The ship's radio cried out. "You've made it! Thank God! You've made it!"
Another voice, shaking, said, "President—Davis is—overwhelmed. He can't go on. On his behalf and on behalf of all the people—with our hope that was almost dead, we greet you." A pause. "Please come in!"
The voice was silent. The air screamed against the hull of the ship.
"I can't tell them," said the man.
"Please come in!" said the radio. "Do you hear me?"
The woman looked up at the man. "You've got to Michael!"
"Two thousand years. From one end of the galaxy to the other. Not one grain of dust we can live on. Just Earth. And it's burned to a cinder."
A note of hysteria stabbed into the radio voice. "Are you all right? Stand by! We're sending a rescue ship."
"They've got a right to know what we've found," said the woman. "They sent us out. They've waited so long—."
He stared into space. "It's hopeless. If we'd found another planet they could live on, they'd do the same as they've done here."