"Think rationally," the boy pleaded, "not with your emotions. You have only four minutes left, Captain Greg. If the Redearth was a virus invasion as you believe it was, why were only the children affected? We made it an antibiotic; we used it for millions of people; every colonist was innoculated before he emigrated."
He was lying. He had to be lying. He was trying to confuse Greg with side issues. It didn't matter now how the virus had been brought back to the earth. "Three four, open the door; five six, pick up sticks."
"We aren't different, Captain. We've simply crossed your frontier in a different way. We have a theory how it happened, but no proof. The Martian Redearth worked as a sort of mental catalyst when it was used for newly born infants. It awoke the full thought potential of our cerebral cortex. That's all. We have no ability that men haven't always been capable of; if you believe that, you can do it yourself."
Belief!—mystical nonsense. Did the kid really think Greg would buy that? Greg glanced at Adrian Vayle. The scientist's face was gray with horror. Sweat stood in beads on his lips. Holly Wilson clung desperately to his hand.
"I drew a wheel in the sand for you, Captain: another monument to another pioneer, the first primitive who grasped what we might do with a rolling disk. He gave us terror and disaster, yes; but he gave us progress, too. Do we blame him because his heirs sometimes misapplied his discovery? Do we call ourselves alien invaders because we have a more complex technology than his? Then why heap shame on yourself because you gave us a frontier in the stars? It won't end the way you thought it would; nothing ever does. We're your children, Captain; we're your new frontier."
"Aliens!" Greg spat.
"My research was for nothing," Dr. Vayle said numbly. The words were a whisper of agony, the torment of a soul ripped out of the comfortable world of madness.
"Don't say that. You'll finish your work," Holly told him soothingly.
He pushed her away. "Not now. It was pointless."
The boy wrung his hands. "You have only two minutes left. Forget your emotions; put aside your self-pity. It's a luxury you can't afford any longer. Use the brains God gave you, Captain Greg. You can't land on the satellite. You must—"