along the line of staring faces.

"If what I think you're about to say is true," said the President in a
shaking voice, "it would have been better if you'd never been born."

"Let's face facts, Mr. President. We were _born_ and haven't
d