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  “Sure, it isn’t a position of supremacy. We’re a long way from that. We’re too young, too new, to have the kind of power we thought we had. There are the Norglans in our own galaxy, just as strong as we are, probably. And outside the galaxy the Rosgollans, and who knows what greater races than those? But now we have something definite to work for. We have finite goals instead of vague, indefinite ones. We know we have to work to evolve past the Norglans, toward the Rosgollans. When we’re in their class, we’ll legitimately be able to hold our heads up in pride, except that we’ll be past the point of needing pride.

  “I think we’re an even younger race than the Norglans, Excellency. But we’ve caught and equalled them, for all their speed in building colonies—and I think the Rosgollans are afraid of us, too. They see how fast we’re developing—they know it’s only a thousand years since we entered the age of machines, and they see how far we’ve come in that time. They’re watching us, worried, anxious. They want to put checks on us now so we don’t overdevelop, spill out into the universe faster than we ought to.

  “The Rosgollan boundary will guarantee that we don’t bite off more than we can chew, Excellency. But we’ve got all the future ahead of us. Tomorrow belongs to us. We’ve had a setback, maybe, but it isn’t really a setback—just an end to our complacency, a beginning of the realization that we’re not the be-all and end-all of creation. That we still have a long way to go. So that’s why we can’t let this throw us, Technarch McKenzie.”

  Bernard stopped. He felt like a small boy lecturing his schoolmaster. But the old relationships no longer held; and this strangely limp man behind the big desk was no longer the figure of awe he had once been.

  In a muffled, hollow voice, McKenzie said. “Maybe— maybe you’re right, Bernard. But—but it isn’t easy to accept.”

  “Of course not, Excellency.”

  McKenzie looked up. “I wanted to forge Man’s empire in the stars. With these hands, I wanted to build it.”

  “We haven’t lost that hope, Excellency.”

  “No. We haven’t. But I have. You’ll never know how I dreamed, Bernard. And now those dreams can only be realized by our remote descendants—thousands of years from now.”

  Bernard shook his head vehemently. He struggled for some way of communicating to the Technarch the surge of optimism that gripped him.

  “Excellency—don’t you see that we can’t be stopped? We’ve got the current running with us. We’ll climb back to the place where we thought—in our blindness—that we were. On the top.”

  “Yes. Someday, perhaps, we will,” said McKenzie tonelessly. “But I won’t live to see it, Bernard, nor will you nor any of us nor even our children’s children. And I had wanted to see it. To build it, Bernard. To shape tomorrow with my hands. Can you understand that, man? I! Me! I! While I live!”

  A deep sob racked the Technarch’s body. Bernard looked away awkwardly, trying to pretend he had not seen. He felt helpless to stop this man’s grieving. There was nothing he could possibly say, no imaginable word of sympathy, nothing whatever to be done for this massive man whose dreams of cosmic empire-building had tumbled so quickly into the dust.

  The Technarch’s lips moved wordlessly, beyond the man’s control for a moment. Then, with a powerful effort, he mastered himself and said flatly, quietly, “All right, Bernard. You can put the report in writing and submit it the proper way. Tell the entire story, from beginning to end, just as you told it to me. Don’t gloss anything over. Understood?”

  “Yes, Excellency. Is there—is there anything else I can do…?”

  A pause. Then: “Get out of here, that’s all. Just leave me alone. Tell Naylor I won’t be seeing anyone else today. Get out of here!”

  “Hearkening, Excellency.”

  A lump of pity clogged Bernard’s throat as he made a formal bow to the Technarch, still a formidable figure in his black cloak of office. McKenzie was obviously fighting to keep his craggy features under control while Bernard still remained in the room. Then, unable to bear the sight, Bernard turned and rushed away, through the irising sphincter into the ante-chamber.

  Dominici, Stone, and Havig waited there for him, sitting tensely upright on the carved bench at the far well. Bernard realized that his face and body were soaked with perspiration, that his hands were clenching and unclenching of their own volition.

  “Well?” Stone asked jumpily. “How did he take the news, Bernard?”

  The sociologist shrugged. “Badly.”

  The single word made its effect. Dominici asked, “Did you tell him everything?”

  “The works,” Bernard said solemnly. “I didn’t pull any punches. You could see his face crumble when it all sank in. He wanted to see mankind out and planting colonies in Andromeda while he was still Technarch. I guess he won’t.” Bernard let a slow smile cross his face. “I pity him. The man’s a monolith. He may not be able to adjust to the situation.”

  “Don’t underestimate him,” Stone said. “He’s a great man.”

  “Great, yes, but this may destroy him; I hope not,” Bernard said. “Maybe he’ll have the strength to adjust to it. But he’ll never be the same man again.”

  Naylor, the Technarch’s man, came shuffling into the antechamber, his face a careful professional blank. Bernard wondered how Naylor would react when he found his master in a state of near-shock. Probably go into shock himself, Bernard thought.

  Naylor said, “Have you gentlemen concluded your audience with the Technarch?”

  “Yes, we have,” Bernard said. “And the Technarch asked me to pass a message along to you.”

  “Sir?”

  “He said that he doesn’t want to see anyone else for the rest of the day.”

  “Yes, sir. Very good, sir.” Naylor flicked the matter into the back of his mind. “Shall I make arrangements for your homeward trips?”

  “Yes.”

  While Naylor busily set up the transmat coordinates, Bernard made his last goodbyes to the men with whom he had joined in this unhappy venture into the kingdoms of the stars. Stone, now a dismal, hopeless figure, his life’s basis as shattered as that of the Technarch; Dominici, cocky as always, unruffled by his experience, at least outwardly; Havig, austere, withdrawn, pious, but at least no longer aloof.

  They were all men, Bernard thought.

  He was glad to have known them.

  The moment had come to leave now. “Mr. Bernard, sir?” Naylor called.

  “So long,” Bernard said.

  “God go with you,” Havig called after him.

  Bernard smiled and stepped through the transmat, emerging in his own flat, four thousand miles away in London. Everything was as he left it; everything seemed to be waiting for him. Even the air smelled fresh, not at all as though he had left the apartment for so long a span as he had. It was all there—the books, the pipe, the music, the brandy—waiting for him to slip back into his comfortable life at the point where he had stepped out of it.

  But it would never be the same again, Bernard thought.

  Never the same again for any of us.

  He walked to the window, looking out past the foggy London night to the faint glimmering stars that managed to make their way through the haze.

  Never the same again. But, somehow, deep within his soul, he felt that everything was going to work out for the best; that—though neither he nor the unhappy Technarch nor any man now walking the Earth would live to see it—mankind would someday be taking its rightful place in the stars.

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