Chapter III

It was a big day in Fairyland whenever the Council of Uncles came. Bigger in a way than either Christmas or Circus Time, because they came twice a year and the Council of Uncles only once.

I'd adjusted the controls of the Weather Generators the night before so that Arrival Day dawned warm and clear. The Kids were all dressed in Sunday-best and the festival flags were flying from the tops of all the buildings. Across the side of Daddy's Tower that faced the desert and spaceport, a gay, multi-colored banner constructed by the third-graders proclaimed: WELCOME UNCLES!

The Kids were gathered in the courtyard at the foot of the Tower, their eyes scanning the green sky for the first glimpse of the Uncles' spaceship. Up in the Tower at the radar console, I picked up a blip at about three hundred kilomiles. I interrogated, and the target trace blinked in the proper code sequence.

I turned on the kiddiecom system and announced that we had just received a message from the Cold Side of Number One Sun. The sound of cheering drifted up from the courtyard.

"The Uncles will be here in ten minutes," I said. "Mommy, will you lead us in a rehearsal of the 'Welcome Song,' please?"

I stood by the window, listening to the vast sound of a hundred and thirty-seven voices, each trying to outdo the other in amplitude and sincerity.

"_Welcome to Fairyland,
Welcome to Fairyland,
Welcome dear Uncles
To Fairyland, today!_"

It was discordant, it was childish--it was even ludicrous--but I loved it. I loved it without quite understanding it, and it made me feel happy yet sad at the same time....

I took the elevator down to the loading platform and drove the monorail car out to the spaceport, which was ten miles from Fairyland--across the arid, lifeless desert. We'd built the dock close enough for easy access yet far enough away so that the awesome sight of a spaceship landing or blasting off wouldn't generate too much curiosity in the Kids. It was a link with the Outside World, a world that had no reality for them and for that reason could not stand too close an inspection.

The Earth ship was snuggling comfortably into the dock as I climbed out of the car. I ran across the landing platform and pressed the control switch that lowered the gangway against the ship's hatch.

Boswell, the Council Chairman, was first down the gangway. He was short, fat without being flabby, and completely bald except for a fringe of white fuzz around the back of his head and over his ears. He had an oversized nose, and bright blue eyes that twinkled perpetually. The Kids called him Uncle Chub.

"Well well well, Harry. You look fine. Fine. Good to see you. How's it going?"

"Fine, sir. Just fine."

His three colleagues followed close on his heels. I shook hands with each of them. Two of them I'd known as long as I had Boswell, ever since I'd become the Third Daddy of Fairyland.

There was old Eaker, lean and tall and solemn, with never much to say. The Kids called him Uncle Thin. ("Good to see you, Harry. How are you doing?") Then there was Hopkins, about my age and therefore younger than either Boswell or Eaker. A nice, medium guy, Hopkins--medium build, medium gray hair, medium voice, affable without being garrulous, intelligent without being stuffy. The Kids called him Uncle Hoppy. ("Hi, Dad. How's the gang?")

The fourth Councilman was a stranger. Boswell introduced him as William Pettigrew. He was slightly built, fidgety, shrill-voiced and weasel-faced. His mouth was fixed in a perpetual smirk, and I formed a dislike for him--immediate and intense. I wondered what the Kids would call him, and a suggestion immediately came to mind: Uncle Jerk.

"Can't say as I approve of this place at all," said Pettigrew as we climbed aboard the mono-car. "Matter of fact, I strongly _dis_approve."

"Well, sir," I said, trying not to gnash my teeth, "I don't quite see how you can be certain until you've seen it."

"Principle. Matter of principle."

I didn't answer. Hoppy caught my eye and winked.

* * * * *

A rousing cheer came from the Kids down in the courtyard as we climbed out of the car. Then I heard the brief, plaintive whimper of Mommy's pitch-pipe and once again the "Welcome Song" reverberated throughout Fairyland. The Uncles waved down at the Kids, with the exception of Pettigrew, who fidgeted until the song was finished. As we descended in the lift, he said: "This place must cost the taxpayers a tidy sum."

"As a matter of fact, we're almost self-sustaining," I said. "A few tons of reactor fuel per annum is all we require to--"

"Don't humor him, Harry," said Boswell. "Let him read the Report."

Pettigrew glared, but except for an inaudible mutter he took Boswell's squelch without comment. I was wondering what significance might be hidden in this addition of a fourth Uncle to the Council, but I finally shrugged it off. Earthside politics bored the hell out of me.

Mommy was waiting to greet us as we stepped out of the elevator and Uncle Chub gave her a big hug. "How's the First Lady of the Galaxy?" he said, and she brightened as though it were a spontaneous compliment she was hearing for the first time instead of the twentieth.

