Part 25 (2/2)
”The enjoyment of nature,” said Oaky, ”is now easy and convenient for everyone. You can enjoy complete seclusion and still be no more than a ten-minute walk from public transportation. For those who do not desire seclusion, we have guided tours at nominal cost through these ancient glades. Remember to tell your friends about your friendly national park.
The full facilities of this park are waiting for all lovers of the great outdoors.”
A panel in the tree opened. Out slid a bedroll, a Thermos bottle, and a box supper.
”I wish you a pleasant evening,” said Oaky, ”amid the wild splendor of nature's wonderland. And now the National Symphony Orchestra under the direction of Otter Krug brings you 'The Upland Glades,' by Ernesto Nestrichala, recorded by the National North American Broadcasting Company. This is your friendly oak tree signing off.”
Music emanated from several hidden speakers. Barrent scratched his head; then, deciding to take matters as they came, he ate the food, drank coffee from the Thermos, unrolled the bedroll, and lay down.
Sleepily he contemplated the notion of a forest wired for sound, equipped with food and drink, and none of it more than ten minutes from public transportation. Earth certainly did a lot for her citizens.
Presumably they liked this sort of thing. Or did they? Could this be some huge and subtle trap which the authorities had set for him?
He tossed and turned for a while, trying to get used to the music. After a while it blended into the background of windblown leaves and creaking branches. Barrent went to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the morning, the friendly oak tree dispensed breakfast and shaving equipment. Barrent ate, washed and shaved, and set out for the nearest town. He had his objectives firmly in mind. He had to establish some sort of foolproof disguise, and he had to make contact with Earth's underground. When this was accomplished, he had to find out as much as he could about Earth's secret police, military dispositions, and the like.
Group Two had worked out a procedure for accomplis.h.i.+ng these objectives.
As Barrent came to the outskirts of a town, he hoped that the Group's methods would work. So far, the Earth he was on had very little resemblance to the Earth which the Group had reconstructed.
He walked down interminable streets lined with small white cottages. At first, he thought every house looked the same. Then he realized that each had one or two small architectural differences. But instead of distinguis.h.i.+ng the houses, these niggling differences simply served to point up the monotonous similarities. There were hundreds of these cottages, stretching as far as he could see, each of them set upon a little plot of carefully tended gra.s.s. Their genteel sameness depressed him. Unexpectedly he missed the ridiculous, clumsy, make-s.h.i.+ft individuality of Omegan buildings.
He reached a shopping center. The stores repeated the pattern set by the houses. They were low, discreet, and very similar. Only a close inspection of window displays revealed differences between a food store and a sports shop. He pa.s.sed a small building with a sign that read, ROBOT CONFESSIONAL--_Open 24 hours a day._ It seemed to be some sort of church.
The procedure set by Group Two for locating the underground on Earth was simple and straightforward. Revolutionaries, he had been told, are found in greatest quant.i.ty among a civilization's most depressed elements.
Poverty breeds dissatisfaction; the have-nots want to take from those who have. Therefore, the logical place to look for subversion is in the slums.
It was a good theory. The trouble was, Barrent couldn't find any slums.
He walked for hours, past neat stores and pleasant little homes, playgrounds and parks, scrupulously tended farms, and then past more houses and stores. Nothing looked much better or worse than anything else.
By evening, he was tired and footsore. As far as he could tell, he had discovered nothing of significance. Before he could penetrate any deeper into the complexities of Earth, he would have to question the local citizens. It was a dangerous step, but one which he could not avoid.
He stood near a clothing store in the gathering dusk and decided upon a course of action. He would pose as a foreigner, a man newly arrived in North America from Asia or Europe. In that way, he should be able to ask questions with a measure of safety.
A man was walking toward him, a plump, ordinary-looking fellow in a brown business tunic. Barrent stopped him. ”I beg your pardon,” he said.
”I'm a stranger here, just arrived from Rome.”
”Really?” the man said.
”Yes. I'm afraid I don't understand things over here very well,” Barrent said, with an apologetic little laugh. ”I can't seem to find any cheap hotels. If you could direct me--”
”Citizen, do you feel all right?” the man asked, his face hardening.
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