"Telepathy?" asked Vickers.
"That's it," said the man. "They don't listen to the stars really, but to people who live on the stars. Now ain't that the screwiest thing you ever heard of — listening to the stars!"
"Yes, I guess it is," said Vickers.
"They get ideas from these people. They don't talk to them, I guess. They just listen in on them. They catch some of the things they're thinking and some of the things they know and a lot of it they can use and a lot of it don't make no sense at all. But it's the truth, so help me, mister."
"My name is Vickers. Jay Vickers."
"Well, I'm glad to know you, Mr. Vickers. My name is Asa Andrews."
He walked forward and held out his hand and Vickers took it and their grip was hard and sure.
And now he knew where he'd read of this man before. Here before him stood an American pioneer, the man who carried the long rifle from the colonies to the hunting grounds of Kentucky. Here was the stance, the independence, the quick good will and wit, the steady self reliance. Here, once again, in the forests of Earth Number Two, was another pioneer type, sturdy and independent and a good man for a friend.
"These mutants must be the people who are putting out the everlasting razor and all that other stuff in the gadget shops," said Vickers.
"You catch on quick," said Andrews. "We'll go up to the Big House in a day or two and you can talk to them."
He shifted the bow from one hand to another. "Look, Vickers, did you leave someone back there? A wife and some kids, maybe?"
"No one," said Vickers. "Not a single soul."
"Well, that's all right. If you had, we'd gone up to the Big House right away and told them about it and they would have fixed it up to bring the wife and kids through, too. That's the only thing about this place. Once you get here, there's no going back. Although why anyone would want to go back is more than I can figure out. So far as I know, there's no one who has wanted to."
He looked Vickers up and down, laughter tugging at his mouth.
"You look all gaunted down," he said. "You ain't been eating good."
"Just fish and some venison I found. And berries."
"The old lady will have the victuals on. We'll get some food into your belly and get those whiskers off and I'll have the kids heat up some water and you can take a bath, and then we can sit and talk. We got a lot to talk about."
He led the way, with Vickers following, down the ridge through the heavy timber.
They came out on the edge of a cleared field green with growing corn.
"That's my place down there," said Andrews. "Down there at the hollow's head. You can see the smoke."
"Nice field of corn you have," said Vickers.
"Knee high by the Fourth. And over there is Jake Smith's place. You can see the house if you look a little close. And just beyond the hogsback you can see John Simmon's fields. There are other neighbors, but you can't see from here."
They climbed the barbed wire fence and went across the field, walking between the corn rows.
"It's different here," said Andrews, "than back on Earth. I was working in a factory there and living in a place that was scarcely fit for hogs. Then the factory shut down and there was no money. I went to the carbohydrates people and they kept the family fed. Then the landlord threw us out and the carbohydrates people had been so friendly that I went to them and told them what had happened. I didn't know what they could do, of course. I guess I didn't really expect them to do anything, because they'd helped already more than there was any call to. But, you see, they were the only ones I knew of I could turn to. So I went to them and after a day or two one of them came around and told us about this place — except, of course, he didn't tell us what it really was. He just said he knew of a place that was looking for settlers. He said it was a brand new territory that was opening up and there was free land for the taking and help to get you on your feet and that I could make a living and have a house instead of a two by four apartment in a stinking tenement and I said that we would go. He warned me that if we went, we couldn't come back again and I asked him who in their right mind would want to. I said that no matter where it was, we would go, and here we are."
"You've never regretted it?" asked Vickers.
"It was the luckiest thing," said Andrews, "that ever happened to us. Fresh air for the kids and all you want to eat and a place to live with no landlord to throw you out. No dues to pay and no taxes to scrape up. Just like in the history books."
"The history books?"
"Sure, you know. Like when America was first discovered and the pioneers piled in. Land for the taking. Land to roll in. More land than anyone can use and rich, so rich you just scratch the ground a little and throw in some seed and you got a crop. Land to plant things in and wood to burn and build with and you can walk out at night and look up at the sky and the sky is full of stars and the air is so clean it seems to hurt your nose when you draw it in."
Andrews turned and looked at Vickers, his eyes blazing.
"It was the best thing that ever happened to me," he said, as if daring Vickers to contradict him.
"But these mutants," asked Vickers. "Don't they get into your hair? Don't they lord it over you?"
"They don't do anything but help us. They send us a robot to help out with the work when we need to have some help and they send a robot that lives with us nine months of the year to teach the kids. One robot teacher for each family. Now ain't that something. Your own private teacher, just like you went out and hired yourself a high-toned private tutor like the rich folks back on Earth."
"And you don't resent these mutants? You don't feel they are better than you are? You don't hate them because they know more than you do?"
"Mister," said Asa Andrews, "you don't want to let anyone around these parts hear you talking like that. They're apt to string you up. When we first came, they explained it all to us. They had indoct — indoctrin —»
"Indoctrination courses."
"That's it. They told us what the score was. They told us what the rules were and there aren't many rules."
"Like not having any firearms," said Vickers.
"That's one of them," Andrews admitted. "How did you know that?"
"You're hunting with a bow."
"Another one is that if you get into a row with anybody and can't settle it peaceable the two of you are to go up to the Big House and let them settle it. And if you get sick you're to let them know right away so they can send you a doctor and whatever else you need. Most of the rules work to your benefit."
"How about work?"
"Work?"
"You have to earn some money, haven't you?"
"Not yet," said Andrews. "The mutants give us everything we want or need. All we do is work the land and grow the food. This is what they call… let me see now… what was that word
— oh yes, this is what they call the pastoral-feudal stage. You ever hear a word like that?"
"But they must have factories," Vickers persisted, ignoring the question. "Places where they make the razor blades and stuff. They'd need men to work in them."
"They use robots. Just lately they started making a car that would last forever. The plant is just a ways from here. But they use robots to do the entire job. You know what a robot is."
Vickers nodded. "There's another thing," he said. "I was wondering about natives."
"Natives?"
"Sure, the people on this earth. If there are people on this earth."
"There aren't any," Andrews said.
"But the rest of it is the same as the other Earth," said Vickers. "The trees, the rivers, the animals…"
"There aren't any natives," Andrews said. "No Indians or nothing."
So here, thought Vickers, was the difference from the Earth ahead, the tiny aberration that made a different world. Far back, somehow, there had been a difference that had blocked Man from rising, some minor incident, no doubt; some failing of the spark of intellect. Here there had been no striking of the flint for fire, no grasping of a stone that would become a weapon, no wonder glowing in the brutish brain — a wonder that in later years would become a song or painting or a single paragraph of exquisite writing or a flowing poem…