"Don't worry, honey," Doug said. He opened the door. "So far it looks pretty civilized—hell, they couldn't be any worse than the quaint little tribe of cut-throats back home! Matter of fact, if I thought for a minute anyone here'd believe me—"
"Better not, Doug."
"Not a chance. I'm still one of Our Crowd—I don't trust anybody! And don't you—Stay put right here 'til I'm back, understand?"
He kissed her, then walked across the lawn to the idling helicopter.
It was empty.
He got inside, then saw the red button with the one word RETURN under it. He punched it.
Effortlessly, the robot-controlled craft lifted, wafted him in seconds high above the city. Its rise stopped at what he judged was about 1,000 feet, then proceeded on a course of its own.
"Wonderful, these dreamers," he muttered, and became engrossed in study of the fabulous city below him.
There was no capitol dome, nor could he find the Washington monument. But there was still the Potomac, and there were the cherry blossoms.
Then the city became little more than a rolling pattern of line and color to him, and the thoughts began coming quickly, intensely. An excuse for the difference in his voice—did people here have colds? The uniform—suppose something were wrong ... and his own mannerisms—how closely would he resemble, under the close scrutiny of the few there must be who knew him well, the man whom he'd replaced—the other Douglas Blair, who must at this instant be facing the same problem in a world as alien to him as this was to Congressman Douglas Blair? The woman on the phone had said "Your offices"—his meeting, then, and they'd ask questions.