Elegy, Page 3

betterask--just who do you think _we_ are?"

  "I'd thought you to be the men from the Glades of course."

  "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. We're fromthe planet Earth. They were going to have another war, the 'Last War'they said, and we escaped in that rocket and started off for Mars. Butsomething went wrong--fellow named Appleton pulled a gun, others justdidn't like the Martians--we needn't go into it; they wouldn't have usso Mars didn't work out. Something else went wrong then, soon we werelost with only a little store of fuel and supplies. Then Mr. Fridennoticed this city or whatever it is and we had enough fuel to land so welanded."

  Mr. Greypoole nodded his head slowly, somehow, sadder than before.

  "I see.... You say there was a war on Earth?"

  "They were going to set off X-Bomb; when they do, everything will go topieces. Or everything has already."

  "What dreadful news! May I inquire, Captain, when you have learned whereyou are--what do you intend to do?"

  "Why, live here, of course!"

  "No, no--try to understand. You could not conceivably fit in here withus."

  Captain Webber glanced at the motionless people. "Why not?" Then heshouted, "What is this place? _Where am I?_"

  Mr. Greypoole smiled.

  "Captain, you are in a cemetery."

  * * * * *

  "Good work, Peterson!"

  "Thanks, sir. When we all got back and Friden didn't know where you'dgone, well, we got worried. Then we heard you shouting."

  "Hold his arms--there. You heard this, Friden?"

  Mr. Friden was trembling slightly. He brushed past a man with a van Dykebeard and sat down on a leather stool. "Yes sir, I did. That is, I thinkI did. What shall we do with him?"

  "I don't know, yet. Take him away, Lieutenant, for now. I want to thinka bit. We'll talk to Mr. Greypoole later on."

  Lieutenant Peterson pulled the smiling little man out into the streetand pointed a gun at him.

  Mr. Chitterwick blinked into the face of a small child.

  "Man's insane, I guess," said Mr. Milton, pacing.

  "Yes, but what about all _this_?" Mr. Goeblin looked horrified at thestationary people.

  "I think I can tell you," Mr. Friden said. "Take a look, Captain."

  The men crowded about a pamphlet which Mr. Friden had placed on thestool.

  Toward the top of the pamphlet and in the center of the first page was aphotograph, untinted and solemn; it depicted a white cherub delicatelypoised on a granite slab. Beneath the photograph, were the words: HAPPYGLADES.

  Captain Webber turned the pages and mumbled, glancing over his shoulderevery once in a while.

  "What is it, sir?" asked Mr. Chitterwick of a frozen man in a blue suitwith copper buttons.

  "It's one of those old level cemeteries!" cried Mr. Milton. "I rememberseeing pictures like it, sir."

  Captain Webber read aloud from the pamphlet.

  "For fifty years," he began, "an outstanding cultural and spiritualasset to this community, HAPPY GLADES is proud to announce yet anotherinnovation in its program of post-benefits. NOW YOU CAN ENJOY THEAFTER-LIFE IN SURROUNDINGS WHICH SUGGEST THE HERE-AND-NOW. Never beforein history has scientific advancement allowed such a plan."

  Captain Webber turned the page.

  "For those who prefer that their late departed have really _permanent,eternal_ happiness, for those who are dismayed by the fragility of allthings mortal, we of HAPPY GLADES are proud to offer:

  "1. The permanent duplication of physical conditions identical to thoseenjoyed by the departed on Earth. Park, playground, lodge, officebuilding, hotel or house, etc., may be secured at varying prices. Allworkmanship and materials specially attuned to conditions on ASTEROIDK_{7} and guaranteed for PERMANENCE.

  "2. PERMANENT conditioning of late beloved so that, in the midst ofsurroundings he favored, a genuine Eternity may be assured.

  "3. Full details on HAPPY GLADES' newest property, Asteroid K_{7}, may befound on page 4."

  The captain tossed the pamphlet to the floor and lit a cigarette. "Didanyone happen to notice the date?"

