"Look like straight dope to me. The Universal News Service is pretty conservative."
"How could things have changed so while we were away? It doesn't seem like the same world. Those men in Washington must be mad."
"I know, Hilda, but perhaps we are the ones who are out of step. This is the day of directed evolution."
"But, John—how horrible, to take all those sick folks and banish them on a Space Tramp!"
John drove past the old wooden houses of their small city and then let out speed on the highway before he answered, "The Leader says that is what we should do—harden our emotions for the sake of a better race. You and I are in the minority. Those years on the Moon trip have left us out of date."
They were silent for a little while before she continued, "Do you suppose we really are in the minority? The people who listen in to our raditype service seem just about as they did before we went away. Their letters prove that. I saw an old lady's scrap book the other day, of her clippings. I read it through because I had been wondering how much of the printed recording was ever reread. Most people are content to glance at the screen when the news first comes on. She had saved the old type sentimental items, just as an old lady would have five or ten years ago."
"Yes, the small towns are slow to change. That's why they hate the little news services like ours. Prepared news hastens the new day."
"Do you suppose they'll talk to us?"
"They'll have to," he said grimly, "with all those folks watching and listening in. I wonder what the patients think about the new idea—or if they know."
"Where do you think they will be sent? Why don't the authorities just put them to sleep with a lethal drug?"