"Oh, not so long now," the pilot assured him. "Nice little island, too. I wouldn't mind this deal even if I didn't get the money. It's a first class vacation, hey?" "I guess it is," Gerson said. "Kind of lonesome, though." "Well, if they'd sent a girl too, you might not want to come back," the pilot grinned. "Anyway, think about all that money. That'll keep you from feeling too lonesome." Gerson smiled back at him. "I sure could do a lot with it," he said. "I remember getting stuck up at Thule Two, up in the Arctic, when I was flying commercial last year," the pilot said. "Nobody there but a radio man and another pilot. Too cold to go outside, even. _That's_ what I'd call lonesome." On the horizon, a blue-green ridge began to lift above the water line. "There it is," said the pilot. "Be there in another five minutes." The copter landed on a long, smooth beach, with a picture postcard ocean lapping at the white sand. The pilot showed Don around the place with an almost proprietorial pride, pointing out the various conveniences, and giving advice. "The house is a real doll," he told Don. "Never lived in. A rich fella owned the place, and was going to use it for vacations, but he never got around to it. Incidentally, it'll be for sale when the stunt's over. Whopping price, too, I'll bet." There was hot and cold running water, an electrical system powered by a gas engine, furniture, even a pair of swimming trunks hanging in a closet with other clothes. "There's a laugh," the pilot observed, pointing to the trunks. "You won't need _them_." "Well, if I go swimming ..." Don said. "The swimming's fine, but you won't have any company to worry about what you wear," the pilot said. Don had never been entirely alone in his life; it took him a moment to grasp this small detail in the picture of his immediate future. "Oh," he said, doubtfully. "Well, you know there's seaweed and all that...." * * * * * As a matter of fact, there was very little seaweed. The water was warm, and the days that followed were cloudless perfection; the nights were cool, and there was always a steady sea-breeze. At first, for a few days, Don Gerson found himself moving in a pattern which resembled his normal life very closely. He awoke at seven; in fact, on the first morning, he found himself compelled to rise at once and dress. That first morning, he had an odd, lost feeling; there was no office to go to, no schedule of work to follow, no fixed orbit. He began the first day by shaving and cooking himself what, for him, was a large breakfast. He thought about going for a swim, but remembered the rule he had been given once, about not swimming for two hours after eating. The clothes that hung in the closets were not what he would have selected himself, but they were comfortable, and they fitted. He dressed in slacks and an open-necked shirt; then proceeded to investigate the library.