"Just walking," Winthrop explained.
He saw a gnarled, forlorn apple tree just beyond the perimeter of the guard posts. Almost pleadingly he said, "I'd like to go over there if you don't mind."
"Hell, I don't mind," the lieutenant said, "but don't go any farther!"
Winthrop still clutched the picture book. A warning? A chill swept him. Was the ship indeed a coffin for the corpses of the survivors of a pastoral race who had sought to escape, but whose knowledge of time and space had not been adequate?
The lieutenant was surveying him quizzically.
"Thanks," Winthrop said, and walked to the tree.
He sat down, and opened the book again. He thumbed through it repeatedly, the pictures creating a sickness in him.
"Hello," a little girl's voice said.
Winthrop looked up. Six? Seven? He could only be sure that she was blond and blue-eyed, and had apparently come from the direction of the botanical gardens. She clutched roller skates in her arms.