"Perhaps something may be worked out. Now, we must get started. Take me at once to your ruling body."
"Ah. Do you suppose the Council of Dreamers—?"
"Hmph; just the sort of thing we shall have done with once and for all. But we must start someplace, I suppose. Let us proceed."
They all climbed somewhat apprehensively into the vehicle. They proceeded.
Screed proceeded.
He proceeded, with Viola and Garten cheering and trailing along some little distance to the rear, to carry out his total plan. It was almost too easy.
"Almost," thought Screed as the obedient, grateful citizens of Nirva labored frantically to remake their world into a model Class II, Galactic Service AgPlan. "But then, no one else could ever make a start here. It is simply that, to a mind and character like mine, all things are easy."
He was, not for the first time, mildly surprised at his own brilliance, and totally admiring.
Perhaps he was justified. Certainly both Viola and the sometimes cynical seeming Garten were all awed respect. The reformation of Nirva advanced at a remarkable pace. The people, rudely awakened from a generations-long dream, were confused, aimless, purposeless. Like the bewildered representative at the space port, they wanted nothing more than a firm leader to give them direction. Having apparently no will of their own, they went to work with a will. Screed's will.