"What's in it for you, Emrys?" Hubbard asked bluntly.
"I want to save humanity ... and, of course," Emrys added, his eyes lighting exultantly, "by doing that, I will do more than Dyall ever did. My name will go down in history, and his—"
"Do you hate him so much, Emrys, even though he's dead?" Hubbard asked wonderingly, unable to conceive of such a thing.
"Especially because he's dead," Emrys snarled. "Because now I'll never have the pleasure of mocking him." He looked anxiously at Hubbard. "Don't you think I'm doing the right thing, Peter?"
The right thing, but for the wrong reason. Only for the wrong reason, though, was Emrys sure to finish what he had set out to do. It was the one motive that would keep him working long after he grew bored with the work. It was humanity's only chance, and so it did not matter why Emrys was doing this.
"It's a splendid thing you're planning to do, Emrys," Hubbard said warmly. "A splendid thing!"
What if Emrys did go down in history? It would be thanks to him that history had continued at all.
Yes, he was a vicious man. And Dyall had been equally vicious. And Peter Hubbard was a good man—and it was he who had not been granted that fifty extra years of life. What was goodness? Was it inherently opposed to greatness? Did things get done only out of malevolent motives—anger and ruthlessness and spite? If, as it seemed, goodness was a passive force, and evil an active one, perhaps the world needed both. And if, as it seemed, evil could beget good, then evil could not be all bad.
So, Peter Hubbard thought, there is hope for the Morethans as well as for humanity.