In due course the _Euclid_ came to the New Mexico Spaceport to pick, up its passengers, Jan and I and the folks had been on Earth for over a month by then. We and Doc and Irma arrived at the port on the same rocket plane, and as I looked up at the brooding hull of that colossus I felt a little as if a kid dream of mine had come true--that I was matching my lusty strength against the whole universe, and winning. To fight and to win against something, has been a need in human blood and bone for uncounted eons. But should I feel a bit puny and sheepish, too? Comparing myself to Doc, for instance? This was his special day. Back there behind us, as we approached the starship--back there beyond the guardropes--were the crowds of curious, thrilled, scared, envious humanity. Some cheered for what the _Euclid_ meant to progress--or perhaps they cheered more for a greater triumph--the thirty-thousand demigods who would be among its passengers. But was some of the cheering given in relief at being rid of them? Bowhart was there, to shake hands with Doc and me and Irma and Jan, and to meet my folks. "Good luck to you all," he said. "No Great Change, yet, for you, Charlie? So I hear. Funny, hunh? Dr. Lanvin--I want to give you special best wishes. You look happy, so I guess if you're satisfied, nothing I can say will be an offense. But I still wouldn't want to be you for a million dollars." Bowhart must have known that much, saying what he did; because Doc wasn't at all offended--just airily nettled, like an ageless leprechaun pitied by an urchin. "Oh?" he asked lightly. "In the past many a millionaire would have given more than a million for another week of life and vigor, and it was no sale. The value is a lot bigger; but it doesn't cost that, now--it doesn't cost anything except a little more growing up. What do you want to do, Bow? Drink beer, eat ice cream, make love? I can do all that, too. Someday you'll get it through your fuddled head that I'm still human. I think you're catching on already. Yes, the androids are leaving Earth; but you know that the process that makes them is still here. Every day there are more labs. Because people get hurt terribly, or wear out beyond reasonable repair. And what would you expect them to want to do then, just die?" Doc wasn't just talking to slow minded Bowhart, but to all humanity that was like him. It was his final message. But there was another touch to it that wasn't in words. It was a cocky gentle air that maybe suggested the contrast of--say--eating a fine dinner, and then taking a long dive, unclothed, through the vacuum of space--both with equal relish. Bowhart looked puzzled, and a bit sullen. Maybe he was beginning to catch on at last.