He walked toward her, and stopped. In the dream it had been easy, but now he was embarrassed, in spite of the intimacy that had grown between them. She wore the same casual slacks and sandals. Her hair was brown. She was not particularly beautiful, but she was comfortable to look at because she seemed so peaceful. Content, happy with what was and only what was. He turned quickly. The shelter was still there, and behind it the row of spaceships--not like chalk marks on a tallyboard now, but like odd relics that didn't belong there in the thick green grass. Five ships instead of four. There was his own individual shelter beyond the headquarters building, and the other buildings. He looked up. There was no mountain. * * * * * For one shivery moment he knew fear. And then the fear went away, and he was ashamed of what he had felt. What he had feared was gone now, and he knew it was gone for good and he would never have to fear it again. "Look here, Bruce. I wondered how long it would take to get it through that thick poetic head of yours!" "Get what?" He began to suspect what it was all about now, but he wasn't quite sure yet. "Smoke?" she said. He took one of the cigarettes and she lighted it for him and put the lighter back into her pocket. "It's real nice here," she said. "Isn't it?" "I guess it's about perfect." "It'll be easy. Staying here, I mean. We won't be going to Earth ever again, you know." "I didn't _know_ that, but I didn't _think_ we ever would again." "We wouldn't want to anyway, would we, Bruce?" "No." He kept on looking at the place where the mountain had been. Or maybe it still was; he couldn't make up his mind yet. Which was and which was not? That barren icy world without life, or this? "'_Is all that we see or seem_,'" he whispered, half to himself, "'_but a dream within a dream?_'" She laughed softly. "Poe was ahead of his time," she said. "You still don't get it, do you? You don't know what's been happening?" "Maybe I don't." She shrugged, and looked in the direction of the ships. "Poor guys. I can't feel much hatred toward them now. The Martians give you a lot of understanding of the human mind--after they've accepted you, and after you've lived with them awhile. But the mountain climbers--we can see now--it's just luck, chance, we weren't like them. A deviant is a child of chance." "Yes," Bruce said. "There's a lot of people like us on Earth, but they'll never get the chance--the chance we seem to have here, to live decently...." "You're beginning to see now which was the dream," she said and smiled. "But don't be pessimistic. Those people on Earth will get their chance, too, one of these fine days. The Conquerors aren't getting far. Venus, and then Mars, and Mars is where they stop. They'll keep coming here and climbing the mountain and finally there won't be any more. It won't take so long."