But the solution was bitter in his mouth.
Instinctively driving the ship toward the next site Lindsay's eyes still saw the pathetic figure silhouetted against that intolerable blast. Solution? She had given him both solutions.
His mind went back through the years. She'd been his, completely. He'd known all the happiness any man needed. Now he was free to take his place—and he didn't want it. What was honor? A mind, clinging to its own ideals. Was there more honor in clinging to his choice or in becoming a public figure, abandoning his choice.
No, Jenna hadn't given it to him. He'd taken it.
More balance, more sensible evaluation of his own set of desires would have kept him from driving her—
He landed his ship flatwise, furrowing the ground. Blindly, he looked across the field toward the—ticking thing.
"Blast!" he snarled at the thing.
He selected tools. Then he faced it again. "Go ahead. Explode." Briefly, he wondered how it would feel—and if any feeling were possible in microseconds.
"I'm coming," he told it.