“Thanks.” Vaguely, as though from across a deep and widening gulf.
“What will you do?”
“You know the answers as well as I,” the Colonel said impatiently. “Set up the camp and wait for the next rocket. If it comes.”
“In two years.”
“In two years,” the plastic figure said. Didn’t he know that it didn’t matter?
He glanced at his watch. Zero minus fifty-six minutes.
“Kim,” Steinhart said slowly. “There’s something you should know about. Something you really should be prepared for.”
“Yes?” Disinterest in his voice now, Steinhart noted clinically. Natural under the circumstances? Or neurosis building up already?
“Our tests showed you to be a schizoid—well-compensated, of course. You know there’s no such thing as a normal human being. We all have tendencies toward one or more types of psychoses. In your case the symptoms are an overly active imagination and in some cases an inability to distinguish reality from—well, fancy.”