"My God!" he whispered. "This block and the cones could make a man immortal!"
Mussdorf gagged; laughed suddenly.
"Then why did that thing let us cart it off right from under its nose? Why, he even helped us."
"I wish I knew," muttered Emerson, troubled. "I wish I knew."
Mussdorf scowled; looked at him sideways, clearing his throat.
"I'm sorry I went off my nut back there," he mumbled. "The thought of all the dough this thing was worth sort of slapped me haywire. Why, just to be free of space cancer, Val—and hell! They'll give us pensions for this job. I'm sorry."
"Skip it," said Emerson. "That black thing was enough to make us all jittery. He seemed a good enough egg, though. But I was a little disappointed in him. He sure was bluffed when I touched that lever. Boy, he turned tail fast enough."
"Maybe he was just what he looked like, Val," murmured Nichols thoughtfully. "An animal—left by the real builders of the Cones to turn it over to someone like us, with a use for it."
"Sure," nodded Mussdorf. "That's what he was. Car's hit it. Just a big animal who knew enough to work the things, and no more."