Then the Kids broke ranks and milled around us, squealing and laughing and firing questions about Santa Claus. Being new, Pettigrew received a good deal of attention. "Who are you?" "What's your Uncle-name?" "Do you live with Santy Claus or with the fairies?" "How cold is the cold side of Number One Sun?" "Do you like merry-go-rounds better than rolly-coasters?"

The pelting of this verbal barrage sent him spinning like a crippled spaceship and I wedged myself through the ring of Kids to rescue him. "Come on, gang! Break it up!"

Pettigrew gave me a look of wide-eyed terror. "They're insane," he whispered. "Look at them! They're adults, but they act like--like--"

"Like children," I said. "That's what they are, Mr. Pettigrew. I thought the other Councilors had explained--"

"They did. But I never thought--well, I mean this is awful!"

I grinned, "You'll get used to it."

"Whole thing is ludicrous. Ludicrous!" He waved an all-encompassing hand that included the Kids, Fairyland, its basic concept, and me.

I was getting more disenchanted with this character all the time. "Now just a minute, you--"

A strong hand closed over my arm and I looked around into the grinning face of Hoppy. "Let's get the program started, eh?" he said.

* * * * *

The next three hours were a hodge-podge of well-rehearsed chaos. The Council had to inspect everything so they could return a first-hand report to the Solar Committee for Sociological Research, and on the other hand all the Kids had to show off for the Uncles.

The first stop on the agenda was the Arts & Crafts Building where we exhibited the drawings and clay animals and models and beadwork and a thousand-and-one other items the Kids had made with their own hands. From there we adjourned to the school where Ruth had displayed a few samples of the work of each class.

"We only have one teacher," I explained to Pettigrew, "because each class meets for just an hour a day. We stagger the classes, kindergarten through third grade. The Kids spend an average of five years in each grade, including kindergarten."

"Ridiculous!"

"There's nothing ridiculous about it," I said, patiently, "for the simple reason that they're not in any hurry."

"Hmph. Well, I _am_. Let's get on with it."

From the school the procession migrated to the Recreation Hall. We visited the game room for demonstrations by Checker Champ Mike-One and Chess Champ Adam-Two, then witnessed exhibitions at the Bowling Alley, Basketball Court, and the Ice and Roller Rinks. I explained to Pettigrew that each Kid was Champ of something. There were enough categories for everybody, and nobody was allowed to be Champ of more than one thing at a time. Uncle Petty mumbled something I didn't catch.

We skirted the Midway and took a tour of the Pretty Park. Here at last was something Pettigrew could accept; he almost smiled as he saw the huge flower beds raised by the Botany Team. But the almost-smile disappeared as we explained to him the purpose of the little cottages nestled among the trees. His eyes bugged and his face became quite red, and his voice failed him so that he could only sputter.

"We only retard the mind," I explained, "not the body. Playing House is just another recreational activity, like riding the merry-go-round or playing golf. The Kids enjoy it, but they don't make a big thing out of it. We treat the whole subject quite casually, and frankly."

I'll say this for Pettigrew, he had spunk. He swallowed his moral indignation, squared his thin shoulders, took a deep breath and managed to find his voice. But it failed him again on the word "pregnancy."

"We allow that to occur only rarely," I said. "We're building to a static population of a hundred and forty. At the current rate of one Dolly per year, in three more years we'll--"

"One _what_ per year?"

"Dolly." I caught Hoppy's muffled snort behind me and managed to hold down the size of my grin. "The Kids call it 'making a Dolly.' It's a rare treat and the girls look forward to it."

When the danger of apoplexy had subsided, Mr. Pettigrew choked, "This--this is ... _monstrous! Monstrous!_" And, having found the right word, he savored it: "Monstrous."

There were too many kids around to pursue the discussion. Little pitchers, I thought. I was especially concerned about Adam-Two, who had been lurking as close to the group of Uncles as possible, soaking in every word like a damp sponge. Twice I whispered to Ruth to decoy him out of earshot, but she was too busy to keep an eye on him all the time. She'd no sooner turn her back than he'd edge up through the crowd again, a look of fierce curiosity on his thin face.

From the Pretty Park we made our way to the Golf Course, the Football and Baseball Fields, then the Tennis Courts and Swimming Pool. Demonstrations were given at each stop, with much shouting and applause. After the final demonstration by the Diving Champ, we made a tour of the dormitories. Pettigrew went through a minor tantrum again when the Dolly Team showed him through the small Maternity Ward in the girls' dorm.

