“Did you notice their costumes?” Basset said. “In a storybook I once read. Robin Hood. Little caps, boots.”

“A story…” Groves rubbed his jaw, a strange look suddenly glinting in his eyes. “A book.”

“What, sir?” Siller said.

“Nothing.” Groves came suddenly to life, moving away. “Let’s follow them. I want to see their city.”

He increased his pace, walking with great strides after the tiny men, who had not got very far off, yet.

“Come on,” Siller said. “Before they get away.” He and Carmichel and Basset followed behind Groves, catching up with him. The four of them kept pace with the tiny men, who were hurrying away as fast as they could. After a time one of the tiny men stopped, throwing himself down on the ground. The others hesitated, looking back.

“He’s tired out,” Siller said. “He can’t make it.”

Shrill squeaks rose. He was being urged on.

“Give him a hand,” Basset said. He bent down, picking the tiny figure up. He held him carefully between his gloved fingers, turning him around and around.

“Ouch!” He set him down quickly.

“What is it?” Groves came over.

“He stung me.” Basset massaged his thumb.

“Stung you?”

“Stabbed, I mean. With his sword.”

“You’ll be all right.” Groves went on, after the tiny figures.

“Sir,” Siller said to Carmichel, “this certainly makes the Ganymede problem seem remote.”

“It’s a long way off.”

“I wonder what their city will be like,” Groves said.

“I think I know,” Basset said.

“You know? How?”

Basset did not answer. He seemed to be deep in thought, watching the figures on the ground intently.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not lose them.”

They stood together, none of them speaking. Ahead, down a long slope, lay a miniature city. The tiny figures had fled into it, across a drawbridge. Now the bridge was rising, lifted by almost invisible threads. Even as they watched, the bridge snapped shut.

“Well, Doc?” Siller said. “This what you expected?”

Basset nodded. “Exactly.”

The city was walled, built of gray stone. It was surrounded by a little moat. Countless spires rose up, a conglomeration of peaks and gables, tops of buildings. There was furious activity going on inside the city. A cacophony of shrill sounds from countless throats drifted across the moat to the four men, growing louder each moment. At the walls of the city figures appeared, soldiers in armor, peering across the moat at them.

Suddenly the drawbridge quivered. It began to slide down, descending into position. There was a pause. Then—

“Look!” Groves exclaimed. “Here they come.”

Siller raised his gun. “My Lord! Look at them!”

A horde of armed men on horseback clattered across the drawbridge, spilling out onto the ground beyond. They came straight toward the four spacesuited men, the sun sparkling against their shields and spears. There were hundreds of them, decked with streamers and banners and pennants of all colors and sizes. An impressive sight, on a small scale.

“Get ready,” Carmichel said. “They mean business. Watch your legs.” He tightened the bolts of his helmet.

The first wave of horsemen reached Groves, who was standing a little ahead of the others. A ring of warriors surrounded him, little glittering armored and plumed figures, hacking furiously at his ankles with miniature swords.

“Cut it out!” Groves howled, leaping back. “Stop!”

“They’re going to give us trouble,” Carmichel said.

Siller began to giggle nervously, as arrows flew around him. “Shall I give it to them, sir? One blast from the Boris gun and—”

“No! Don’t fire—that’s an order.” Groves moved back as a phalanx of horses rushed toward him, spears lowered. He swung his leg, spilling them over with his heavy boot. A frantic mass of men and horses struggled to right themselves.

“Back,” Basset said. “Those damn archers.”

Countless men on foot were rushing from the city with long bows and quivers strapped to their backs. A chaos of shrill sound filled the air.

“He’s right,” Carmichel said. His leggings had been hacked clean through by determined knights who had dismounted and were swinging again and again, trying to chop him down. “If we’re not going to fire we better retreat. They’re tough.”

Clouds of arrows rained down on them.

“They know how to shoot,” Groves admitted. “These men are trained soldiers.”

“Watch out,” Siller said “They’re trying to get between us. Pick us off one by one.” He moved toward Carmichel nervously. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Hear them?” Carmichel said. “They’re mad. They don’t like us.”

The four men retreated, backing away. Gradually the tiny figures stopped following, pausing to reorganize their lines.

“It’s lucky for us we have our suits on,” Groves said. “This isn’t funny anymore.”

Siller bent down and pulled up a clump of weeds. He tossed the clump at the line of knights. They scattered.

“Let’s go,” Basset said. “Let’s leave.”

“Leave?”

“Let’s get out of here.” Basset was pale. “I can’t believe it. Must be some kind of hypnosis. Some kind of control of our minds. It can’t be real.”

Siller caught his arm. “Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

Basset’s face was contorted strangely. “I can’t accept it,” he muttered thickly. “Shakes the whole fabric of the universe. All basic beliefs.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Groves put his hand on Basset’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Doctor.”

“But General—”

“I know what you’re thinking. But it can’t be. There must be some rational explanation. There has to be.”

“A fairy tale,” Basset muttered. “A story.”

“Coincidence. The story was a social satire, nothing more. A social satire, a work of fiction. It just seems like this place. The resemblance is only—”

“What are you two talking about?” Carmichel said.

“This place.” Bassett pulled away. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’re caught in a mind web of some sort.”

“What’s he talking about?” Carmichel looked from Basset to Groves. “Do you know where we are?”

“We can’t be there,” Basset said.

‘Where?”

“He made it up. A fairy tale. A child’s tale.”

“No, a social satire, to be exact,” Groves said.

“What are they talking about, sir?” Siller said to Commander Carmichel. “Do you know?”

Carmichel grunted. A slow light dawned in his face. “What?”

“Do you know where we are, sir?”

“Let’s get back to the globe,” Carmichel said.

Groves paced nervously. He stopped by the port, looking out intently, peering into the distance.

“More coming?” Basset said.

“Lots more.”

“What are they doing out there now?”

“Still working on their tower.”

The little people were erecting a tower, a scaffolding up the side of the globe. Hundreds of them were working together, knights, archers, even women and boys. Horses and oxen pulling tiny carts were drawing supplies from the city. A shrill hubbub penetrated the rexenoid hull of the globe, filtering to the four men inside.

“Well?” Carmichel said. “What’ll we do? Go back?”

“I’ve had enough,” Groves said. “All I want now is to go back to Terra.”

“Where are we?” Siller demanded, for the tenth time. “Doc, you know. Tell me, damn it! All three of you know. Why won’t you say?”

“Because we want to keep our sanity,” Basset said, his teeth clenched. “That’s why.”

“I’d sure like to know,” Siller murmured. “If we went over in the corner would you tell me?”

Basset shook his head. “Don’t bother me, Major.”

“It just can’t be,” Groves said. “How could it be?”

“And if we leave, we’ll never know. We’ll never be sure. It’ll haunt us all our lives. Were we really—here? Does this place really exist? And is this place really—”

“There was a second place,” Carmichel said abruptly.