“Come in,” said Citizen Germyn. “How nice that the moments just beore retiring should be made more interesting in this way.” Meaning, It’s pretty late for this, chum.
Dismayed, Tropile stayed in the doorway. “I’ll make it quick, Germyn. What would you think if I went back to the binary planet? Had myself wired in, and all?”
There was a pause while Citizen Germyn gravely considered, his nostrils faintly expanded, as though sniffing the bouquet of an unfamiliar bloom. Then he smiled. The scent was, after all, beautiful. “I think that would be quite fine,” he said warmly.
Meaning: How nice it will be not to see you any more.
Nor was Haendl less enthusiastic. Haendl was sound asleep when Tropile knocked. Bleary-eyed, he snarled, “Couldn’t it wait?”
“Not this, I think,” said Tropile steadily. He told the man what he was thinking of. The scowl on Haendl’s face evaporated at once, replaced with a big smile. “Do it, man!” he boomed. “Hell, we’ll build a statue to you!”
Meaning much the same.
Tropile turned away, alone in the silent town. It was late night now, and warm. Warm Autumn of the five-clock-year-cycle ... the next of which he would himself initiate, by Re-Creating the Sun in person from—He grinned. From a tub of soup.
And would he find seven others to dare it with him?
No. Not on this planet, he thought; it would be a lonely tub of soup. He would tend this planet’s hearth fire for it better than the Pyramids ever had done, but alone he could not hope to be a ring of fire that grew. At least he could shed the flesh, be free of that tyranny. Standing in the street he looked up at the stars that swung in constellations too new and changeable to have names. There was the universe! Words were no good, there was no explaining things in words; naturally he couldn’t make Gala or anyone else understand, for flesh couldn’t grasp the realities of mind and spirit that were liberated from flesh. Babies! A home! And the whole grubby animal-business of eating and drinking and sleeping! How could anyone ask him to stay in the mire when the stars challenged overhead?
He walked slowly down the street, alone in the night, an apprentice godling renouncing mortality. There was nothing here for him, and therefore why this sense of loss?
Duty said (or was it Pride?): “Someone must give up the flesh to control Earth’s orbit and weather—why not you?”
Flesh said (or was it his soul—whatever that was?): “But you will be alone.”
He stopped, and for a moment he was poised between destiny and the dust. ...
Until he became aware of footsteps behind him, running, and a voice: “Wait. Wait, Glenn! I want to go with you!”
And he turned and waited; but only for a moment; and then he went on, arm-in-arm with his wife.
And not—for ever and always again—not alone. There was one more. There would be others! The ring of fire would grow.