Although even in that thought there was a hope, even in the unknownness of the past and the knowledge that by and large what had happened was a thing that stood unchanged, there must be hope. For somewhere, somewhen he had written a book. The book existed and therefore had happened, although so far as he was concerned it had not happened yet. But he had seen two copies of the book and that meant that in some future age the book was a factor in the pattern of the past.
Sometime, said Sutton, they will find me. Sometime before it is too late.
They will hunt for me and find me. They will have to find me.
They? he asked himself, finally honest with himself.
Herkimer, an android.
Eva Armour, a woman.
They…two people.
But not those two alone. Surely not those two alone. Back of them, like a shadowy army, all the other androids and all the robots that Man had ever fashioned. And here and there a human who saw the rightness of the proposition that Man could not, by mere self-assertion, be a special being; understanding that it was to his greater glory to take his place among the other things of life, as a simple thing of life, as a form of life that could lead and teach and be a friend rather than a thing that conquered and ruled and stood as one apart.
They would look for him, of course, but where?
With all of time and all of space to search in, how would they know when and where to look?