"It's all over," Kane told him. He turned to the rapidly collecting group and said: "Permit me to apologize. Guy has been through hell, and shock still claims him."
"It's over?" asked Guy. "It'll never be over. It'll go on and on and on until the last Terran is dead and forgotten."
"Well," said Kane, "you'd better make the best of it, Guy. You're Terran, and there's no place else to go."
"I'd like to find a planet that hasn't seen war for a thousand years," said Guy uncertainly. The alcohol-concentration was reaching new levels in Guy's system, and his brain was feeling more and more the effects.
"We'd all like that," said Kane. "Now break it up, Guy, and simmer down."
The storm passed, then, and Kane walked Guy into the dining room and seated him at the speakers' table.
The room hazed before Guy's eyes as he sat down. The echo of his voice resounded in his brain: "A thousand years—"
What was it that Charalas said? A thousand years—no, it was more than that. Thousands of years since they had war. That was a planet! Ertene. The nomad world that wanted no part of Sol's warfare and strife; killing and death. They knew—they knew from the things he said—that Terra was a planet of self-aggrandizement and that Terrans were proud, haughty, and belligerent.
Maynard laughed wildly.