The climate was perfect, the sky was always blue, and—best of all—nobody had to work. What more could anyone want?
d, "This is the planet. This is the Dream Planet."
That was two years before, back on Earth. And now Loveral with his selected flock had shot through space, to light like chuckling geese upon the planet, to feel the effect of their dreams come true.
Loveral was sitting in his office, drumming his long fingers against his desk while the name, Atkinson, ticked through his brain like the sound of a sewing machine.
Would he be the only one, Loveral asked himself, or was he just the first? In either case, it was up to Loveral, as leader and guiding hand, to stop this thing and stop it quickly.
Loveral stood up and put on his jacket, although there was no need for it, other than the formality it gave his figure.
He stepped out of his office into a clear bright day, where the air was clean and fresh in his lungs
A story from 1953. The planet is perfect, all work is done by machines, the only thing the settlers have to do is meditate.
Fairly good writing, good characterization. The conclusion may be foregone, but the story is well done.
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