The place was different in some ineffable way from houses of worship at home. Or even from pagan temples.

They paused again before the winged figure at the entrance. “Somebody here studied under Phidias,” said Kellie.

Digger nodded. Creature from another world that he was, he could still read dignity and power and compassion in those features. And the torch that she held spoke to him.

He looked back into the rotunda. At the laughing god.

THE ISTHMUS ROAD seemed unduly long on the return, and Digger was weary by the time they reached the lander. Night had fallen, and he was glad to shut off the lightbender and the e-suit and collapse into his seat.

Kellie gave a destination to Bill, and they lifted off and turned seaward. “How we doing?” she asked, reminding him that his bleak mood was still showing.

“Good,” he said. “We’re doing fine.”

For a long moment he could hear only the power flow. “You going to be all right?” she asked.

He looked out at scudding clouds, bright in the double moonlight. “Sure.” Don’t do it, Digger. He was okay. A little down, but he was okay. “Where are we going?”

“There’s an island. Safe place to spend the night.”

“Alone with Collier on an island,” he said. “Sounds like a dream.”

“You don’t sound as if you mean it.”

“I’m all right,” he insisted. “This island. Does it have a name?”

She thought a moment. “Utopia,” she said.

LIBRARY ENTRY

The great tragedy confronting us here is not that the Goompahs, to use the common terminology, face massive destruction, although that is surely cause enough for sorrow. But what makes me sad is that they may pass from existence without ever having understood the supreme joy that accompanies the life of the spirit. They have lived their lives, and they have missed the heart of the matter.

— Rev. George Christopher

The Monica Albright Show

Wednesday, May 7