It seemed wrong that such a familiar sun should shine down upon buildings of such vastness, glint against skycraft of such magnitude, and give warmth and life to a race so huge and so very, very young.
He turned and ran his hand over a bookcase. He touched a favorite volume, but did not remove it from its place. He had not the time.
He ran his hand over the tiny controls of his little craft. It had carried him so many light-leagues of space faithfully and well, following the dictates of his hands on the worn plastic handles.
End of quest!
This was it. He had come to the end of his search, the answer to his desire. This race would carry on where he and his race could not. The flaming torch—
Toralen Ki broke off with a bitter laugh. He was sounding slightly overdramatic to himself.
He faced them. Hotang Lu, who was looking at the blank wall with intent stare, and the Extremes, Lane and Downing, whose huge frames were cramped in the tiny control room.
Even here, they were. He could not escape them—and he admitted that he did not want to escape them. Yet he felt the touch of resentment. Unthinkable light-years from his home, surrounded and overwhelmed on every side with utter bigness—slumbering giants, all of them, awaiting the touch of his mind to awaken them to their rightful place.
It might have been Tlembo's rightful place were it not for sheer size and other natural factors. Why couldn't fate have given Tlembo that gift instead of this race?
But, time went on. And there was so little time—