For Bob Winslow, there followed hours that intrigued him. Only here and there did he meet Taval residents. Vasper explained that by going directly from point to point, that there was no traffic, that all duty hours were staggered because Taval at night, was as well illuminated as by day. The chief plants were operated by robot workers, who could reproduce their kind in other factories. "Taval, like our other cities, now needs only brains," Vasper went on. "We maintain sports here to keep our bodies fit." As he spoke, Vasper undid a tiny container hanging to one shoulder, extracted a handful of tiny pellets and swallowed them. At Bob's look of curiosity he smiled. "Energy," he said. "But we use more fluid food than these. Come, while I take you to The Three, your companion is at liberty to go across there to the stadium of sports."
"I'd like to see that too," Bob said. Vasper nodded. He pointed to an outside screen. They entered it and found themselves in a great open air arena. Upon the grass-mantled field a game was in progress, not unlike basketball. Farther away, a group of young women, the first Bob had seen, clad in trunks like any miss of the Twentieth Century, engaged in a game, somewhat like tennis, save that the ball was larger and a dozen took part in each court. Youths were jogging along a circular track, and in the distance was a narrow, but rather long swimming pool. The arena itself, was double the size of any Bob had ever seen before. "I think," Vasper observed, "that should interest Kenley. And now, if you have been listening carefully, there comes an order for us."
Bob heard it now, a voice speaking slowly, some of the words not recognizable. The speaker had no accent. Vasper was watching Bob. "The language has changed," he explained. "That was Fator, the senior of Taval's Three. He must examine you, assign you your future duties."
"Future duties!"
"Of course. Why else did The Three send for you out of time? Your brain is needed, if we prepare to save the world in the centuries to come. There are others we are summoning, if we had more apparatus. Unfortunately, certain elements are scarce, and we have but one—the one in which they brought you here." So speaking, Vasper led the way to another screen.
Somehow, Bob had expected to find an aged, bearded man. Instead, Fator, senior of The Three looked no more than sixty, was clean shaven and his hair was hardly gray. He was at a desk, in a room minus windows, and very similar to the other interiors Bob had already seen here. Fator had his hands upon an inclosed cylinder which gave forth a whirring sound. He wore a look of deep concentration, and Vasper motioned for silence till the cylinder ceased whirring. Then Fator rose, walked across the room and held out a hand.
"I bid you welcome to Taval, Winslow," he spoke slowly, in his stilted manner. "You will find more—more sympathy here, than in your time. More than you had in your own research laboratory."
"Why—you know about that?"
Fator nodded, cold gray eyes flicking over Bob's body. "I notice you are well kept. Splendid. You shall have the same food as you are accustomed to, sir. Your duties are to be with an advanced group—charting our universe—as we reach the Peltior Dark."