Larry sat. "You're a Permanent, aren't you?" he asked suddenly. A shadow seemed to cross the man's face. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I'm a Permanent. Who are you?" "I'm Changing," Larry said. "Oh." The Permanent studied him idly for a moment or two, then leaned back and closed his eyes. "It's nice here," he said. "The sun's warm." Larry frowned. "What do you do when it rains?" "We go indoors," the Permanent said. "Look! I think it's starting to rain now!" Larry pointed at the bright, cloudless sky. "There'll be a terrible thunderstorm any minute!" "The robonurses should be here, then." "Yes!" Larry said. "Where are they? Why aren't they here?" "They'll be here," the Permanent said blandly. "I don't think so. I don't think they're coming. They're going to let you get wet." The Permanent shrugged. "They wouldn't do that," he said. "Of course not," a new voice said. Larry glanced up, startled. The copper-alloy face of a robonurse looked down at him. He goggled confusedly. The robonurse's grips seized his shoulders gently. "You'll have to leave here, boy. We can't have you disturbing these people." Larry stood up. "All right," he said. "I'll go." He had seen all he needed to see. * * * * * The stranger in the City had been right, Larry thought, as he made his way back to his home. The place to look had been in the Playground. He _had_ seen something even more frightening than the City. His father was waiting for him as he entered. "Well?" Larry sat down heavily in a pneumochair and knit his hands together. "I've seen the Playground," he said. "Yesterday the City, today the Playground. What's left to see?" "You've seen it all, son." Larry studied his father's pale, harried face for a moment. "I thought the City was pretty horrible. I decided yesterday I'd become a Permanent." "I know. Your Watcher told me." "Watcher?" "You know--the man who took you in for drinks. You don't think I'd let you go into the City alone, do you?" Larry smiled. "I _thought_ it was too neat, the way he met me and sent me back. But--but--" He looked up helplessly at his father. "Today I saw the Playground, Dad. And I don't know what to do." His voice trailed off indistinctly. "What's the trouble, son?" "Tomorrow I have to make my choice. Well, the Playground seems to be out--they turn into vegetables there--but am I ready for the City?" "I don't understand, Larry." "I was sickened by the place." He leaned forward and said, "Dad, why are children raised on the unworry drug?" "We try to spare you," his father said. "Seventeen years of tranquility--it's good, isn't it?" "Not when it ends. It's the worst possible preparation for a life in your world, Dad. I'm not ready for it--and I never will be! My childhood hasn't taught me how to worry!" Suddenly, his father began to chuckle, first deep in his stomach, then high up in his throat, a ratchety, rasping laugh.