"We have plenty of room on the ship," he persisted. "There weren't many
left to go. We could take you easily enough, you know." Yet, though past youth, he was far from being an
old man. "No, it's just that I want to stay--that's all." Clifford lowered his voice to an appropriately funeral hush, as a fresh
thought obviously struck him. "I know, of course, that your loved ones
are buried here and perhaps you feel it's your duty to stay with
them...?" Johnson wriggled, as sweat oozed stickily down his back. "A costly museum, yes," Johnson agreed. "If
only there were others fool enough--if only there were others with
you.... "With man gone, Earth will replenish herself," he said aloud. Some the harsh winters would kill, but others would live on
and would multiply. The sea would go on changing
her boundaries, with no dikes to stop her. Rock would
cover them. Clifford looked at his wrist chronometer. "Damn your conscience," Johnson thought. Not
that I don't want to stay, mind you, but that I want you to suffer the
way you're making me suffer now--having to listen to your platitudes." Oh, well; there'll be other systems to
conquer and colonize." "Or life forms that you recognized as intelligent," Johnson suggested
gently. Although why should there be such a premium placed on
intelligence, he wondered. Johnson called after him. There was no reply. He crossed the field briskly, pulling off his jacket and discarding his
tie as he went. How
long it would last was anybody's guess. Still, here and there the green was pushing its way up in unlikely
places. No, it would take Manhattan longer to go back than Long Island. Dusk was falling. Tonight, for the first time in centuries, the street
lamps would not go on. And now there would be no present, no
past, no future--but all merged into one and he was the only one. He loved to own things. But it was his domain now. So soon?... Then he smiled to himself. No, the stars were for others. And he was well content with
his bargain. There was plenty of room for the bears too.