"Are those things true, that we read in your booklet?" asked Captain Webber after Lieutenant Peterson had brought in the prisoner. "Every word," said the little man bowing slightly, "is monumentally correct." "Then we want you to begin explaining." Mr. Greypoole tushed and proceeded to straighten the coat of a middle-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 his work, you know--that kind of thing. So we had to duplicate not only the office, but the building and even replicas of all the people in the building. Mr. Conklin himself is in an easy chair on the twentieth story." "_And?_" "Well, gentlemen, as you know, Happy Glades is the outstanding mortuary on Earth. And, to put it briefly, with the constant explorations of planets and moons and whatnot, our Mr. Waldmeyer hit upon this scheme: Seeking to extend the ideal hereafter to our Guests, we bought out this little asteroid. With the vast volume and the tremendous turnover, as it were, we got our staff of scientists together and they offered this plan--to duplicate the exact surroundings which the Guest most enjoyed in Life, assure him privacy, permanence (a _very_ big point, as you can see), and all the small things not possible on Earth." "Why here, why cart off a million miles or more when the same thing could have been done on Earth?" "My communication system went bad, I fear, so I haven't heard from the offices 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's self down there, what with all the new bombs and things being discovered." "Hmm," said Captain Webber. "Then too, Mr. Waldmeyer worried about those new societies with their dreadful ideas about cremation--you can see what that sort of thing could do to the undertaking business? His plan caught on, however, and soon 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 head caretaker, you see. But I wasn't well--gastric complaints, liver, heart palpitations, 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 of fluids and by the time I got here, why, I was almost, you might say, a machine myself! Fortunately, though, they left a good deal of Greypoole. All I know is that whenever the film is punctured, I wake and become a machine, do my prescribed duties in a complex way and--" "The film?"