Emrys sat down on the couch. "Physically I am. That's why I can fight them. Look, Peter, I have centuries ahead of me. By giving me immortality, they have also given me time."
"Splendid. Time to do what?"
"I don't know," Emrys confessed. "But time is such a valuable commodity in itself. With it, I could learn how to turn their own powers against them."
"Easier said than done," Hubbard observed.
"Maybe I could—oh—invent a machine that will amplify my mind powers until it can overcome all of theirs...."
Hubbard said nothing.
"Well, then, the engines I gave them can't take them out of this galaxy any more than those same engines can take humanity out of it. But, given time, I can invent new engines, Peter—engines that can jump the gap from galaxy to galaxy. If I cannot give Man the weapons with which to fight, at least I can give him the means by which to flee! And, since I was the man who invented the one, I can be the man to invent the other!"
That was true, Hubbard thought, hope rising in him, despite all his efforts to hold it back. That was possible. But would Emrys do this? Right now, in the first flush of repentance, he might try to. But if the work grew tedious, might he not say to himself: Why bother? I'm bound to live forever, anyway. Why should I care what happens to the others of my kind?
"Who knows, Peter," Emrys cried, "I may be able to invent engines that can move the whole world—all our worlds—to another galaxy, where the Morethans will never be able to follow!"