The men squinted and shuffled forward.
Smith stood trembling among them. He put his hand to his head as if to find a thought there. "I remember. Yes, now I do. A long time back. When I was a child. A book I read. A story. Oz, I think it was. Yes, Oz.The Emerald City of Oz . . ."
"Oz? Never heard of it."
"Yes, Oz, that's what it was. I saw it just now, like in the story. I saw it fall."
"Smith!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Report for psychoanalysis tomorrow."
"Yes, sir!" A brisk salute.
"Be careful."
The men tiptoed, guns alert, beyond the ship's aseptic light to gaze at the long sea and the low hills.
"Why," whispered Smith, disappointed, "there's no one here at all, is there? No one here at all."
The wind blew sand over his shoes, whining.
* * *
No Particular Night or Morning
HE HAD smoked a packet of cigarettes in two hours.
"How far out in space are we?"
"A billion miles."
"A billion miles from where?" said Hitchcock
"It all depends," said Clemens, not smoking at all. "A billion miles from home, you might say."
"Then say it."
"Home. Earth. New York. Chicago. Wherever you were from."
"I don't even remember," said Hitchcock. "I don't even believe there is an Earth now, do you?"
"Yes," said Clemens. "I dreamt about it this morning."
"There is no morning in space."
"During the night then."
"It's always night," said Hitchcock quietly. "Which night do you mean?"
"Shut up," said Clemens irritably. "Let me finish." Hitchcock lit another cigarette. His hand did not shake, but it looked as if, inside the sunburned flesh, it might be tremoring all to itself, a small tremor in each hand and a large invisible tremor in his body. The two men sat on the observation corridor floor, looking out at the stars. Clemens's eyes flashed, but Hitchcock's eyes focused on nothing; they were blank and puzzled.
"I woke up at 0500 hours myself," said Hitchcock, as if he were talking to his right hand. "And I heard myself screaming, 'Where am I? where am I?' And the answer was 'Nowhere!' And I said, 'Where've I been?' And I said, 'Earth!' 'What's Earth?' I wondered. 'Where I was born,' I said. But it was nothing and worse than nothing. I don't believe in anything I can't see or hear or touch. I can't see Earth, so why should I believe in it? It's safer this way, not to believe."
"There's Earth." Clemens pointed, smiling. "That point of light there."
"That's not Earth; that's our sun. You can't see Earth from here."