Kent Knight looked at the Captain's hands. They were age-gnarled, the knuckles big against the wizened fingers. Knight looked at the Captain's face. It was lined and rough and old. He thought, Another manifestation of your powers, Thing? Make a man's dream come true? That is the Captain's dream. He wants never to grow old.
But he said, and he actually put feeling into the words, "Why, you look like that picture of your son on your desk, Ike. But hadn't you better be careful? You don't know that water's strength. It might cause irreparable damage to you."
"That's right," Captain Hansen agreed. "I'm young enough now, don't you think?"
Knight twisted his lips into a smile he didn't feel, turned back toward the ship. Captain Hansen followed him, dancing.
Damn you, Thing!
It chuckled.
Knight leaned against the wall of the spacemen's mess, his eyes searching the crew members eating at the long table. You can tell which ones still are fighting Them. They are the unhappy ones. But, God, so few of them!
And we're hurtling toward Earth—to bring these parasitic thought-things to feed upon the minds of mankind. The ship is filled with them. Everywhere I go, my Thing whispers to those bodiless ones promising, promising, promising! Thought-conquerors ... the power of thought had brought Man to the pinnacle of destiny. Now these—these Things—were stealing his birthright!...
"Do you see now how impossible it is, Earthman? We Arkkhans are so vastly superior to you, there is nothing you can do but bow to us? And you will be unutterably happy," his Thing thought.
Into Kent Knight's mind came the soft, sweet face of Mary Jo. Mary Jo. The thought was a caress—warm and tender as the touch of her hand. Mary Jo, whose warmth and brightness were life to him—even now when he had lost her forever.