But Uru was paradise. And through Jones—The Man—the archangel?—I could achieve it. All I had to do was make up my mind.
But why had he chosen me to make the trip with him, past the place where the stars melted together in the speed of our journey through mental space, to the planet that was named for a drug or gave its name to a drug?
Since uru was a drug maybe it was only natural that Jones' first contact would be with users of narcotics. The natives an explorer first meets in a new land are not necessarily people of the highest class. He meets the adventurers, the ones with spirit enough to canoe out to meet his ship.
So with Jones, perhaps. He would meet the others eventually—the normal, respectable people to whom we users were a despised, hunted minority. And when he had met the normal people, and through them Earth's leaders, it was possible he would have no further use for me and my kind. It was more than possible; it stood to reason.
If that was the case I had better grab my chance while I could—while Jones still thought of me as his brother.
He had already bypassed one level of our outcast society—the stratum typified by Rollo, habitual user and cheap crook—to reach me. I didn't have to flatter myself to know I was better than Rollo and his kind. I'd had some education, I avoided crime except when necessary, and I had the will power to quit the stuff at least occasionally.
Was this mere rationalization? I didn't think so. But whatever it was I would do well to accept Jones' offer without further demur and give up Earth for life on Uru. I could start out fresh there, make a clean break with my sordid past, and live the life of serenity and good will he had shown me.
I made my decision.
The telephone rang and I knew before I picked it up that it was Jones calling.
"I know your choice, my brother," he said, "and I am pleased. We will travel immediately."