They went out and moved slowly down the street. There were people but they seemed used to strangers. There were desert-worn women, sun blackened children, leather-faced men.
The two Security men had been silent. Now Frank Brooks spoke suddenly. "If you're thinking about Quislings or traitors, Tom, it just doesn't make sense. These people aren't intelligent enough. An invader would go where—"
"I'm not thinking about that. Let's eat."
They went into the restaurant and were served by a fat woman who waddled back and forth from the kitchen, wedging herself through the doorway each time. The food was acceptable, exactly what could be expected in a place like this.
Outside again, Tom Brazier stopped suddenly in the middle of the hot street.
"What's wrong?" Brooks added.
"Damn it! Damn it all to hell! I don't know! And I should know! I came back here to find out and I still know something's wrong but I can't spot it."
Frank Brooks was concerned. "Tom, are you sure you're not just all tightened up about this whole deal?"
"No, I'm not. Look here—didn't you ever go through a place and remember it later as being—well, not quite right? Something you missed, maybe?"
"I'm afraid I'm not the sensitive type but I get what you mean. Then again, though, it might be an illusion of some kind. You might have the place mixed up subconsciously with another place of this kind you've seen."