"No--" and there was a smile in Lawrence's mind, a heartbroken, whimsical thing. "No, I have not been to that system you are thinking of; my journey has been elsewhere. And what I have seen has led me to destroy both my machine and myself." He was silent a moment, overwhelmed by disappointment. Then, "Let me explain, please. "In our world we know not happiness, have not known it for such a long, long time. The machines have taken over and there is no longer anything left--only the bare drabness of day after futile, empty day for all our lives. Some feel these things more than others, and the idealist, the dreamer, have suffered in this age more than any other person can conceive. We feel so much, so very, very much, and we long so hard for the little, insignificant things that make up beauty--for beauty is our life." * * * * * The wind outside sang a song of other days, of laughter and beauty, and the glorious fortress of mental and physical perfection that had been here. It spoke of the shining towers, and glistening ships that thundered above them. Then it remembered and died slowly away, taking with it the red dust that drifted across the barren plains. "Yes," said Lawrence, very softly. "Yes, I understand." "Not quite," came the whisper in his brain. "You do not, cannot, quite understand. There are things you do not know." Silence then. Except for the eternal wind and its companion, the dust. "I disassembled my atoms," the explanation echoed unexpectedly in Lawrence's mind, "and selected a lonely place on another world where they were reassembled. I watched from afar, and there, too, it was the same. The machines. The uncertain, hurt look in people's eyes, and--their lack of purpose. "I destroyed my machine and myself with it. That was best. There was nothing left for me, you see." Lawrence stood up by the dusty televisor against the wall. There was infinite compassion and understanding in his voice. He said, "If only you had waited! If only you had known that another planet in another system had a place for us, instead of going elsewhere as you did--without thought or direction." "There was thought and direction," said the mental voice. "It availed me nothing. Bury me, please, out there on the desert with the wind and sand. I would be with seekers like myself, knowing that their search is impotent, as was mine. Thank you for your good intentions and your kindness. Good-by, my friend." The sense of rapport faded from Lawrence's brain, and he knew he was in the presence of death. The requiem of the wind sang for another lost thing now, and that was queerly fitting, somehow. Then he knew! Knew that the being had indeed traveled to other than the little man's star system, and his heart cried out within him unbearably, though he stood still and numb. Knew it when he had picked up the other's hand to place it beneath the covering and had felt--three slender fingers. The quest was ended.