Saxon nodded curtly. He remembered the Director's son as a quiet, soft-spoken youth with the yearning for far places in his eyes.
"I had hoped he would qualify for the Corps." Gant looked suddenly old, tired. "Instead he's volunteering for Colonial Service. Did you ever lose a son, Commander?"
They stared at each other across the humming emptiness and Saxon finally whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Stasis is all we can afford," the Director said numbly. "Man can't have Utopia yet. Because he's still—Man. Perhaps he'll never have it. But by God he'll try! Resignation withdrawn?"
Saxon nodded. He could not speak.
"I'm glad. The ship's captain had orders to burn you down had you refused." Gant's face was wooden. "Inhibition agents never quit, they just die in harness. You'll take the lifeboat to Eden XI for sixth generation check. Good hunting, Commander."
The image faded. Saxon sat for a long time, staring into the darkness.
Eden XI was three parsecs distant, near Algol. For the next ten hours Saxon paced the marvelously equipped lifeboat and absorbed data from the robot recorder. He stared at the hard crystal ache of the stars and thought of the Director's son. He thought about the shining cities of Earth, and about stasis.
Stasis meant—control.