The ship from Sigma in the Dragon had changed orbit, inexplicably as always. Now it circled close, barely above atmosphere, a star which newscasts around the world said would rise before dawn. Many folk must have wondered, must have been a little hopeful or a little afraid; but probably few got up to witness the sight. Three blank years had somewhat blunted awe.
That did not seem to be the case in We. The coming of the ship had been more for the Theontologists than a spiritual event. Everything was supposed to be that. It had brought on a kind of spiritual crisis.
Finally they integrated the ship’s existence with the formal part of their religion, and the sole telescreen in We was monitored largely for whatever word might come in about it.
One among those who had spent the night in vigil blew on a conch to awaken the rest. The lowing roused Skip, too, where he slept on a pallet in the room of Urania’s two small boys. He yawned, muttered a drowsy Damn,’ and climbed from under his blankets. Adobe makes good insulation, but the nights get cold in northwest New Mexico and the window stood open. He shivered. The air was dry in his nostrils, faintly sweetened by sagebrush smoke. He turned on the fiuoros, glad he didn’t have to fumble around with candles. This community might believe in the simple life, but it had the common sense to realize how simplicity depended on a selective use of technics.. ‘Tom Swift and his electric Tibet,’ he had said to himself on first arriving here.
