"Different carriers have different sicknesses. So one carrier in One City might have one disease, and all the people in One City became used to it while they were babies--became immune. There could be another carrier with another sickness in Two City. A third in Three City. In each city they were used to their own sickness--" "That is it," said Hunt, nodding. "But why is Pat not dying? Or Nym? Why do you do nothing to keep them alive?" "Suppose," said Calhoun, "the carrier of a sickness dies. What happens?" Hunt bit again, and chewed. Suddenly he choked. He sputtered: "There is no sickness to spread on the clothing! The people no longer have it to give to strangers who are not used to it! The babies do not get used to it while they are little! There is no longer a One City sickness or a Two City sickness or a Three!" "There is," said Calhoun, "only a profound belief in them. You had it. Everybody else still has it. And the cities are isolated and put out sentries because they believe in what used to be true. And people like Nym and Pat run away in the snow and die of it. There is much death because of it. You would have died of it." Hunt chewed and swallowed. Then he grinned. "Now what?" His deep voice was quaintly respectful to Calhoun, so much younger than himself. "I like this! We were not fools to believe, because it was true. But we are fools if we still believe, because it is not true any more. How do we make people understand, Calhoun? You tell me. I can handle people when they are not afraid. I can make them do what I think wise--when they are not afraid. But when they fear--" "When they fear," said Calhoun dryly, "they want a stranger to tell them what to do. You came for me, remember? You are a stranger to One City and Three City. Pat is a Stranger to Two City. If the cities become really afraid--" * * * * * Hunt grunted. He watched Calhoun intently. And Calhoun was peculiarly reminded of the elected president of a highly cultured planet, who had exactly that completely intent way of looking at one. "Go on!" said Hunt. "How frighten them into--this?" He waved his hand about. Calhoun, his tone very dry indeed, told him. Words would not be enough. Threats would not be enough. Promises would not be enough. But rabbits and pigeons and squirrels and fish--fish that were frozen like other human food--and piles of edible nuts.... They would not be enough either, by themselves. But-- "An isolation syndrome is a neurotic condition, and a Crusoe problem amounts to neurotic hypochondria. You can do it--you and Pat." Hunt grimaced. "I hate the cold, now. But I will do it. After all, if I am to have grandchildren there should be other children for them to play with! And we will take you back to your ship?" "You will," said Calhoun. "By the way, what is the name of this planet, anyhow?" Hunt told him. * * * * *