 Adventures in Time and Space. Told in Future 10. The National Broadcasting Company. In cooperation with Street and Smith. Publishers of astounding science fiction. Bring you dimension X. The soundproofed, happy life home had cost $30,000 installed. It clothed and fed and rocked them to sleep and played and sang and was good to them. Their life purred on from day to day, measured and controlled by the nucleonic thermostats. The iridium sponge servo brains that made the bed and washed down the bathroom floors and made sure the salt cellars flowed freely without clogging. Twice a day the house paused, rang a quiet bell, and turned precisely 90 degrees on its axis in order that the view from the solaroid living room windows might be varied to avoid unweave. Of course the pride of the house was the nursery. The agent for the company had been most enthusiastic. This way right down the hall. All right. What was that? Oh, it's all automatic. The nursery turns itself on when you come within 10 feet of it. Soft, automaticity. That's the motto of the company. All right now, this is the nursery. 40 feet by 40 feet and 30 feet high. Separate power unit with automatic overload circuit breakers inspected and approved by the underwriters' laboratory. The nursery is educational, instructive, entertaining, and therapeutic. The entire control mechanism is adjusted to the electoral and sephalographic key of the child. How much does it cost? 30,000 FOB, Los Angeles. But that's as much as the whole house. Well, I know, but we do want the best for our children, don't we? Oh, yes, we want the best for our children. And it was the best. The crystalline walls wavered from two to three dimensions. The pseudo-textured composition flooring shifted lightly from brick to dirt to waving grass. And the odorophonics wafted the scent of fantasy through the hermetically conditioned and filtered air. The nursery was the very best. But then they wanted the very best for the children. The technicians installed the nursery. And the heavy coaxial power cable was run in from the main line. The walls sprang to life, and the mental control banks and relays hummed. All right, Peter and Wendy, this is your nursery. What's so special about a nursery, Dad? Plenty. You just go in and see. Do we have to? It's so big. You promised you'd play ball with me outside, Pop. Go on, kids. Try out the nursery. It's better than any old yard. Go on, India. You'll be surprised. You can change them any way you like just by thinking about it. Go on, India. Well. Well, why shouldn't they? All they have to do is think, and they've got whatever they want in three dimensions. Color, sound, and smell. Oh, I think what it would have been like to have a nursery like that when you were a kid. It's nice that we can give them all the advantages. Why, sure. What else are we working for, huh? Try it. Well, what do you want to do this evening? Well, the peasants asked us over for bridge, but. Oh, we don't have to worry about the kids. They'll be all right in the nursery. Come on, Lydia. We deserve a night out. In the nursery, the walls were a kaleidoscope of time and space and imagination. The green forest of Sherwood and quiet forms of Robin and his merry men gave way to the roll of the high seas and the smell of salt in the air, as Sir Henry Morgan sailed into the harbor at Jamaica. Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz followed the yellow brick road around the nursery walls. Then Hansel and Gretel discovered the gingerbread house about three feet from the door. And from a high tower that stretched into the clouds, the little lame prince sailed out over his kingdom and behind the crystalline quartz walls, the vacuum tubes and grids and banks of mental image tapes spun quietly and efficiently, erasing the line between illusion and reality. Of course, the electric bill from consolidated utilities was tremendous, but it was worth it. The house went on, but Stove hummed happily in the kitchen, making breakfast, dinner, and supper for four, turning the eggs over lightly and producing popovers electronically calculated by capacity to a 30-volt current and specific gravity. The automatic laundry did the shirts with a medium starch in the collars, except they buttoned down oxfords which had no starch at all. The happy life home breathed contentedly as life proceeded with soft automaticity as guaranteed in the brochure and bill of sale. George. George, I wish you'd look at the nursery. You know what's wrong with us? Well, I don't know. Well, that might... I just want you to look at it, that's all. Or call a psychologist to look at it. What would a psychologist want with a nursery? Oh, not George. You know very well what he'd want. I was in the nursery last week. It's perfectly all right. Well, it's different now. What do you mean, different? I just want you to come and see. Are