[Illustration]

 _The climate was perfect, the sky was always blue, and--best of all--nobody had to work. What more could anyone want?_

Planet of Dreams

By James McKimmey, Jr. 

Illustrated by Paul Orban

It was a small world, a tiny spinning globe, placed in the universe toweather and age by itself until the end of things. But because its airwas good and its earth was fertile, Daniel Loveral had placed a fingerupon a map and said, "This is the planet. This is the Dream Planet. "

That was two years before, back on Earth. And now Loveral with hisselected flock had shot through space, to light like chuckling geeseupon the planet, to feel the effect of their dreams come true. 

Loveral was sitting in his office, drumming his long fingers against hisdesk while the name, Atkinson, ticked through his brain like the soundof a sewing machine. 

Would he be the only one, Loveral asked himself, or was he just thefirst? In either case, it was up to Loveral, as leader and guiding hand, to stop this thing and stop it quickly. 

Loveral stood up and put on his jacket, although there was no need forit, other than the formality it gave his figure. 

He stepped out of his office into a clear bright day, where the air wasclean and fresh in his lungs, at once like frost and fire and sweetperfume. He walked along a winding path, which was bordered byslim-necked flowers and a short hedge whose even clipped lines were keptneat by tireless robot hands. 

Trees pointed to a blue sky, rocking and fluttering their leaves in asoft breeze, and glinting metallic houses lay peacefully beyond inwooded hollows and upon slight hills. 

A whole small world was before his eyes, set there upon his direction, maintained by himself with the help of a dozen complex machines whichlay locked and sealed in the Maintenance Room for only his fingers totouch. 

It was a busy life for Loveral, up at dawn to work until deep night, keeping his flock happy and free from spirit-killing labor. But it was aperfect plan, one which had been tested and turned in his mind foryears. If he had to work hard to keep it running smoothly, that was allright. In fact, he had never been happier. 

Now, however, there was this business about Atkinson. Loveral wasdisturbed about that. 

He walked on, over the quiet path which would lead to the house whereAtkinson and his wife lived. Loveral smiled, in readiness for any happyface that might appear before him, to greet him, to show with thankfuleyes appreciation for his wonderful world. But that, too, broughtthoughts that were a bit disturbing. 

Lately there had been few such faces. Most of his flock no longer seemedto care about walking along the cultivated paths, or smiling, ornodding, or touching a leaf here or a flower there. They preferred, itappeared, to remain deep inside their houses, as though they might havebecome tired of the soft perfection of Dream Planet. As though theymight have become weary of quiet woods and sweet bird-music or a skywhich was always blue. 

Loveral shook his head as he walked, puzzling out his thoughts. It wasstrange, but nothing to worry about certainly. 

Just this business about Atkinson. That was his only worry. 

He came slowly up a hill, the top of which held a low curving house, with a silver roof and wide, sweeping windows. There were yellow andblue and deep red flowers, skirting the sides of the house, and greenivy grew thickly between the glistening windows. The lawn, dotted withsmall leafy trees and round bushes, sloped down from the front of thehouse, looking like a carefully arranged painting. 

Loveral pressed a button beside a shining door and waited, smilingthrough his pale blue kindly eyes. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Atkinson appeared after several moments and stood blinking at him. She was a thin woman, who seemed to have gotten even thinner, Loveralnoticed. She was working her fingers at the neck of her dress. Shesmiled but her lips wavered. 

"My dear, " Loveral greeted her in his soft voice, showing the goodnessin his eyes. 

She nodded her recognition, opening her mouth without speaking. 

"May I?" said Loveral finally, waving his long fingers toward the livingroom. 

"Oh, yes, " said the woman. "Of course, Mr. Loveral. " And as she spokeLoveral had the impression she might suddenly begin crying. 

Loveral followed the woman into the house, noticing all over again theprecise way everything had been arranged. The rug was soft beneath hisfeet, and the light came in through the windows in such a way that it, too, became soft. The furniture, molded to hold a human body mostcomfortably, rested about the room in perfect efficiency. 

"Your place is so lovely, " Loveral said, out of his old habit fromEarth. But his words seemed to ring strangely in the quiet, because itwas his own arrangement, like all the other rooms on the planet. AndMrs. Atkinson, standing thin and nervous before him, had nothing, afterall, to do with it. The cleanliness was the work of his robot machines, the planning his own. It was like complimenting himself. 

He cleared his throat and stood, smiling his most benevolent smile toreassure Mrs. Atkinson. 

"Ah, my dear. Is George about?"

Again, the woman's hand skittered to her throat. 

