“With the newsthat’s why it’s always bad these days.
Everything’s had something done to it. The milk is ho-
mogenized, the bread is sliced, the cars steer themselves,
the phonographs will produce sounds no musical instrument
could make. Too much meddling, too many people who can’t
keep their hands off things. Ever fire a kiln?”
“Me?” I said, startled.
“No, I didn’t think so. Nobody makes pottery these days.
Not by hand. And if they did, who’d buy it? They don’t
want something that’s been made. They want something
that’s been Done To.”
The tape kept on traveling. Down below, there was a
heavy rumble, difficult to identify specifically: something
heavy being shifted on tracks, or maybe a freight lock
opening.
“So now you’re going to Do Something to the Earth,”
I said slowly.
“Not me. It’s orders.” ‘
“Orders from inside, Colonel Gascoigne. There’s nothing
on the spools.” What else could I do? I didn’t have time to
take him through two years of psychoanalysis and bring him
to his own insight. Besides, I’m not licensed to practice medi-
cinenot on Earth. “I didn’t want to say so, but I have to
now.”
“Say what?” Gascoigne said suspiciously. “That I’m crazy
or something?”
“No. I didn’t say that. You did,” I pointed out. “But I
will tell you that that stuff about not liking the world these
days is baloney. Or rationalization, if you want a nicer word.
You’re carrying a screaming load of guilt, Colonel, whether
you’re aware of it or not.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you
just beat it?”
“No. And you know well enough. You fell all over your-