see me."

Sethos blinked. That was unusual—mechanoids seldom mingled with humans, especially those of the primary levels.

"He's very intelligent about flowers," Paton went on, waving his glass in animation. "We talked about common hedge roses. Did you know he raises them?"

"Amazing!" Sethos drank deeply of the fiery liquor. Now the drifting plumes of smoke from the chalices performed fantasies with his vision, and his body felt light again, as it had so often in the evenings of the past few years.

"Of course I was flattered, having a visit from the most prime mechanoid. He could have called me, but they are somewhat conscious of being mechanical as it is, and try to be cordial as possible."

Sethos leaned forward eagerly. "Did he say anything about—their activities?"

"Well, that's not too interesting to me, because it's always just one change after another outside. He did say there is a new earth-bridge between the continents. Doesn't it seem incredible that they should want to go to all that trouble? But then, that's a mechanoid for you. Always making things bigger. That's why I enjoy seeing Mr. First take up flowers. Maybe he sees things our way himself."

"I don't suppose you've ever been out there, have you?"

"Out there? You mean, where the mechanoids live? Why, now that you mention it, I believe I was, once. But a long time ago—I must have been still living with my elders. It's not very enjoyable. Too big to call home, after all." With a short laugh, Paton emptied his glass again.

Sethos frowned. The idea that the world was so large fascinated him. As his contemporaries and their ancestors for unknown generations, Sethos had passed from dreamy childhood directly into the dream of adult life. He could barely recall the days of education, when drugged smoke and liquor were withheld, and life consisted of a different fairy world. How he had loved the gay mechanoid nurses, with their tinkling arms and bright colors! But of their world, the vast reaches of the planet outside the tiny circle of men, he knew very little. One fact was plain to him: it was unthinkably huge.

Sudden music poured from the house, gay and fast.

"Ha! The dancers!" exclaimed Paton, seeing the rows of gyrating figures beyond a pink translucent wall. "You must excuse me. I promised Matya I would watch her dance tonight."

Paton hurried away, leaving Sethos to wander along the dimly lighted terrace. The party had lightened his senses as expected, yet his thoughts were heavy. He remembered the library, and the strange legends in the books. Legends of ancient cities of men, over all the earth, and of the prehistoric machines used by men to travel great distances. And always in the old legends men were very much like the industrious mechanoids—ever building, ever moving....

How he wished he might live in those days! He knew the pleasure of creating, for he had been acclaimed a genius in music before he was twenty, and his mastery of painting and architecture had won the admiration of all the human zone. Still, he was not satisfied, and often lay awake in the early hours of morning after a stirring party, dreaming of those long-gone days of empire, when he could have ridden with the ancients through the sky on their winged craft, see their cities rise toward the clouds, experience the exciting pace of that life. What remarkable ambitions they must have had!

As Sethos reached the end of the terrace, he was hailed by a garmenter named Brin, standing with a group of men around a light projector. The colors sprayed up about their faces, matching the gaudy orange of Brin's trousers and the blue of his little plumed hat.

"Greetings, Sethos! How are the crops up North? Still live with Ela?"

"They're fine, Brin. Live with Ela? No more than anyone else these days."

Brin chuckled. "A neat remark, Seth—I must remember it to your true love the next time I have reason to see her."

The men laughed appreciatively,