It is stupid, said Alan, believing.
There are no aliens. There are neither supermen nor mutants. There is no thinking race on earth but the genus Homo. The accidents are unrelated; the welder a victim of shock, the pilot merely lucky.
I see.
The disks are under the supervision of the government, who wished to keep their purpose secret until now.
Security reasons, said Alan in blind agreement.
There is only you and there is only me, I who am you, you who are me. And this is our private knowledge and not to be spoken of.
I would die rather than tell of it.
Now you are mine again.
Never anything else, master.
Forget me.