The exotic gardens and the colonnaded walks and the long bright-walled villa were no real surprise, because he already knew that the teeming machines had been rebuilding all the planet into a streamlined paradise, and it was a moment before he knew just what was wrong.
A breath of some rank jungle scent drew his eyes to a deep sunken garden where the administration building had stood, and he felt a faint revulsion from the tall, fleshy crimson stalks the machines had planted there.
Next he missed the white concrete tower of the solar telescope, and then his breath went out when he looked again at the new blue-and-amber villa on the crown, of the mountain.
"Where is it?" he gasped accusingly.
"The big reflector?"
For that mighty telescope had been his life.
The reach of it was farther than even the ships from Wing IV could go.
It had found the clue to rhodomagnetics, and he had fondly planned to spend his last years with it, exploring the outer galaxies in quest of some other hint that might reveal the real prima materia of the universe.
But now that gay new dwelling stood where the telescope had been.
The realization stunned him.
For one painful instant, he tried to hope that the humanoids had simply replaced the precious instrument with some compact new device as wonderful as the silver teardrop behind him, but the machine was cooing serenely:
"The observatory has been removed."
"Why?" A dim dread overwhelmed his first sharp anger, and his voice turned hoarse.
"You had no right-"
"All necessary rights to set up and maintain our service were given us by a free election," the humanoid reminded him. "And that space was required for your new dwelling."
"I want the reflector put back."
"That will be impossible, sir." The tiny machine stood frozen and alert, staring past him with seemingly sightless polished eyes.
"Observatory equipment is far too dangerous for you, because you would be so easily injured by heavy instruments, broken glass, electric currents, inflammable paper and film, or poisonous photographic solutions."
"You've got to replace that telescope."
Forester stood trembling with a bitter amazement.
"Because I'm going on with my astrophysical research."
"Scientific research is no longer necessary, sir." The benign surprise remained unchanged on that narrow silicone face.
"We have found on many planets that knowledge of any kind seldom makes men happy, and that scientific knowledge is often used for destruction.
Foolish men have even attempted to attack Wing IV with illicit scientific devices."
Forester shuddered to a speechless terror.
"Therefore, Clay Forester, you must now forget your scientific interests."
That melodious drone was dreadful with a ruthless benevolence.
"You must now look for your happiness in some less harmful activity.
We suggest philosophy or chess."
The small machine merely watched as he cursed it, the black, high-cheeked face struck with highlights of bronze and icy blue, and set in serene solicitude.
It didn't move until a new fear made him gasp hoarsely,
"Where's my wife?"
In the harassed months of the ratification campaign, he had stayed away from Starmont for fear of somehow betraying the project with his presence, but he had talked to Ruth every night until the telephone system was taken out of service after the election.
He had told her that he would soon be home, back to take up their lives where the supernova's light had interrupted.
Shivering, now, he wondered why she hadn't met him.
"Ruth is here," that limpid golden voice assured him.
"Waiting for you in the new toy room."
"Will you tell her I've come home?"
"We've told her."
"What did she say?"
"She just asked who you are."
"Eh?" Terror took his breath.
"Is - is she all right?"
"She is quite well, sir, since we removed her unhappiness."
"Removed - what?"
"She had been unhappy," purred the black mechanical. "We discovered her secret troubles only a few days ago, the night you called to tell her you were coming back. The unit watching in her room observed her crying, when she should have been asleep."
"So?" A surge of puzzled fury knotted his stringy fists.
"We had our problems, but she wasn't that unhappy.
What have you done to her?"
"We asked the cause of her tears," chimed the machine.