"Odd," it radiated, "that oblivion, or death, or whatever symbol is used to describe the Unknown, should be the final and most desirable world of all worlds."
Amco looked dazedly about, still backing away from the inert sleeper. "Yes. Yes, odd. Very odd. You will let me go now, let me return to my own time. I don't desire the fate of this sleeper, and I'm sure you don't. Let me return."
The teleo-electronic man nodded. "It does seem futile now. You can return."
Amco did not answer. He was running, running frantically away from the future.
At least he had found the true, ultimate goal. Oblivion. Now he could inform the Coordinator of that fact. He would be the instrument through which all this impossible flow termed life would be terminated—at least for Earth and for his own particular species of rational life.
Why evolve a few million years more only to decide that oblivion was preferable? One could find that immediately. The sleeper, through the robot, had brought about his own death because he had learned the ultimate truth.
"Of course, you can't remember, Amco," the Coordinator said. "We foresaw that. It's one of the paradoxes of time travel. But now comprehending its principle, I anticipated illogical results in its effects. I thought, or rather hoped, you would remember."
Amco shrugged. "There is some kind of vague, indistinct memory in my mind. I'm convinced of that. But—I can't grasp it. Wherever my discoveries are, they are important to us. They would have answered our problem and given us a definite course of action."
The Coordinator turned. "We still have a problem at least to work on. That's more than we had before. New worlds must be devised for the senses and the mind. This one is about exhausted."