Herb polished the last chicken bone methodically and sighed. "That's the best meal I ever ate," he said.
They sat at the table in the apartment the Engineers had arranged for them.
It had escaped the general destruction of the Hellhound attack, although the tower above it had been obliterated by a hydrogen bomb.
Gary filled his wineglass again and leaned back in his chair.
"I guess our job is done here," he said. "Maybe we'll be going home in just a little while.”
"Home?" asked Caroline. "You mean the Earth?”
Gary nodded.
"I have almost forgotten the Earth," she said. "It has been so long since I have seen the Earth. I suppose it has changed a great deal since I saw it last.”
"Perhaps it has," Gary told her, "although there are some things that never change. The smell of fresh-plowed fields and the scent of hayfields at harvest time and the beauty of trees against the skyline at evening.”
"Just a poet," said Herb. "Just a blasted poet.”