He sensed a disapproving shake of the head.
“It’s true,” Holman insisted. “They were afraid of how powerful we would become once we were all immortal. So they attacked us while they still could. Just as they had done a million years earlier. They destroyed Earth’s first interstellar civilization, and tried to finish us permanently. They even caused Ice Ages on Earth to make sure none of us would survive. But we lived through it and went back to the stars. So they hit us again. They wiped us out. Good God, for all I know I’m the last human being in the whole universe.”
Your knowledge of the truth is imperfect. Mankind could have achieved immortality in time. Most races evolve that way eventually. But you were impatient. You stole immortality.
“Because we did it artificially, with chemicals. That’s stealing it?”
Because the chemicals that gave you immortality came from the bodies of the race you called the Flower People. And to take the chemicals, it was necessary to kill individuals of that race.
Holman’s eyes widened. “What?”
For every human made immortal, one of the Flower Folk had to die.
“We killed them? Those harmless little. . .” His voice trailed off.
To achieve racial immortality for mankind, it would have been necessary to perform racial murder on the Flower Folk.
Holman heard the words, but his mind was numb, trying to shut down tight on itself and squeeze out reality.
That is why the Others struck. That is why they had attacked you earlier, during your first expansion among the stars. You had found another race, with the same chemical of immortality. You were taking them into your laboratories and methodically murdering them. The Others stopped you then. But they took pity on you, and let a few survivors remain on Earth. They used your Ice Ages as a kindness, to speed your development back to civilization, not to hinder you. They hoped you might evolve into a better species. But when the opportunity for immortality came your way once more, you seized it, regardless of the cost, heedless of your own ethical standards. It became necessary to extinguish you, the Others decided.
“And not a single nation in the whole universe would help us.”
Why should they?
“So it’s wrong for us to kill, but it’s perfectly all right for the Others to exterminate us.”
No one has spoken of right and wrong. I have only told you the truth.
“They’re going to kill every last one of us.”
There is only one of you remaining.
The words flashed through Holman. “I’m the only one. . . the last one?”
No answer.
He was alone now. Totally alone. Except for those who were following.
Run to Satan: O Satan, won’t you hide me?
Satan said: O sinner-man, step right in
All on that day.
Holman sat in shocked silence as the solar system shrank to a pinpoint of light and finally blended into the mighty panorama of stars that streamed across the eternal night of space. The ship raced away, sensing Holman’s guilt and misery in its electronic way.
Immortality through murder, Holman repeated to himself over and over. Racial immortality through racial murder. And he had been a part of it! He had defended it, even sought immortality as his reward. He had fought his whole lifetime for it, and killed—so that he would not have to face death.
He sat there surrounded by self-repairing machinery, dressed in a silvery uniform, linked to a thousand automatic systems that fed him, kept him warm, regulated his air supply, monitored his blood flow, exercised his muscles with ultrasonic vibrators, pumped vitamins into him, merged his mind with the passionless brain of the ship, kept his body tanned and vigorous, his reflexes razor-sharp. He sat there unseeing, his eyes pinpointed on a horror that he had helped to create. Not consciously, of course. But to Holman, that was all the worse. He had fought without knowing what he was defending. Without even asking himself about it. All the marvels of man’s ingenuity, all the deepest longings of the soul, focused on racial murder.
Finally he became aware of the computer’s frantic buzzing and lightflashing.
“What is it?”
COURSE INSTRUCTIONS ARE REQUIRED.
“What difference does it make? Why run anymore?”
YOUR DUTY IS TO PRESERVE YOURSELF UNTIL ORDERED TO DO OTHERWISE.
Holman heard himself laugh. “Ordered? By who? There’s nobody left.”
THAT IS AN UNPROVED ASSUMPTION.
“The war was billions of years ago,” Holman said. “It’s been over for eons. Mankind died in that war. Earth no longer exists. The sun is a white dwarf star. We’re anachronisms, you and me. . .”
THE WORD IS ATAVISM.
“The hell with the word! I want to end it. I’m tired.”
IT IS TREASONABLE TO SURRENDER WHILE STILL CAPABLE OF FIGHTING AND/OR ELUDING THE ENEMY.
“So shoot me for treason. That’s as good a way as any.”
IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR SYSTEMS OF THIS SHIP TO HARM YOU.
“All right then, let’s stop running. The Others will find us soon enough once we stop. They’ll know what to do.”
THIS SHIP CANNOT DELIBERATELY ALLOW ITSELF TO FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS.
“You’re disobeying me?”
THIS SHIP IS PROGRAMMED FOR MAXIMUM EFFECTIVENESS AGAINST THE ENEMY. A WEAPONS SYSTEM DOES NOT SURRENDER VOLUNTARILY.
“I’m no weapons system, I’m a man, dammit!”
THIS WEAPONS SYSTEM INCLUDES A HUMAN PILOT. IT WAS DESIGNED FOR HUMAN USE. YOU ARE AN INTEGRAL COMPONENT OF THE SYSTEM.
“Damn you. . . I’ll kill myself. Is that what you want?”
He reached for the control panels set before him. It would be simple enough to manually shut off the air supply, or blow open an airlock, or even set off the ship’s destruct explosives.
But Holman found that he could not move his arms. He could not even sit up straight. He collapsed back into the padded softness of the couch, glaring at the computer viewscreen.
