The climate was perfect, the sky was alwaysblue, and—best of all—nobody had to work.What more could anyone want?
Planet of Dreams
By James McKimmey, Jr.
Illustrated by Paul Orban
It was a small world, a tinyspinning globe, placed in theuniverse to weather and age by itselfuntil the end of things. But becauseits air was good and its earthwas fertile, Daniel Loveral hadplaced a finger upon a map andsaid, "This is the planet. This isthe Dream Planet."
That was two years before, backon Earth. And now Loveral withhis selected flock had shot throughspace, to light like chuckling geeseupon the planet, to feel the effectof their dreams come true.
Loveral was sitting in his office,drumming his long fingers againsthis desk while the name, Atkinson,ticked through his brain like thesound of a sewing machine.
Would he be the only one, Loveralasked himself, or was he justthe first? In either case, it was upto Loveral, as leader and guidinghand, to stop this thing and stopit quickly.
Loveral stood up and put on hisjacket, although there was no needfor it, other than the formality itgave his figure.
He stepped out of his office into aclear bright day, where the air wasclean and fresh in his lungs, atonce like frost and fire and sweetperfume. He walked along a windingpath, which was bordered byslim-necked flowers and a shorthedge whose even clipped lineswere kept neat by tireless robothands.
Trees pointed to a blue sky,rocking and fluttering their leavesin a soft breeze, and glinting metallichouses lay peacefully beyond inwooded hollows and upon slighthills.
A whole small world was beforehis eyes, set there upon his direction,maintained by himself withthe help of a dozen complex machineswhich lay locked and sealedin the Maintenance Room for onlyhis fingers to touch.
It was a busy life for Loveral, upat dawn to work until deep night,keeping his flock happy and freefrom spirit-killing labor. But it wasa perfect plan, one which hadbeen tested and turned in his mindfor years. If he had to work hardto keep it running smoothly, thatwas all right. In fact, he had neverbeen happier.
Now, however, there was thisbusiness about Atkinson. Loveralwas disturbed about that.
He walked on, over the quietpath which would lead to thehouse where Atkinson and his wifelived. Loveral smiled, in readinessfor any happy face that might appearbefore him, to greet him, toshow with thankful eyes appreciationfor his wonderful world. Butthat, too, brought thoughts thatwere a bit disturbing.
Lately there had been few suchfaces. Most of his flock no longerseemed to care about walkingalong the cultivated paths, or smiling,or nodding, or touching a leafhere or a flower there. They preferred,it appeared, to remain deepinside their houses, as though theymight have become tired of thesoft perfection of Dream Planet.As though they might have becomeweary of quiet woods andsweet bird-music or a sky whichwas always blue.
Loveral shook his head as hewalked, puzzling out his thoughts.It was strange, but nothing toworry about certainly.
Just this business about Atkinson.That was his only worry.
He came slowly up a hill, the topof which held a low curving house,with a silver roof and wide, sweepingwindows. There were yellowand blue and deep red flowers,skirting the sides of the house, andgreen ivy grew thickly between theglistening windows. The lawn,