"And the beard," said Sutton, "is because I couldn't shave."
"I've seen beards before," the android told him.
Sutton stood quietly and stared at the world before him…at the upthrust of towers shining in the morning sun; at the green of park and meadow, at the darker green of trees and the blue and scarlet splashes of flower gardens on sloping terraces.
He took a deep breath and felt the air flooding in his lungs, seeking out all the distant sacs that had been starved so long. And it was coming back to him, coining back again…the remembrance of life on Earth, of early morning sun and flaming sunsets, of deep blue sky and dew upon the grass, the swift blur of human talk and the lilt of human music, the friendliness of the birds and squirrels, and the peace and comfort.
"The car is waiting, sir," the android said. "I will take you to a human."
"I'd rather walk," said Sutton.
The android shook his head. "The human is waiting and he is most impatient."
"Oh, all right," said Sutton.
The seat was soft and he sank into it gradually, cradling the attaché case carefully in his lap.
The car was moving and he stared out of the window, fascinated by the green of Earth. "The green fields of Earth," he said. Or was it "the green vales"? No matter now. It was a song written long ago. In the time when there had been fields on Earth, fields instead of parks, when Man had turned the soil for more important things than flower beds. In the day, thousands of years before, when Man had just begun to feel the stir of space within his soul. Long years before Earth had become the capital and the center of galactic empire.