"The film?"
"The covering that seals in the conditioning. Nothing can get out, nothing get in—except things like rockets. Then, it's self-sealing, needless to say. But to get on, Captain. With all the technical advancements, it soon got to where there was no real work to be done here; they threw up the film and coated us with their preservative or, as they put it, Eternifier, and—well, with the exception of my calendar and the communications system, everything's worked perfectly, including myself."
No one said anything for a while. Then Captain Webber said, with great slowness, "You're lying. This is all a crazy, hideous plot." The little man chuckled at the word plot.
"In the first place, no cemetery or form of cemetery has existed on Earth for—how long, Friden?"
Mr. Friden stared at his fingers. "Years and years."
"Exactly. There are communal furnaces now."
Mr. Greypoole winced.
"And furthermore," continued the captain, "this whole concept is ridiculous."
Mr. Chitterwick threw down the pamphlet and began to tremble. "We should have stayed home," he remarked to a young woman who did not answer.