Carl took all the keys out of the instrument board. Without the keys, the ship was inoperable. He left the ship, stumbled as in a dream across the dreary wastes of lifeless snow. Then, as the cold struck deep at his lungs, his thoughts clarified, and he went with quick, driven panic.
How soon the merbohydrate would strike the red star he had no idea. But it would be soon. He made a break-neck descent. He burst into that small section of one of the underground cities where the Wortans lived, went straight to the meegan of M'hort.
He told M'hort the whole story.
M'hort sat cross-legged. A resigned sadness lidded his eyes. Carl knew his answer. He dropped to his knees. "No! You can't speak for the rest of your people. They want to live. And the Wortans can still be great. Why—why, we'll give you a planet in our own system!"
M'hort smiled as if at a secret, foolish thought, his eyes averted. Then he arose and drew Carl up with him. His eyes glittered with the reflected fluorescence of the underground. Carl was held rigid.
M'hort said, "You are youth, and you answer as youth would answer. I am age, Carl, and I answer as only age can answer. We will stay.
"What is there to fear? What is there to grieve for? It is a great providence that sent you here to us. You see! Soon we would all have died, but lingeringly. Now there is glory to dying, for there will be no ugly pain. And we will not be unknown to the other peoples of the universe, Carl, for you will carry our immortality."
"That," said Carl, bitterly, "is a hell of an immortality."
M'hort laughed. "It is better than we expected. Now go."
And Carl went, blindly.