  Mr. Milton said, "It doesn't make any sense! There haven't beencemeteries for ages. And even if this were true, why should anyone wantto go all the way through space to a little asteroid? They might just aswell have built these things on Earth."

  "Who would want all this when they're dead, anyway?"

  "You mean all these people are dead?"

  For a few moments there was complete and utter silence in the lobby ofthe building.

  * * * * *

  "Are those things true, that we read in your booklet?" asked CaptainWebber after Lieutenant Peterson had brought in the prisoner.

  "Every word," said the little man bowing slightly, "is monumentallycorrect."

  "Then we want you to begin explaining."

  Mr. Greypoole tushed and proceeded to straighten the coat of amiddle-aged man with a cigar.

  Mr. Goeblin shuddered.

  "No, no," laughed Mr. Greypoole, "_these_ are only imitations. Mr.Conklin upstairs was head of a large firm; absolutely in love with hiswork, you know--that kind of thing. So we had to duplicate not only theoffice, but the building and even replicas of all the people in thebuilding. Mr. Conklin himself is in an easy chair on the twentiethstory."

  "_And?_"

  "Well, gentlemen, as you know, Happy Glades is the outstanding mortuaryon Earth. And, to put it briefly, with the constant explorations ofplanets and moons and whatnot, our Mr. Waldmeyer hit upon this scheme:Seeking to extend the ideal hereafter to our Guests, we bought out thislittle asteroid. With the vast volume and the tremendous turnover, as itwere, we got our staff of scientists together and they offered thisplan--to duplicate the exact surroundings which the Guest most enjoyedin Life, assure him privacy, permanence (a _very_ big point, as you cansee), and all the small things not possible on Earth."

  "Why here, why cart off a million miles or more when the same thingcould have been done on Earth?"

  "My communication system went bad, I fear, so I haven't heard from theoffices in some while--but, I am to understand there is a war beginning?_That_ is the idea, Captain; one could never really be sure of one'sself down there, what with all the new bombs and things beingdiscovered."

  "Hmm," said Captain Webber.

  "Then too, Mr. Waldmeyer worried about those new societies with theirdreadful ideas about cremation--you can see what that sort of thingcould do to the undertaking business? His plan caught on, however, andsoon we were having to turn away Guests."

  "And where do you fit in, Mr. Greypoole?"

  The little man seemed to blush; he lowered his eyes. "I was headcaretaker, you see. But I wasn't well--gastric complaints, liver, heartpalpitations, this and that; so, I decided to allow them to ... _change_me. They turned all manner of machines on my body and pumped me full offluids and by the time I got here, why, I was almost, you might say, amachine myself! Fortunately, though, they left a good deal of Greypoole.All I know is that whenever the film is punctured, I wake and become amachine, do my prescribed duties in a complex way and--"

  "The film?"

  "The covering that seals in the conditioning. Nothing can get out,nothing get in--except things like rockets. Then, it's self-sealing,needless to say. But to get on, Captain. With all the technicaladvancements, it soon got to where there was no real work to be donehere; they threw up the film and coated us with their preservative or,as they put it, Eternifier, and--well, with the exception of my calendarand the communications system, everything's worked perfectly, includingmyself."

  * * * * *

  No one said anything for a while. Then Captain Webber said, with greatslowness, "You're lying. This is all a crazy, hideous plot." The littleman chuckled at the word plot.

  "In the first place, no cemetery or form of cemetery has existed onEarth for--how long, Friden?"

  Mr. Friden stared at his fing
ers. "Years and years."

  "Exactly. There are communal furnaces now."

  Mr. Greypoole winced.

  "And furthermore," continued the captain, "this whole concept isridiculous."

  Mr. Chitterwick threw down the pamphlet and began to tremble. "We shouldhave stayed home," he remarked to a young woman who did not answer.

  "Mr. Greypoole," Webber said, "I think that you know more than you'resaying. You didn't seem very surprised when you learned we weren't themen you expected; you don't seem very surprised now that I tell you thatyour 'Happy Glades' and all the people connected with it have