Mike and Terry had gone over to where the Contraption was, had pulled off its dust-cover, and stood looking at it as though puzzled, as though wondering why, so suddenly, it had become a worthless thing. "Nobody's touched it, Dad," Doug heard Mike saying. "I don't think anybody's done anything to it." Doug didn't answer, for he did not know how to tell them, how to make them know that there was no way. "I just--just dropped it, Doug...." He tried to smile, and his face felt old and tired. "We were overdue anyway," he said. "Way overdue. I guess it's against the rules to beat the odds forever." "I just ... just dropped it...." "Don't, don't my darling. It wasn't you, don't you understand? It wasn't you, or me--the little fight we made just prolonged things for awhile. Sort of like living itself, I guess. The big system. You can let it sweep you along as it will or you can fight it if you're fool enough...." "Doug! Doug, you don't believe those things!" He felt the muscles of his face tighten, and he said nothing. No, no he did not believe them, but what difference did that make? It was the ways things were that mattered! He picked up the broadsword Terry had let fall. "How long--how long will it be, Doug?" Her voice was calm; there was even a faint flush of color in her face again. "I don't know," he said. "For awhile at least, this might seem the least logical place." "Dad, what's in this big box? Hey, Dad!" * * * * * He stood up, turned toward them. The kids--so full of life and the love of living, so full of the myriad curiosities that made living a colorful vibrant thing. "This one here. Over here--a big tall wooden one." Doug heard her quick intake of breath, turned to her. "Before the telecall, Doug. Before they took me. A helicopter came, from the electronics place ... they brought that box, and I--" In quick strides he was beside Mike and Terry, and everything inside him was suddenly churned up, cold, hot.... Mike had wrenched a section of planking loose, had reached inside. "I got the label, Dad.... High-Speed Blower-Rack, With Double Blower, Model 4-L532, two each--" The final, hellish irony. As though it were not enough to fail, but to be mocked as he failed, as though Fate--or was it Providence?--could not close the incident without at least a gentle laugh at him, a cruel laugh to make light of all his confusion, his efforts and all that had driven him to make them. Doug wondered if there would be enough of the strength he would need, when he died, to laugh back. The planking squawked as Terry pried with Mike's broadsword. "Maybe it can help, Dad ... maybe it can," Terry said, and he continued the prying. Mike pulled at it, and there were louder squawks as the nails protestingly surrendered. Doug wanted to stop them, to tell them, but there could be such a little time left, and if it kept them busy there might not be time for them to become afraid.