"It's hard to say," Vayle told him. "A hundred thousand, perhaps."
"Do you keep up any sort of contact?"
"Why should we? We're outcasts." With a sudden rationality, he added, "We're ashamed. When we're together we feel bound to face the truth. It's impossible for man to admit he's a second-rater. So we hide out in deserted villages like this one—and pretend all this nightmare never happened." Then Vayle slipped back into his delusion again. "However, all that will be different as soon as my research is finished. Why, do you know, Captain—"
"I'm leaving this morning," Greg broke in. "Would you like to go with me?"
Vayle shook his head. "I'm too old to make a new start on your frontier, Captain." He reached for the woman's hand. "And as long as my secretary can't have a clearance—"
"Leave us as we are," Holly said. "Your dream is no better than ours."
After breakfast Greg left the hotel and crossed the highway to the field. It was still early morning, but the desert sun blazed hot in a copper sky. As Greg passed the old terminal building, the twelve year old boy suddenly materialized and fell in step beside him.
This was the thing Greg feared most. He began to walk more rapidly, fighting a rising panic. How could he keep the kid from prying into his mind? Desperately he tried to think of something else—anything, inane or banal. The children were not gods; they couldn't dig deeper than his conscious thought. (Or could they? Greg wasn't sure.)
"We're giving you a cargo for Venus," the boy said conversationally. "It will put you in business again, Captain. The Martian colony is equipped to repair your ship. You'll have enough cash to pay for it, now."