return . . . at sublight velocity." He smiled.
"Everyone knew that traveling from our position at the time would take me some three hundred years to make Earth orbit. Perhaps it was another of what you term my theatrical gestures, Mr. Booth, but I chose to remain behind, aboard my ship." He gestured, a wide sweep that took in the interior of the tower and, by inference, the whole of the ship.
"I fought too hard and too long for the Cygnus to leave her, certainly not to return to Earth and admit failure. I thought it proper to uphold the ancient tradition of the captain going down with his ship." His expression mocked them.
"You have experienced the gravitational power of the wonderfully complex stellar object nearby and know that the Cygnus and I may yet pursue the analogy of the sinking ship with considerable fidelity." His tone softened as he again regarded McCrae.
"Your father believed. He chose to remain with me. We never learned what happened to the others, those who left on the two survey craft. But when years passed and no rescue ship came to find us, we could guess. I am saddened to learn for certain that they did not make it home."
Booth looked thoughtful. "Odd that two separate ships failed to make it back, or even to make contact with Earth or a navigation beacon," he ventured.
"Not so," Reinhardt responded. "Neither vessel was equipped with the deep-ranging communications equipment of the Cygnus , nor with her highly sophisticated and complex navigation system. That both ships should be lost is, while sad, not unnatural or unexpected."
"Then if the chances for them were so slim, why did everyone else except you and Frank McCrae choose to go?"
Reinhardt stared pityingly at the reporter. "What would you have done, Mr. Booth? Taken the chance of making it back to Earth in a less efficient ship, or the chance of living the three hundred years necessary to make the journey at sublight speeds?"
Durant was more interested in the living legend addressing them than in people they could no longer help. "You've lived out here for all these years since the others left . . . by yourself?"
"Not exactly by myself, Doctor. Until his death, I had the good company and companionship of a man of similar dedication, Frank McCrae. After his passing . . . I knew enough crude psychology to realize that even I needed some form of companionship if I was to remain sane. So I created companions . . . of a sort. There were the Cygnus 's surviving mechanicals still aboard. With their aid, I repopulated the ship with tougher, less emotional assistants." He gestured at the rows of silent fibres manning the consoles behind them. "I made them as human as I possibly could."
"But they don't seem able to talk," McCrae observed.
"When I can make them sound as human as I, I will finish that aspect of their construction, dear lady."
The elevator door opened suddenly. They turned.
Charlie Pizer was standing framed in the doorway. He was surrounded by a cluster of efficient-looking mechanicals. The downcast Pizer immediately brightened at the sight of his companions. His normal insouciance returned.
"Hi, folks." He indicated his escorts. "Have you met the goon squad yet?"
"I am sorry for the humorlessness of your company, Mr. Pizer." Reinhardt retained his grin. "Again, my friends, I confess that manners are not the strong points of my machines. Please join us, Mr. Pizer."
The first officer stepped out of the elevator, carefully watching the machines that had accompanied him. They did not follow.
"Dismissed." Reinhardt spoke sharply to the guards. The elevator door closed in front of them. It was an indication of instant, unquestioning obedience, which Holland noted for future reference.
"They reflect the manners of whoever programmed them." Pizer said, ignoring a warning look from Holland. "They took my pistol. I'd like it back."
"What for? To shoot me, maybe?" Reinhardt expressed astonishment. "You were disarmed for your own safety.
"Everyone knew that traveling from our position at the time would take me some three hundred years to make Earth orbit. Perhaps it was another of what you term my theatrical gestures, Mr. Booth, but I chose to remain behind, aboard my ship." He gestured, a wide sweep that took in the interior of the tower and, by inference, the whole of the ship.
"I fought too hard and too long for the Cygnus to leave her, certainly not to return to Earth and admit failure. I thought it proper to uphold the ancient tradition of the captain going down with his ship." His expression mocked them.
"You have experienced the gravitational power of the wonderfully complex stellar object nearby and know that the Cygnus and I may yet pursue the analogy of the sinking ship with considerable fidelity." His tone softened as he again regarded McCrae.
"Your father believed. He chose to remain with me. We never learned what happened to the others, those who left on the two survey craft. But when years passed and no rescue ship came to find us, we could guess. I am saddened to learn for certain that they did not make it home."
Booth looked thoughtful. "Odd that two separate ships failed to make it back, or even to make contact with Earth or a navigation beacon," he ventured.
"Not so," Reinhardt responded. "Neither vessel was equipped with the deep-ranging communications equipment of the Cygnus , nor with her highly sophisticated and complex navigation system. That both ships should be lost is, while sad, not unnatural or unexpected."
"Then if the chances for them were so slim, why did everyone else except you and Frank McCrae choose to go?"
Reinhardt stared pityingly at the reporter. "What would you have done, Mr. Booth? Taken the chance of making it back to Earth in a less efficient ship, or the chance of living the three hundred years necessary to make the journey at sublight speeds?"
Durant was more interested in the living legend addressing them than in people they could no longer help. "You've lived out here for all these years since the others left . . . by yourself?"
"Not exactly by myself, Doctor. Until his death, I had the good company and companionship of a man of similar dedication, Frank McCrae. After his passing . . . I knew enough crude psychology to realize that even I needed some form of companionship if I was to remain sane. So I created companions . . . of a sort. There were the Cygnus 's surviving mechanicals still aboard. With their aid, I repopulated the ship with tougher, less emotional assistants." He gestured at the rows of silent fibres manning the consoles behind them. "I made them as human as I possibly could."
"But they don't seem able to talk," McCrae observed.
"When I can make them sound as human as I, I will finish that aspect of their construction, dear lady."
The elevator door opened suddenly. They turned.
Charlie Pizer was standing framed in the doorway. He was surrounded by a cluster of efficient-looking mechanicals. The downcast Pizer immediately brightened at the sight of his companions. His normal insouciance returned.
"Hi, folks." He indicated his escorts. "Have you met the goon squad yet?"
"I am sorry for the humorlessness of your company, Mr. Pizer." Reinhardt retained his grin. "Again, my friends, I confess that manners are not the strong points of my machines. Please join us, Mr. Pizer."
The first officer stepped out of the elevator, carefully watching the machines that had accompanied him. They did not follow.
"Dismissed." Reinhardt spoke sharply to the guards. The elevator door closed in front of them. It was an indication of instant, unquestioning obedience, which Holland noted for future reference.
"They reflect the manners of whoever programmed them." Pizer said, ignoring a warning look from Holland. "They took my pistol. I'd like it back."
"What for? To shoot me, maybe?" Reinhardt expressed astonishment. "You were disarmed for your own safety.
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