"Why," said Gary, "this means the Engineers can make anything they want to.
They can arrange atoms to make any sort of material. They can transmute matter!”
Kingsley nodded. "That's exactly what it means," he said.
Herb was hurrying for the table.
"If we don't get there, there won't be anything left," Tommy suggested.
The chicken, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the wine, the stuffed olives…
all the food was good. It might have come out of the kitchen of the solar system's smartest hotel only a few minutes before. After days of living on coffee and hastily slapped-together sandwiches, they did full justice to it.
Herb regarded with regret the last piece of chicken and shook his head dolefully.
"I just can't do it," he moaned. "I just can't manage any more.”
"I never tasted such food in all my life," Kingsley declared.