the kids there? No, Madge Allen took them to a show along with her kids. That's why I want you to look in now before they get back. All right. What you expect me to do, I don't know. I'm no mechanic. This isn't the question of a leaky fuss at George. All right, dear, I'm coming. The nursery light flicked on as they came down the hall. The relays clicked and the tubes warmed and chemical odor banks and pipes bubbled into life as they paused before the closed door. Go ahead, George. Open it. On all sides, in three dimensions, stretched the hot, tired landscape of an African belt reproduced to the last stick and table and bit of straw. The ceiling above them became a sky with a hot yellow sun, a wind blew in from the baked belt land, the hot straw smell of lion grass, the cool green smell of the hidden water hole, the great rusty smell of animals, the smell of dust like red paprika on the hot air, and now the sounds. The howl of the jackal in the distance, the thump of distant antelope feet on grassy sod, and the papery rustling of the great vultures that wheeled and circled under the yellow burning sun. Oh, let's get out of this sun. It's a little too real. Oh, no, George, you promised you'd look around. Well, I don't see it. Now, wait a minute. Look, there are the vultures. Filthy creatures. And there, there are the lions far over that way. Yes, I see them. They're on their way to the water hole. They're just eaten. Eat? Yes, I can't see what. Sun too strong. Well, shake your eyes. It's some animal, a zebra or a baby giraffe, maybe. Can you see it? Are you sure? It's a little too late to be sure. Nothing over there but clean bone. Vultures dropping for what's left. George, did you hear that scream? What scream? Just now. Sorry, I know. George, they're frightening. Take it easy, Lydia. They're just illusions. It was a miracle of mechanical efficiency. The lions prowling taught them over the tawny belt land. A miracle of inventive genius. Every hearth should have one. The lions were 15 feet away. So real, so startlingly real, you could feel the prickling fur on your hand. And your mouth was stuffed with a dusty, upholstery smell of their heated pelts. The yellow of them was in your eyes, like the yellow of an exquisite tapestry, the yellows of lions on summer grass, the sound of the matted lion lungs exhaling on the silent moon tide, and the smell of meat from the panting, dripping mouth. George, I'm afraid. They're so real. They're only an illusion, Lydia. That's all. Quick, outside. Lydia, Lydia, my poor, sweet Lydia. George, they almost got her. No, no, no, no. Take it easy. Calm down. I could feel it both. No, no, no. Get a hold of yourself, Lydia. They aren't real. Walls, that's all it is. Crystalloid walls. But they look so real. Yes, yes, darling. Of course they do. But it's all dimensional color reactionary process and metal tape filmed behind glass screens. It's all order of phonics and sonics. Now here, you'll take my handkerchief. I'm afraid, George. Did you see, did you feel? It's too real. No, no, Lydia. We've got to tell Wendy and Peter not to read any more on Africa. Yes, yes, of course, of course, dear. Do you promise? Sure, sure. And lock the nursery for a few days. Oh, now wait a minute, dear. Let's keep our sense of proportion. George, I want you to lock that place up. Honey, you know how difficult Peter is about that? I punished him last week by locking the nursery for an afternoon when he threw a tantrum. And Wendy too. Honey, they live for the nursery. I tell you, it's got to be locked. That's all there is to it. Lydia, do you need a rest? I don't know. I don't know. Maybe I don't have enough to do. I have too much time to think. All I do is set the menu selector dial at the beginning of the week. But, honey, that's the whole idea. The house is automatic. I know. But couldn't we turn it off for a couple of weeks, just a couple of weeks and take a vacation? You mean that you want to fry eggs for me? Yes, I do. And darn socks too. I feel like I don't belong here. The house is wife and mother and maid. How can I compete with the African belt? And you, George, you don't know what to do with yourself in the house when you're home. You're drinking too much. Family? You feel useless too. Yes, I suppose I do. George, those lines can't get out of there, can they? Oh, of course not, dear. Now, don't think about it anymore. Alone, he sat idly watching the dining room table produce warm dishes of food from its mechanical interior. You forgot to catch them. That's better. It wouldn't hurt to lock the children out of the nursery for a while. It was clear that they'd been spending too much time in Africa. Oh, that son, he could still feel her on his neck like a hot paw, an alliance, the smell of blood. Remarkable how the nursery caught the telepathic emanations of the children's minds and created a life to