Carroll nodded angrily. "I've got a couple of projects yet. One is the hand-held weapon—just to prove to the bright boys who think this bum wing is thought-up—that such is possible. The other may bring proof, but it may take some time.
"I've still got me a job. I'm going to develop the faster-than-light space drive and go out looking for aliens. They had interstellar travel. They all couldn't have been destroyed."
"Forget it, Carroll."
"Forget it?" exploded the physicist. "Forget it when I've a whole world of physics waiting for me to develop? Not on your life!"
He stood up and grinned at them boyishly. Then he left and as the door closed Majors looked askance at Pollard.
Pollard smiled. "He'll forget it," he said. "The aliens will become dimmer and dimmer in his memory until they are gone. But right now we have a fairly stable James Forrest Carroll on our hands. And, Majors, the final therapy is out there waiting for him. Fine girl."
"Rhine," said Carroll softly as the door closed behind him. "Rhine."
"I'm—waiting," she replied. "But why not call me Rita. Everybody else does."
"I know," he said, looking at her pointedly. "But I'm amused, sort of."
"Why?"