"Ah, yes, Joseph. The Parks...." Consolator Steen leaned forward slightly. The fish was sniffing at the bait quite properly now. "Our Parks, which are the one remaining link with the past. Those green and grassy meadows in the midst of our metallic forests. The last places on Earth where you can be buried out in the open, with flowers over your head and birds singing above. You want to be buried in one of the Parks, don't you Joseph?" When the man nodded briefly, Steen continued. "Which Park, Joseph?" "Manhattan...." Steen drew himself up with a sudden, silent movement. The fish had taken a good look at the bait. Now to remove it from sight for a while. Steen closed his eyes briefly, then raised a hand as if to brush away a sudden tear. "I'm sorry, Joe. Very sorry indeed. I was afraid that was what you wanted, and yet, there was always...." He blinked his eyes. "Manhattan Park is impossible, Joe. Confucius Park in Hong Kong, perhaps. I think there are still same plots available in Frogner Park in Oslo. I'm certain that we could get you into Amundsen Park at the South Pole. But Manhattan.... No, Joe. That's one dream I'm afraid you'll just have to give up." "Why?" Joseph Krieg asked quietly but determinedly. "Have you ever seen it, Joe? I thought not. It's perhaps the most beautiful part of this most beautiful planet in the Galaxy. Would you like to see Manhattan?" _Manhattan._ Steen was quite aware that to Joseph Krieg this was a word of a hundred thousand associations, each of them connected with love, security, devotion and repose. It was like asking a starving man if he would care for something to eat. Steen did not even wait for a reply. "I think it could be managed, as a special favor. Permission to enter Manhattan Park is difficult to get, you know, but I think this once...." Steen turned to Braun. "Put a call through to the President's office...." * * * * * Atop grassy knolls, supple willows trailed languid branches to the ground. Silver-throated birds sang secret melodies while bees hummed a scarcely audible background. Narrow graveled paths wound through this gentle landscape, now hugging the edge of a tinkling stream, now plunging through carpets of gorgeous flowers. The three men sat silent on a rough stone bench observing the pastoral scene. Finally Consolator Steen spoke softly. "I understand how you feel, Joe. The first time any of us sees it, we are afflicted with silence. Its beauty is almost painful, the memories it invokes almost beyond bearing. Lincoln is buried there, just beyond that hillock; Landowski not far from him. Shakespeare's grave is there to the right, and close by is the body of Sharon, the poet of the Galaxy. Einstein's final resting place is a mile or so away, and near to it you'll find Chi Wan, who gave us Stardrive. Humanity's Valhalla, Joe."