James McKimmey

“ The woman shook her head. "No, George is fine. He's just—sleeping, I think."
"Rest is nature's finest tonic," said Loveral, and hearing his voice thought suddenly there was hardly anything he could say any more that might not sound a bit out of place in this peaceful world. Rest to the man 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 her fingers.
Loveral sat down and leaned back, smiling his most charming smile. "Perhaps George might awaken after a bit?" ”

“ Loveral said, extending his hand toward the hammer, "we'll just destroy this and whatever else you might have been making. We'll just 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 mean business with this. You know the reasons. If we allow anybody to work here, then there's going to be trouble. That isn't our plan. We're here to grow within ourselves and expand culturally. ”

“ The noise grew stronger. 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's face.
"Why, George," Loveral said, swiftly examining the litter of metal and wood which was spread over a table behind Atkinson. There was a home-made hammer in Atkinson's hand. "What have we here, George?"
"Something for you," Atkinson said, tightening his fingers about the handle of the hammer.
Loveral grinned his famous Loveral grin. "That's fine. What could it be?" ”

“ Loveral asked, although this, too, was silly, because foods, selected and prepared for utmost nutrition, packed and frozen to be doled out in weekly quantities, purified air, disease-killing serums, simply written folders on exercise, and of course Loveral's own philosophies of quiet, peaceful living—all of this guarded well the health of Dream Planet's flock. ”

“ We'll pull apart every robot you've got. We'll tear apart the food lockers and have a celebration for a week, and when we've gotten sick from too much food, we'll start growing some more with our own hands. ”