"He's not ill, surely?" Loveral asked, although this, too, was silly, because foods, selected and prepared for utmost nutrition, packedand frozen to be doled out in weekly quantities, purified air, disease-killing serums, simply written folders on exercise, and ofcourse Loveral's own philosophies of quiet, peaceful living--all of thisguarded well the health of Dream Planet's flock. 

The woman shook her head. "No, George is fine. He's just--sleeping, Ithink. "

"Rest is nature's finest tonic, " said Loveral, and hearing his voicethought suddenly there was hardly anything he could say any more thatmight not sound a bit out of place in this peaceful world. Rest to theman who had nothing to do ceased to be a tonic. 

"Yes, yes, " said Loveral. "May we just sit down, my dear?"

Mrs. Atkinson jerked a hand toward one of the chairs and then wound herfingers. 

Loveral sat down and leaned back, smiling his most charming smile. "Perhaps George might awaken after a bit?"

"Oh, yes, " the woman said, her eyes flickering, and she sat upon theedge of one chair, like a bird perched upon a thin wire. 

Loveral waited, legs crossed, leaning his head back against the silkensoftness of the chair. It was so good to relax these days. The businessof watching and of caring for his flock was trying. When you havebrought an entire community of people at great expense through space, guaranteeing to give them a life of constant comfort and ease, so thatthey might dream and think as they wander through the flowers and theleaves, their thoughts cleansed of worry about work and responsibility, then you have a job. Loveral was most busy, busier than his heritage ofwealth ever before had allowed, seeing to all of this. 

But he also was most content--with everything except Atkinson. 

Mrs. Atkinson teetered on the edge of her chair, as though she might atany moment go flying across the room in a crazy gyration. There wassomething about her eyes, Loveral noticed, while he peacefully nodded inthe chair. Fear, perhaps. 

If so, he probably had been right. He tightened himself, listening. There it was again. The sound. Just as he had heard it a day before whenhe had passed near the house. He leaned forward quickly. 

Mrs. Atkinson jumped. 

Loveral smiled. "Didn't I hear a noise of some sort, my dear?"

"Noise?" the woman said, as though her own voice were the sound of anecho. 

"An odd noise, " Loveral said, his eyes searching. 

The woman's hands fluttered about her dress. 

Loveral stood up. "Would you mind if I just glanced about, my dear?"

The woman didn't answer, but Loveral was already moving across the roomtoward a door. He opened it and walked down a hall. The noise grewstronger. He threw open another door. 

 * * * * *

He stood watching while George Atkinson spun around, dark eyes flashing, hair tousled. There was a two days' growth of beard darkening Atkinson'sface. 

"Why, George, " Loveral said, swiftly examining the litter of metal andwood which was spread over a table behind Atkinson. There was ahome-made hammer in Atkinson's hand. "What have we here, George?"

"Something for you, " Atkinson said, tightening his fingers about thehandle of the hammer. 

Loveral grinned his famous Loveral grin. "That's fine. What could itbe?"

"None of your damned business. "

"_George_, " Loveral said, his smile still white but his eyes narrow andquick. 

The woman was behind them. Her voice screeched. "George, I told you. Whydidn't you listen, George? You should have listened to me. You--"

Loveral held up a hand, still watching Atkinson. "Now tell me, George, what is it you're making for me?"

Atkinson raised the hammer slightly. 

Loveral stood very still. "That's a nice hammer, George. "

Atkinson's eyes were black beneath his thick brows. 

"You made that, didn't you?" Loveral asked. 

"Yes, I made that, " Atkinson said. "I made that and I made somethingelse. Another minute and I'll have that finished, too. "

"George, " said Loveral, stepping quietly forward, "I don't like to saythis, of course. You've been one of our very best members. But nobodyworks here, George. We can't allow that. You know the rules. "

"I know the rules, all right. "

"Well, then, " Loveral said, extending his hand toward the hammer, "we'lljust destroy this and whatever else you might have been making. We'lljust forget it ever happened. We'll get along real fine that way, George. We'll just be such good friends. "

"We'll just go to hell, " said Atkinson, snatching his hammer away. 

Loveral's smile disappeared. "I'll tell you, George. I have to meanbusiness with this. You know the reasons. If we allow anybody to workhere, then there's going to be trouble. That isn't our plan. We're hereto grow within ourselves and expand culturally. Not to commercialize abeautiful world like Dream Planet. "

Atkinson stood unmoving, and Loveral could see the way the man's muscleswere tight, like steel springs, and the way his eyes burned deep insidetheir blackness. 