At last we filed into the Auditorium for the Happy Show. The Kids who weren't Champs of some game or craft were all in the Happy Show. We watched, listened, and applauded for the Song Champ, the Somersault Champ, the Dancing Champ, the Yo-yo Champ, and many more. The _piece-de-resistance_ was a playlet entitled "The Uncles' Visit," where three of the boys imitated Uncles Chub, Hoppy, and Thin. (We hadn't been expecting Uncle Petty, so he wasn't in it. Probably just was as well, I thought.) It was a riot.

* * * * *

After the show, lollipops were passed out to everybody and it was Free Time until lunch. Mommy stayed below to keep an eye on things and I herded the Uncles up to the conference room in the Tower.

Uncle Chub Boswell rapped the meeting to order. He paid me the standard compliment about how healthy and happy the Kids looked and what a fine job Ruth and I were doing here, then asked me to read the Annual Report.

Before I could get my papers in order, Pettigrew piped, "Mr. Chairman, I'd like to ask a few pertinent questions."

"All right, Petty. Make it brief."

"Thank you. I should like to ask--er, what was your name again?"

"Barnaby," I said. "Harry Barnaby. Just call me Daddy."

He glared my grin into oblivion. "Mr. Barnaby, I would like you to explain to me the purpose of this installation."

For some reason, the tone of his voice on the word "installation" infuriated me. "What the devil are you driving at?" I snapped.

There was a faint suggestion of a sneer on his pasty little face. "I'm interested in ascertaining, Mr. Barnaby, just how you justify the continued conduction of this perpetual circus and picnic for the mentally retarded, at tremendous expense to the taxpayers."

I felt an almost irresistible urge to lean across the conference table and hit him in the mouth. I turned to Boswell and said, "Chub, I think you'd better get this pip-squeak out of here."

Boswell glowered at Pettigrew. "Petty, I told you to watch your lip."

"I don't have to take that kind of talk from you, Boswell!"

"Yes you do, as long as I'm Chairman of this committee!"

"Don't be surprised if we have a new Chairman shortly after we return to Earth," said Mr. Pettigrew smugly.

Boswell grinned at me. "Mr. Pettigrew figgers he's got influence, Harry. He has a second cousin on the Senate Committee of the Galactic Council. Figgers he'll have me sacked and make himself Chairman. He ain't been a bureaucrat long enough to appreciate the red-tape involved in that kind of caper."

I laughed, and managed to look at Pettigrew without wanting to hit him. "I don't mind questions," I said, "as long as they're put to me in a civil manner.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Pettigrew, what the purpose of this 'installation' is. We're trying to find out how to make people happy. And we think we've got the answer. Don't let them find out that there's no Santa Claus, that everybody dies, that it doesn't always pay to be good. Don't let them know that sex is dirty, childbirth is painful, and not everybody can be a champion. Don't let them find out what a stupid, sordid, ugly, ridiculous place the world is. In short, Mr. Pettigrew, don't let them grow up!"

"Nonsense!"

"Nonsense, Mr. Pettigrew? You saw them. You saw how they live. You saw their faces and heard them laugh. Judge for yourself."

Pettigrew scowled at me. "Am I to understand, Mr. Barnaby, that you seriously propose that this quaint little ... er ... experiment be adopted as a way of life, for everybody?"

"Why not?" I was warming to my subject now, and I leaned across the table toward him. "Why not? We've had seven thousand years of civilization. We spent the first six thousand learning more and more subtle and complex reasons for hating one another and the last thousand in developing more elaborate and fiendish ways of destroying one another. And out of our so-called scientific advancement, accidentally, has come a thing called automation. The age of the laborer and breadwinner is past. What are we going to do, Mr. Pettigrew? Let man use his leisure time to discover even more effective ways of destroying himself ... or let him live in a Fairyland?"

Uncle Petty turned his head slowly, letting his gaze travel around the room as if he were seeking moral support. He started to say something, then shook his head.

"Think of it," I went on, "a whole world full of happy kids! And a new kind of aristocracy--the Daddies and Mommies. They and their children would be trained to supervise, to keep an eye on things, just as Ruth and I do here. The Kids could be trained to do what little maintenance the machines require--"

"You're insane!" Pettigrew exploded. "That's it! You're crazier than the rest of them out there. You--"

I don't know whether or not I really intended to hit him, or how things might have turned out if I had. Luckily, Boswell jumped to his feet and pulled me back as I made a lunge across the table. "Take it easy, Harry," he said quietly. Then he turned to Pettigrew. "Petty, we've had enough out of you for today. Open your mouth again and I'll lock you in the ship till we're ready to leave!"

Pettigrew slid lower in his chair and after a brief mumbling was silent. I apologized to Boswell for losing my temper. "Forget it, Harry," he chuckled. "Wanted to hit 'im myself lots of times.... Well, let's have the Report, eh?"

