Mr. Loneliness

By HENRY SLESAR
Illustrated by ORBAN
It is lonely out there in space. Very, very lonely! A man needs to see a human face, hear a human voice. So visitors have to be sent out somehow—by some means.
There were winds on the asteroid, and they blew in threads of heat and cold, chilling your feet and dampening your brow with sweat. The man shivered and cursed when the winds blew, condemning the freak currents of space, damning the Authority which had anchored him to this lonely outpost.
If you could only feel them, he said intensely to the three men at the other side of the room.
No, thanks, said Briggs. He laughed, and the sound was like brass.
I feel it in my sleep sometimes, the man said moodily, staring at the floor. It does something to your dreams. I have the strangest nightmares....
Maybe it's the rations, Towne suggested, with the hint of a twinkle. Towne was a great kidder.
Trouble with you, Pace, said Briggs. You think too much. Too many gadgets out here to do your work for you. The Authority oughta scrap some of these robot controls and get you to use your hands. It's a great cure for the doldrums, you know.
Murchison, the third man, looked grave. In my opinion, he said judiciously, we need a better rotation system out here. How long have you been observing on GT-8?
One year, five months, two weeks, three days.... Pace looked at nothing.
Two hours, forty minutes, and seven seconds, eh? Towne chuckled. You outposters are all alike. Living clocks, every one of you. He nudged Murchison's side. Watch this, Deano. What time is it now, Pace? No fair looking.