Bjarnsson's laughter echoed in his helmet. Fallon had a moment's eerie feeling that he heard with his brain instead of his ears.
"Wonderful, Fallon, wonderful! You see how circumstance makes us traitors to ourselves? But there is no need for heroics. You can turn back, Fallon."
The lines of Bjarnsson's body were quite gone. He loomed against the darkness as a pillar of shining mist. Fallon's weary eyes were dazzled with it.
"No," he muttered stubbornly. "No."
Bjarnsson's voice rolled in on him suddenly, soul-shaking as an organ.
Voice—or mind? A magnificent, thundering strength.
"This is evolution, Fallon. So shall we be, a million million years from now. This is living, Fallon. It is godhood! Take off your suit, Fallon! Grow with me!"
"Joan," said Fallon wearily. "Joan, dearest."
Cosmic laughter, shuddering in his mind. And then,
"Turn back, Fallon. In an hour it will be too late."