“We were lucky,” Norm said. Now several people had emerged from the pit and were gathering around them, listening. Jean and Sam Regan, Tod Morrison and his wife Helen, and now their Mayor, Hooker Glebe himself, waddling up excited and nervous, his face flushed, gasping for breath from the labor—unusual for him—of ascending the ramp.

Fran said,”We got a cancellation of debts card, just when we were most behind. We owed fifty thousand, and it made us even with the Oakland flukers. And then, after that, we got an advance ten squares card, and that put us right on the jackpot square, at least in our layout. We had a very bitter squabble, because the Oaklanders showed us that on their layout it was a tax lien slapped on real estate holdings square, but we had spun an odd number so that put us back on our own board.” She sighed. “I’m glad to be back. It was hard, Hooker; it was a tough game.”

Hooker Glebe wheezed, “Let’s all get a look at the Connie Companion doll, folks.” To Fran and Norm he said, “Can I lift her up and show them?”

“Sure,” Norm said, nodding.

Hooker picked up Connie Companion doll. “She sure is realistic,” he said, scrutinizing her. “Clothes aren’t as nice as ours generally are; they look machine-made.”

“They are,” Norm agreed. “But she’s carved, not poured.”

“Yes, so I see.” Hooker turned the doll about, inspecting her from all angles. “A nice job. She’s—um, more filled-out than Perky Pat. What’s this outfit she has on? Tweed suit of some sort.”

“A business suit,” Fran said. “We won that with her; they had agreed on that in advance.”

“You see, she has a job,” Norm explained. “She’s a psychology consultant for a business firm doing marketing research. In consumer preferences. A high-paying position… she earns twenty thousand a year, I believe Wynn said.”

“Golly,” Hooker said. “And Pat’s just going to college; she’s still in school.” He looked troubled. “Well, I guess they were bound to be ahead of us in some ways. What matters is that you won.” His jovial smile returned. “Perky Pat came out ahead.” He held the Connie Companion doll up high, where everyone could see her. “Look what Norm and Fran came back with, folks!”

Norm said, “Be careful with her, Hooker.” His voice was firm.

“Eh?” Hooker said, pausing. “Why, Norm?”

“Because,” Norm said, “she’s going to have a baby.”

There was a sudden chill silence. The ash around them stirred faintly; that was the only sound.

“How do you know?” Hooker asked.

“They told us. The Oaklanders told us. And we won that, too—after a bitter argument that Fennimore had to settle.” Reaching into the wheelbarrow he brought out a little leather pouch, from it he carefully took a carved pink new-born baby. “We won this too because Fennimore agreed that from a technical standpoint it’s literally part of Connie Companion doll at this point.”

Hooker stared a long, long time.

“She’s married,” Fran explained. “To Paul. They’re not just going together. She’s three months pregnant, Mr. Wynn said. He didn’t tell us until after we won; he didn’t want to, then, but they felt they had to. I think they were right; it wouldn’t have done not to say.”

Norm said, “And in addition there’s actually an embryo outfit—”

“Yes,” Fran said. “You have to open Connie up, of course, to see—”

“No,” Jean Regan said. “Please, no.”

Hooker said, “No, Mrs. Schein, don’t.” He backed away.

Fran said, “It shocked us of course at first, but—”

“You see,” Norm put in, “it’s logical; you have to follow the logic. Why, eventually Perky Pat—”

“No,” Hooker said violently. He bent down, picked up a rock from the ash at his feet. “No,” he said, and raised his arm. “You stop, you two. Don’t say any more.”

Now the Regans, too, had picked up rocks. No one spoke. Fran said, at last, “Norm, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“You’re right,” Tod Morrison told them. His wife nodded in grim agreement.

“You two go back down to Oakland,” Hooker told Norman and Fran Schein. “You don’t live here any more. You’re different than you were. You—changed.”

“Yes,” Sam Regan said slowly, half to himself. “I was right; there was something to fear.” To Norm Schein he said, “How difficult a trip is it to Oakland?”

“We just went to Berkeley,” Norm said. “To the Berkeley Fluke-pit.” He seemed baffled and stunned by what was happening. “My God,” he said, “we can’t turn around and push this wheelbarrow back all the way to Berkeley again—we’re worn out, we need rest!”

Sam Regan said, “What if somebody else pushed?” He walked up to the Scheins, then, and stood with them. “I’ll push the darn thing. You lead the way, Schein.” He looked toward his own wife, but Jean did not stir. And she did not put down her handful of rocks.

Timothy Schein plucked at his father’s arm. “Can I come this time, Dad? Please let me come.”

“Okay,” Norm said, half to himself. Now he drew himself together. “So we’re not wanted here.” He turned to Fran. “Let’s go. Sam’s going to push the wheelbarrow; I think we can make it back there before nightfall. If not, we can sleep out in the open; Timothy’ll help protect us against the do-cats.” Fran said, “I guess we have no choice.” Her face was pale. “And take this,” Hooker said. He held out the tiny carved baby. Fran Schein accepted it and put it tenderly back in its leather pouch. Norm laid Connie Companion back down in the wheelbarrow, where she had been. They were ready to start back.

“It’ll happen up here eventually,” Norm said, to the group of people, to the Pinole flukers. “Oakland is just more advanced; that’s all.”

“Go on,” Hooker Glebe said. “Get started.”

Nodding, Norm started to pick up the handles of the wheelbarrow, but Sam Regan moved him aside and took them himself. “Let’s go,” he said.

The three adults, with Timothy Schein going ahead of them with his knife ready—in case a do-cat attacked—started into motion, in the direction of Oakland and the south. No one spoke. There was nothing to say.

“It’s a shame this had to happen,” Norm said at last, when they had gone almost a mile and there was no further sign of the Pinole flukers behind them.

“Maybe not,” Sam Regan said. “Maybe it’s for the good.” He did not seem downcast. And after all, he had lost his wife; he had given up more than anyone else, and yet—he had survived.

“Glad you feel that way,” Norm said somberly. They continued on, each with his own thoughts.

After a while, Timothy said to his father, “All these big fluke-pits to the south… there’s lots more things to do there, isn’t there? I mean, you don’t just sit around playing that game.” He certainly hoped not.

His father said, “That’s true, I guess.”

Overhead, a care ship whistled at great velocity and then was gone again almost at once; Timothy watched it go but he was not really interested in it, because there was so much more to look forward to, on the ground and below the ground, ahead of them to the south.

His father murmured, “Those Oaklanders; their game, their particular doll, it taught them something. Connie had to grow and it forced them all to grow along with her. Our flukers never learned about that, not from Perky Pat. I wonder if they ever will. She’d have to grow up the way Connie did. Connie must have been like Perky Pat, once. A long time ago.”

Not interested in what his father was saying—who really cared about dolls and games with dolls?—Timothy scampered ahead, peering to see what lay before them, the opportunities and possibilities, for him and for his mother and dad, for Mr. Regan also.

“I can’t wait,” he yelled back at his father, and Norm Schein managed a faint, fatigued smile in answer.