fulfill their desires. The children fought zebras, and there were zebras. Son, son, death, and death. They were so young. But long before you knew what death was, you were wishing it on someone else. But this, the long, hot African belt, the awful death in the jaws of a lion, and repeated again and again and again. The children came home dutifully at 8.30. Hi, Peter. You want something to eat, Wendy? No, thanks. Well, we're just having dessert. We're full of strawberry ice cream. We'll just sit and watch. Sure. Peter, tell us about the nursery. Nursery? Yeah, it's all about Africa and everything. I don't understand. Your mother and I were just traveling through Africa with rod and reel. There is no Africa in the nursery. Oh, come now, Peter. We know better. I don't remember any Africa. Do you, Wendy? Wendy, come back here. Wendy! She'll be right back, huh? She doesn't have to. I've seen it. Now come on. Sure, Pop. Wendy, you'll tell us, though. Could they be lying? We'll see in just a moment. Peter, open the door. I see it isn't. Go to bed. We heard me go to bed. Oh. Look at this. What is it? This is the corner where the lions were, isn't it? What's that you picked up? It's an old wallet of mine. There's a smell of hot grass on it. The smell of a lion. It's wet with saliva, and it's been chewed. George, those swears are blood. Come on out. Now let's go to bed. Well, they went to bed. In the middle of the night, Lydia was still awake, and she knew her husband was awake. George, how did your wallet get in the nursery? I don't know. Wendy must have changed the walls from the African belt. Honey, I'm going to keep it locked. Maybe it isn't good for the children. It's supposed to help them work off their neuroses in a harmless way. I'm starting to wonder. We've given the children everything they wanted. My father used to say children who like carpets, they should be stepped on occasionally. We've never lifted a hand. They're spoiled. And we're spoiled. I think I'll have Dr. McClain come tomorrow morning and have a look at Africa. Yes, only it isn't Africa. Now it's Florida and the yearling. I have a feeling it'll be Africa again before then. George, Wendy and Peter are in their room. Oh, it's broken into the nursery. They sounded familiar. Did they? Yes, awfully. Oh, George. There are automatic somnobeds tried very hard. But two adults couldn't be rocked to sleep for another hour. A smell of cats was in the night air. In the morning, the stove cooked French toast. And the dining room table poured the syrup and melted butter. Fuck up the nursery for good, are you? That all depends. On what? On you and your sister? We feel that you should have some variety, dear. If you went to spurs this Africa with a little Sweden or China. I thought we were free to play the way we like. Well, you are within reasonable bounds. Well, what's wrong with Africa, Daddy? Oh. Oh, so now you admit you've been thinking of Africa, hmm? I wouldn't want the nursery locked up ever. Well, as a matter of fact, we're thinking of turning the whole house off for about a month. Sort of camping out. You mean not have to tie my own shoes instead of having my shoe tied, do it? And brush my own teeth and comb my own hair and give myself a bath? Well, Wendy, it would be fun for change, don't you think, dear? No, it'd be awful. I didn't like it when you took out the picture of paint in the last month. Well, that's because I wanted you to learn to paint by yourself. I don't want to do anything. But look and listen and smell. What else is there to do? Oh, all right. Paul Wright, go play in Africa. Are you going to shut off the house? We're considering it. I don't think you'd better consider it any more, pop. I won't have any threats from you, son. OK, pop. After breakfast, Dr. David McLean was announced by the audio knocker. At the dining room table, recognizing him as an old friend, poured an extra cup of coffee, light with four lumps. I saw the nursery last year. George, it looked all right to me. You didn't notice anything unusual? No. Patterns showed the usual violence, a tendency towards slight paranoia. All children feel persecuted by their parents. Perfectly normal. I locked the nursery, and they broke into it last night. I let them stay so they could form the patterns for you to see. There. There it is. Well, I suppose we take a look at it right now. They entered without knocking and sent the children out. The screams had faded, and the lions were feeding quietly under the trees. Wish I could see what they're eating. You suppose some high-powered binoculars would? Yeah, quietly, no. How long has this been going on? A little over a month. It certainly doesn't feel good. I don't want feelings. I want fact, George. George, a psychologist, never saw a fact in his life. He knows about feelings, and this doesn't feel good. My advice to you is to have the whole