* * * * *

The bulk of the Annual Report consisted of a lot of dry statistics about the hydroponics crop, the weight and height and emotional ratings of the Kids, reports on certain educational and recreational experiments, and so on. The problem of Adam-Two was the last item on the agenda, and as I read it they perked up their ears and stopped yawning.

"... and in light of these developments, the under-signed recommends that Adam-Two be transported to Earth and given a normal education so that he may be assimilated into the society."

I stood for a moment, holding the papers in my hand, looking from one to the other of that quartet of blank, silent faces.

Finally, Boswell cleared his throat. "Harry, let me get this straight. You think this ... what's his name? Adam-Two. You actually think he's--ah--growing up?"

I nodded. "There isn't a doubt in _my_ mind, and Ruth agrees."

"And you think we oughta take him back to Earth with us?"

"Sure, I do. I think that's the only solution, don't you?"

Eaker coughed discreetly. "I'm afraid it isn't any solution at all."

"What would _we_ do with him?" Hoppy wanted to know.

"Look," I said, "the kid is a misfit. He doesn't belong here. He belongs on Earth where he can get an education and maybe a chance to ... to make something of himself."

Boswell cleared his throat again. "Seems like he'd be a worse misfit on Earth than he is here, Harry."

"He would not!" I snapped. "He's a sharp kid. He'd adapt himself in no time."

Eaker spoke up again. "It seems to me we're overlooking an important point here, gentlemen. Isn't Fairyland supposed to be a sort of testing ground for a particular sociological theory? It seems to me we'd be defeating our purpose if we removed this lad just because he doesn't seem to fit. If the world is to be converted to a Fairyland, there'll be more Adam-Two's from time to time. What's to be done with them?"

"Nuts!" I said. "It's not the same problem, and you know it. If the whole world were like this place, Fairyland would be the only reality there was. Guys like Adam would _have_ to accept it.... Why don't you just admit that you don't want to be bothered with this?"

Boswell rapped for order. "Gentlemen, there's no need to waste any more time with this.... Now Harry, you know we've got no real jurisdiction in this. We're just advisory. The Kids are all wards of the Solar State and if you want to appeal for help through official channels, we'll be glad to initiate a request for you when we get back to Earth."

I realized now that I might as well have saved my breath. It was the old bureaucratic buck-pass. For twenty years, the Uncles' visit had been merely an annual ritual--and they intended to keep it that way. They had a nice, soft touch and they weren't going to let anything spoil it. Sure, they'd initiate a report ... and by the time it filtered through the spiral nebula of red-tape, Adam and I would both have died of old age.

I gathered up my papers. "Just forget it," I said sourly. "If there's no further business, let's adjourn for lunch and I'll take you back to the ship."

* * * * *

At the spaceport we shook hands and Hoppy hung back after the others had gone up the gangway. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about this Adam thing, Harry."

"Forget it."

"I know how you feel, and I wish we could help. But you know how it is...."

"Sure. I know how it is."

"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."

He stood looking at me for a moment, then turned and hurried up the gangway.

Just as he reached the hatch, two figures emerged suddenly from the ship. One wore the uniform of a Space Fleet astro-navigator. The other was Adam-Two.

I ran up the gangway in time to hear the navigator telling Hoppy, "I found him in the forward chart room."

"Adam!" I yelled. "What are you up to now?"

"I wanted to go along," he said. "I wanted to see if they were really going to the cold side of Number One Sun."

I grabbed his arm and hustled him down to the mono-car. We slid clear of the dock and about half a mile away I stopped the car to watch them blast off.

Adam's eyes were wide with wonderment. "What makes it go?"

"Rocket motors," I said absently. I watched the ship, now just a mote disappearing in the twilight sky. And I thought, _There goes the tag end of a twenty-year dream._

That was all it had ever been; I knew that now. Just a dream, and a stupid one at that. I'd deluded myself even more than the Kids.

"What's a rocket motor?"

I looked at Adam. "What? What did you say?"

"I said, what's a rocket motor?"

"Who said anything about rocket motors?"

"You did. I asked you what makes it go and you said, rocket motors."

I frowned. "Forget it. Magic makes it go. Santa Claus magic."

"Okay, Daddy. Sure."

Something about his tone made me look sharply at him. He was grinning at me; a cynical, adult-type grin. Yesterday it would have made me furious. Today, for some crazy reason, it made me burst out laughing. I laughed for quite a long time, and then as suddenly as it began, it was over. I rumpled his hair and started the car.

"Adam," I said, "take a tip from your Daddy. Stop trying to find out about things. Hang onto your dreams. Dreams are happy things, and truth is sometimes pretty ugly...."