That had been the wrong thing to say, Lantry realized. But it was said, nevertheless. "I mean," he said. "Not really. I mean, when you're a child, somehow, you don't pay attention. I suddenly realized tonight that I didn't really _know_ the Incinerator." The Attendant smiled. "We never know anything, do we, really? I'll be glad to show you around." "Oh, no. Never mind. It--it's a wonderful place." "Yes, it is." The Attendant took pride in it. "One of the finest in the world, I think." "I--" Lantry felt he must explain further. "I haven't had many relatives die on me since I was a child. In fact, none. So, you see I haven't been here for many years." "I see." The Attendant's face seemed to darken somewhat. What've I said now, thought Lantry. What in God's name is wrong? What've I done? If I'm not careful I'll get myself shoved right into that damnable fire-trap. What's wrong with this fellow's face? He seems to be giving me more than the usual going over. "You wouldn't be one of the men who've just returned from Mars, would you?" asked the Attendant. "No. Why do you ask?" "No matter." The Attendant began to walk off. "If you want to know anything, just ask me." "Just one thing," said Lantry. "What's that?" "This." Lantry dealt him a stunning blow across the neck. He had watched the fire-trap operator with expert eyes. Now, with the sagging body in his arms, he touched the button that opened the warm outer lock, placed the body in, heard the music rise, and saw the inner lock open. The body shot out into the river of fire. The music softened. "Well done, Lantry, well done." * * * * * Barely an instant later another Attendant entered the room. Lantry was caught with an expression of pleased excitement on his face. The Attendant looked around as if expecting to find someone, then he walked toward Lantry. "May I help you?" "Just looking," said Lantry. "Rather late at night," said the Attendant. "I couldn't sleep." That was the wrong answer, too. Everybody slept in this world. Nobody had insomnia. If you did you simply turned on a hypno-ray, and, sixty seconds later, you were snoring. Oh, he was just _full_ of wrong answers. First he had made the fatal error of saying he had never been in the Incinerator before, when he knew damned well that all children were brought here on tours, every year, from the time they were four, to instill the idea of the clean fire death and the Incinerator in their minds. Death was a bright fire, death was warmth and the sun. It was not a dark, shadowed thing. That was important in their education. And he, pale thoughtless fool, had immediately gabbled out his ignorance.