"We've given you everything you need, " Loveral explained, trying toadjust the smile on his lips again. "Everybody has everything they want. But, you see, if you sit there and work and make something that someoneelse doesn't have, then the whole system is destroyed. Then someone willwant what you've made. We'll have jealousy and hatred and fighting. Thisis the stuff of which wars are made, George. You know that. It startswith small things like this, but it grows. When it does, the structureof our life here will collapse. You wouldn't want that, would you, George?"

"Yes!" Atkinson said, his mouth white at the edges. "I'd like to see thewhole rotten thing collapsed and blown to hell!"

Loveral's teeth snapped together and his lips grew tight. He could feela muscle jumping along his neck. 

Atkinson looked at him with furious eyes. "What do you think it's like, living this way? You're busy working twenty-four hours a day, while wewander around this damned prison like the breathing dead. You can feelsweat and aches in your bones from a hard day's work. Sleep is likemedicine to you, instead of another stretch of torture. You can forgetyour own brain for a while by doing something with your hands. You canrelax because you can get tired. Not us, by God. Not us!"

"I envy you, George, " Loveral said through his teeth. 

"Oh, like hell you do. You treat us like we were helpless infants. Youfeed and clothe us and do all our work, and you're so happy you damnednear split your guts. "

"I'll take that, if you don't mind, " Loveral said, reaching for thehammer, his voice suddenly icy cold. 

Atkinson slammed back against the table. "No, you won't. You won't takeanything more at all. You've taken our spirit and our pride and thestrength right out of our spines. You won't take anything more!"

"George?" Loveral said, but not moving any further. 

Atkinson slid the hammer back of him onto the table, and his hands weresearching among a dozen scattered pieces of metal and wood. He watchedLoveral as he worked. "Let me show you what else I've made, " he said. 

"I'd hate to do it, " Loveral said, "but I can stop your food, yourwater, everything. "

Atkinson's hands moved swiftly, assembling the pieces. He nodded. "Youcan, but you won't. "

"I have the only keys to the storage units. I control everything, George. "

"Correction, " said Atkinson, holding an assembled revolver in his hands. "You _did_. "

 * * * * *

Loveral looked at what Atkinson had in his hands. He blinked. 

"You're nearly dead, " Atkinson said. 

Loveral looked at Atkinson, into his eyes. "If you wanted to kill me, you could have done it some other way. "

Atkinson shook his head. "Just this way. Just with something that tookme dozens of days and nights to make. With something that made me sweatand swear to get. It was difficult--with no tools or propermaterials--but that made it all the better. Now I've got it finished, "he said, pushing a bullet into the chamber, "and ready to use. "

Loveral stood frozen, then he turned. "My dear, " he said to the womanwho moved her mouth as though her voice had been pumped out of her. Hereached to touch her shoulder. She recoiled, as though his fingers heldpoison. "George, " he said, turning back to the black-eyed man. 

"This is a great moment, " Atkinson said, lifting the muzzle of therevolver. "When I squeeze the trigger, it'll be like blowing the lockoff a prison door. I'll go yelling to the others, and we'll smash downthe whole goddamned place. We'll smash it down, so we'll have to rebuildit. We'll pull apart every robot you've got. We'll tear apart the foodlockers and have a celebration for a week, and when we've gotten sickfrom too much food, we'll start growing some more with our own hands. We'll make forges for the men and looms for the women. We'll burn ourclothes and make new ones. We'll grow corn in the fields. We'll pumpwater from the ground. You're finished, Loveral. "

Loveral stared at the revolver. "George, " he said, pleading. "The plans. The beautiful, beautiful plans. All of you, you all wanted peace andcontentment. Time to think and dream. You all wanted to get away fromthe work and the worry and the responsibility. You--"

Atkinson fired the gun into Loveral's stomach. 

Loveral gestured at the air and fell to his knees. Atkinson threw hisgun through a window and grabbed his wife by the hand. "Hurry!" he said, laughing. "Hurry!"

Loveral felt of the blood on his shirt and rested on his knees. He couldhear footsteps, racing through the house and out to the yard. He heldout his bloody hand and looked at it. Atkinson's voice pealed throughthe warm clear air. "He's dead! Loveral's dead!"

There was a sound of sudden activity, and everywhere went the cry, "Loveral's dead!"

Loveral sank to his haunches and opened his lips. The blood was there, too. He could hear the shouts and the laughter, and then the tearing ofsteel, the smashing of glass. He bent over his knees, trembling with asudden chill. The sound of destruction grew like thunder. "Why?" he saidin his dying throat. "Oh, why? It was what they said they wanted. "

THE END

Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ September 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.