"The Administration's all wound up in the Rearmament Program. Doubling the size of the space fleet. Everybody's edgy, wondering whether there's going to be war with the Centauri crowd. Hardly anyone remembers there is such a place as Fairyland. If we go back and kick up a fuss, no telling what might happen. Most of the Government budget is earmarked for defense. We might all find ourselves among the unemployed."
I looked at him for a long time, until his eyes couldn't meet mine any more. "Hoppy," I said quietly, "how long has it been since they stopped thinking of Fairyland as a practical possibility?"
He shrugged, still not looking at me. "I don't know, Harry. Twelve, maybe fifteen years, I suppose. There aren't many Happy Hooligans around any more—at least they aren't working at it. They're all getting rich off the defense effort."
"So they're just letting us drift along out here because it's easier than disbanding the thing and trying to rehabilitate the Kids. That right?"
He nodded. "That's about it."
I took a deep breath, and shook my head. "Why, Hoppy? Why?"
"Oh, hell!" he blurted. "Let's face it, Harry. The whole idea just isn't practical. It would never work."
"Never work!" I shouted. "It's been working for forty years!"
"Sure, sure—it works here. On an isolated desert planet a billion miles from Earth, it works fine. But you can't remake the whole world into a Fairyland, Harry. You just can't do it!"
There was a sinking, sickening feeling in my guts. "Okay, Hoppy. Okay.... Blast off."