He put Goethe in the slot. “Tell me about martyrdom,” he said.
Goethe said, “It has its tempting side. One may be covered with sins, scaly and rough-skinned with them, and in a single fiery moment of self-immolation one wins redemption and absolution, and one’s name is forever cherished.”
He put Juan in the slot. “Tell me about the symbolic impact of getting killed in the line of duty.”
“It can transform a mediocre public official into a magnificent historical figure,” Juan said.
He put Mark in the slot. “Which is a better father to have: a live coward or a dead hero?”
“Go down fighting, Dad.”
He put Hemingway in the slot. “What would you do if someone called you a rotten bastard?”
“I’d stop to think if he was right or wrong. If he was wrong, I’d give him to the sharks. If he was right, well, maybe the sharks would get fed anyway.”
He put Lydia in the slot. Lynx. His father. Alexander. Attila. Shakespeare. Plato. Ovid.
lit In their various ways they were all quite eloquent. They spoke of bravery, self-sacrifice, nobility, redemption.
He picked up the Mark-cube. “You’re dead,” he said. “Just like your grandfather. There isn’t any Mark anymore. What comes out of this cube isn’t Mark. It’s me, speaking with Mark’s voice, talking through Mark’s mind. You’re just a dummy.”
He put the Mark-cube in the ship’s converter input, and it tumbled down the slideway to become reaction mass. He put the Lydia-cube in next. Lynx. His father. Alexander. Attila. Shakespeare. Plato. Ovid. Goethe.
He picked up the Juan-cube. He put it in a slot again. “Tell me the truth,” he yelled. “What’ll happen to me if I go back to Bradley’s World?”
“You’ll make your way safely to the underground and take charge, Tom. You’ll help us throw McAllister out: We can win with you, Tom.”
“Crap,” Voigtland said. “I’ll tell you what’ll really happen. I’ll be intercepted before I go into my landing orbit. I’ll be taken down and put on trial. And then I’ll be shot. Right? Right? Tell me the truth, for once. Tell me I’ll be shot!”
“You misunderstand the dynamics of the situation, Tom. The impact of your return will be so great that—”
He took the Juan-cube from the slot and put it into the chute that went to the converter.
“Hello?” Voigtland said. “Anyone here?”
The ship was silent.
“I’ll miss all that scintillating conversation,” he said. “I miss you already. Yes. Yes. But I’m glad you’re gone.”
He countermanded the ship’s navigational instructions and tapped out the program headed RETURN TO POINT OF DEPARTURE. His hands were shaking, just a little, but the message went through. The instruments showed him the change of course as the ship began to turn around. As it began to take him home.
Alone.