The second city nobody liked.
It was an Earth Man’s settlement, built of wood and already rotting into sawdust.
Timothy liked the third city because it was large.
The fourth and fifth were too small and the sixth brought acclaim from everyone, induding Mother, who joined in the Gees, Goshes, and Look-at-thats!
There were fifty or sixty huge structures still standing, streets were dusty but paved, and you could see one or two old centrifugal fountains still pulsing wetly in the plazas.
That was the only life — water leaping in the late sunlight.
“This is the city,” said everybody.
Steering the boat to a wharf, Dad jumped out.
“Here we are.
This is ours.
This is where we live from now on!”
“From now on?”
Michael was incredulous.
He stood up, looking, and then turned to blink back at where the rocket used to be.
“What about the rocket?
What about Minnesota?”
“Here,” said Dad.
He touched the small radio to Michael’s blond head.
“Listen.”
Michael listened.
“Nothing,” he said.
“That’s right.
Nothing.
Nothing at all any more.
No more Minneapolis, no more rockets, no more Earth.”
Michael considered the lethal revelation and began to sob little dry sobs.
“Wait a moment,” said Dad the next instant.
“I’m giving you a lot more in exchange, Mike!”
“What?”
Michael held off the tears, curious, but quite ready to continue in case Dad’s further revelation was as disconcerting as the original.
“I’m giving you this city, Mike.
It’s yours.”
“Mine?”
“For you and Robert and Timothy, all three of you, to own for yourselves.”
Timothy bounded from the boat
“Look, guys, all for us!
All of that!”
He was playing the game with Dad, playing it large and playing it well.
Later, after it was all over and things had settled, he could go off by himself and cry for ten minutes.
But now it was still a game, still a family outing, and the other kids must be kept playing.
Mike jumped out with Robert.
They helped Mom.
“Be careful of your sister,” said Dad, and nobody knew what he meant until later.
They hurried into the great pink-stoned city, whispering among themselves, because dead cities have a way of making you want to whisper, to watch the sun go down.
“In about five days,” said Dad quietly, “I’ll go back down to where our rocket was and collect the food hidden in the ruins there and bring it here; and I’ll hunt for Bert Edwards and his wife and daughters there.”
“Daughters?” asked Timothy.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“I can see that’ll cause trouble later.”
Mom nodded slowly.