Meanwhile the beard (a black one) had taken Tom in charge. Tom wasn't sure of his name, but he had a tan skin, a green sarong, and a fiercely jovial expression. "The swimming pool's around there, the landing spot's on the other side," he began, then noticed Tom gazing at the sooty roof. "Sun power cells," he explained proudly. "They store all the current we need." Tom felt his idea confirmed. "Wonder you don't use atomic power," he observed lightly. The beard nodded. "We've been asked that. Matter of esthetics. Why waste sunlight or use hard radiations needlessly? Of course, you might feel differently. What's your group, did you say?" "Tosker-Brown," Tom told him, adding when the beard frowned, "the Fellowship people, you know." "I don't," the beard confessed. "Where are you located?" Tom briefly described the ranch house and cabins at the other end of the valley. "Comic, I can't place it." The beard shrugged. "Here come the children." A dozen naked youngsters raced around the ranch house, followed by a woman in a vaguely African dress open down the sides. "Yours?" Tom asked. "Ours," the beard answered. "C'est un homme!" "Regardez des vêtements!" "No need to practice, kids; this is a holiday," the beard told them. "Tom, Helen," he said, introducing the woman with the air-conditioned garment. "Her turn today to companion die Kinder." One of the latter rapped on the beard's knee. "May we show the stranger our things?" Instantly the others joined in pleading. The beard shot an inquiring glance at Tom, who nodded. A moment later the small troupe was hurrying him toward a spacious lean-to at the end of the ranch house. It was chuckful of strange toys, rocks and plants, small animals in cages and out, and the oddest model airplanes, or submarines. But Tom was given no time to look at any one thing for long. "See my crystals? I grew them." "Smell my mutated gardenias. Tell now, isn't there a difference?" There didn't seem to be, but he nodded. "Look at my squabbits." This referred to some long-eared white squirrels nibbling carrots and nuts. "Here's my newest model spaceship, a DS-57-B. Notice the detail." The oldest boy shoved one of the submarine affairs in his face. * * * * * Tom felt like a figure that is being tugged about in a rococo painting by wide pink ribbons in the chubby hands of naked cherubs. Except that these cherubs were slim and tanned, fantastically energetic, and apparently of depressingly high IQ. (What these scientists did to children!) He missed Lois and was grateful for the single little girl solemnly skipping rope in a corner and paying no attention to him. The odd lingo she repeated stuck in his mind: "Gik-lo, I-o, Rik-o, Gis-so. Gik-lo, I-o...." Suddenly the air was filled with soft chimes. "Lunch," the children shouted and ran away.