"Stop!" he said quietly.
They halted, in slight confusion, barely drawing back.
"If you want to see us die—just come a step closer.... And remember what'll happen to you."
The faces began turning to each other and there was an undertone of muttering and whispering. "A ghastly thing.... Instant.... Nothing to do.... Space's broken their minds.... They'll do it.... Eyes're mad.... What can we do?... What?..." The sweaty faces, the cold white ones, the flushed hot ones: all began to turn to the President, who was staring at the two before him like a man watching himself die in a mirror.
"I command you," he suddenly said, in a choked voice, "to—to give me those—lockets! It's your—duty!"
"We've only one duty, Mr. President," said Michael sharply. "To ourselves."
"You're sick. Give yourselves over to us. We'll help you."
"We've made our choice. We want an answer. Quickly! Now!"
The President's body sagged. "What—what is it you want?"
Michael threw the words. "To go beyond the force fields of the city. To go far out onto the Earth and live as long as we can, and then to die a natural death."