Dag Stryn, a blond Viking of a man but almost unbelievably gentle in all things, said, “I’m worried about the Terwilligers. They’re our oldest and I’m just wondering if this protracted a trip is the sort of thing they should be doing.”

“Basically they’re both as strong as horses,” Barnes told him. “They’ll be all right. You can’t just sit and die because you’ve reached your seventies.”

The doctor must know, Bat thought. He was certainly pushing that age himself.

They reached the ultra-market and stood at the end of a short line that had formed.

When his turn came, Bat took up a number key and walked on past the display shelves, periodically stopping before an item he wished and touching his key to the impulse device. Largely, the items in stock were familiar and again he thought about how the world was becoming one. Aside from a few items such as tortillas and an inordinate selection of chili peppers, he could have been in an ultra-market in Maine or Oregon. Today, seemingly, the Australians ate the same food, wore the same clothes, lived in the same type house and enjoyed the same entertainment as did a South African, an Argentine, or an Alaskan Eskimo.

He wasn’t, he realized, particularly happy about the fact. It must have been interesting, in the old days, to be able to witness different cultures, eat exotic foods, sample different drinks, ogle girls attired in saris or sarongs, rather than the now practically universal Western world fashions.

His selections all made, he returned to the delivery counter, put his number key in place and then slipped his pocket phone cum credit card in the appropriate slot. Within moments, his package erupted from the delivery chute and he picked it up and headed for the door.

In turning abruptly, he caromed against one of the new community members named Jeff Smith.

“Hey, watch yourself, boy,” the other snapped.