“A man like McIvers was necessary. Can’t you see that? It was the Sun that beat us, that surface. Perhaps we were licked the very day we started.” Claney leaned across the table, his eyes pleading. “We didn’t realize that, but it was true. There are places that men can’t go, conditions men can’t tolerate. The others had to die to learn that. I was lucky, I came back. But I’m trying to tell you what I found out—that nobody will ever make a Brightside Crossing.”
“We will,” said Baron. “It won’t be a picnic, but we’ll make it.”
“But suppose you do,” said Claney, suddenly. “Suppose I’m all wrong, suppose you do make it. Then what? What comes next?”
“The Sun,” said Baron.
Claney nodded slowly. “Yes. That would be it, wouldn’t it?” He laughed. “Good-by, Baron. Jolly talk and all that. Thanks for listening.”
Baron caught his wrist as he started to rise. “Just one question more, Claney. Why did you come here?”
“To try to talk you out of killing yourself,” said Claney.
“You’re a liar,” said Baron.
Claney stared down at him for a long moment. Then he crumpled in the chair. There was defeat in his pale blue eyes and something else.
“Well?”