room torn down, and your children brought to me every day for the next year of the treatment. Is it that bad? I'm afraid so. You know, that's why the nursery was developed originally, to let us examine the patterns left on the wall by a child's mind. But what is it what's wrong with Peter and Wendy? Well, it's hard to say. I haven't punished them more than average. Oh, I took away a few gadgets. Last week, I locked the nursery to show I meant business. George, you've let this room replace you and your wife and your children's affections. This room is their real father and mother, and now you come along and want to shut it. You can feel the hatred coming out of that sky. George, turn everything off. The nursery, the automatic kitchen, the whole confounded automatic house. Start now, but won't the shock be too much for the children? I don't want them going any deeper. Let's get out of here. I never liked these rooms. Get me nerves. Those lions look real, don't they? I don't suppose there's any way that, what? That they could become real. Certainly not. Some floor in the machinery. Tamp, no, no, no. I don't imagine the room would like being turned on. Nothing ever likes to die, even a room. I wonder if it hates me for turning on. Paranoia is thick today. Hello. Is this your scarf? It's stained. Brown. Say, that's blood. That's Lilius. Come on to me and few boxes out here. Go ahead. We'll switch. They screamed and kicked and threw things. They yelled and sobbed and swore and jumped on the furniture, weeping. It's often it stays off. The whole house dies as of now. The more I see of the mess we put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We've been conning our electrical mechanical navels for too long. We need air. Fresh, unfiltered, unconditioned air. He marched around the house, cutting switches and pulling fuses. The stove was disconnected with a roast lamb in the oven and a flapjack still in the air. The heaters, the shoe shiners, the shoe laces, the body scrubbers and swabbers and massagers. He pulled the plugs and shorted out the controls one after the other. The house became full of electronic corpses. It was a mechanical cemetery. So silent. None of the humming, hidden energy of the machines waiting to function at the tap of a button. And by the still dining room table, it's radionic insides dead and currentless. Peter wailed at the house. Peter, please. It's not going to get you anywhere. I wish you were dead. We worked for a long while. Now we're going to start really living. That hurts me. And that's the end. Dr. McClain is coming in a half hour to help us out. Lydia, turn on the nursery. Now remember, kid, it'll be just for one minute. That's one minute, remember? Oh, where'd I put those suitcases? Lydia. Don't shout, George. I'm right here. Oh, uh, did you leave them alone in the nursery? Well, I've got to get ready, George. Oh, that awful Africa. What can they see in it? Well, in an hour, we'll be on our way to Iowa. What prompted us to buy a nightmare like that? Pride, I guess. We had the money, and we were foolish. I guess we'd better get them out of there before they get involved with those beasts again. Open the nursery. Wendy, Peter. Well, they aren't anywhere. Open the door. They've locked it from the outside. Peter. When Dr. David McClain came a half hour later, he found the two children in the nursery sitting in the center of the open glade, eating a picnic lunch. Beyond them was the waterhole in the yellow-velled land. Above was the hot sun. Dr. McClain saw at a distance the lions fighting and clawing and then settling down to feed in silence under the shady trees. Hi, kids. Where are your mom and dad? We're here directly. Good. Good. We've got to get going. He squinted at the lions with his hands up to his eyes. Now they were done feeding. They moved to the waterhole to drink. A shadow flickered as the vultures dropped down from the blazing sky to finish what the lions had left. Dr. McClain. Dr. McClain? Huh? What? Have a cup of tea. In the future, a world of how soon we actually build a spaceship to conquer the stars depends upon many factors, not the least of which is a man who will be overwhelming desire to create such a ship and the power to have it done. Next week we tell the story of such a man as Dimension X brings you Nelson Bond's The Vital Factor, presented transcribed each week by the national broadcasting company in cooperation with Street 10 Smith, publishers of the magazine Astounding Science Fiction. Today Dimension X has presented The Velt, written for radio by Ernest Kanaui from Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, included in the cast where Leslie Woods and Bill Quinn as the parents, Joan Laser and David Anderson as the children, your host was Norman Rose. Music by Albert Berman. Dimension X is produced by William Welch and directed by Fred Way.