Out stepped a stocky, red-headed man with a big cigar. He was young. He wore the uniform of the Martian Assault Infantry, Unk’s old outfit.
“Hello, Unk,” he said. “Get in.”
“Get in?” said Constant. “Who are you?”
“Stony Stevenson, Unk. You don’t recognize me?”
“Stony?” said Constant. “That’s you, Stony?”
“Who else could stand the bloody pace?” said Stony. He laughed. “Get in,” he said.
“And go where?” said Constant.
“Paradise,” said Stony.
“What’s Paradise like?” said Constant. “Everybody’s happy there forever,” said Stony, “or as long as the bloody Universe holds together. Get in, Unk. Beatrice is already there, waiting for you.”
“Beatrice?” said Unk, getting into the space ship. Stony closed the airlocks, pressed the on button. “We’re – we’re going to Paradise now?” said Constant. “I – I’m going to get into Paradise?”
“Don’t ask me why, old sport,” said Stony, “but somebody up there likes you.”