"You told me you wanted me!" I screamed at him furiously. "Control your passionate, dainty voice. You worked well with those two. The experts could work through you better." "Right through me, like a razor blade through margarine," I said. "It's not fair." "No, it's science. Psychology as a science, not an art. Don't damn me--I'm not the inventor," Madison continued. "I'm one of them," I murmured, "but I'd just as rather you didn't blame me either." Madison punched the button for me with a palsied, manicured thumb. "Guess what, Meyverik?" I said viciously. "You're going to die." "What the blazes are you babbling about?" the blond doll snapped at me from the box of the video screen. * * * * * I scanned the typed, stiff-backed Idiot Prompters Madison shoved into my fist. "It's--true. You can't get out alive." "What's happened?" His face perfectly blank. "Nothing out of the ordinary," I said. "They have just informed me it was planned this way. It wasn't possible to build a round-trip rocket yet. You need a lot of fuel to make course adjustments for the curvature of space, so forth. The radio will send back your reports on the Alpha Centaurian planets. Undoubtedly by all rules of probability they won't support life without a mass of equipment. They suckered me too, Meyverik, I swear. You turning back?" "No," he said almost immediately. "I thought you were after the rewards, trained to get them. You won't be able to enjoy them posthumously." The video blanked. He had turned off his camera. "I guess I thought so," Meyverik's voice said. "But I kind of like it out here--alone. I like people but back there there's no one to _touch_. They smother you but you can't reach them. I can't do anything better back there than I can do here." * * * * * Madison got a bottle and he and I got sloppily drunk, leaning on each other, singing innocently obscene songs of our youth. The technicians, good government men, were openly disgusted with us. Two hours after we had contacted Meyverik, I left Madison snoring on the desk and lurched to the control board, bunching my soiled shirt at the throat with my hand. I called Johnson. "Going to die, Johnson. Tricked you. Can't get back, Johnson. Not ever. No fuel. Ha, you can't ever go home again, Johnson. Like that, you damned runny-nosed little poet?" His dark face worked weakly. Ha, he sure as thunderation _didn't_ like it. He asked for the bloody details and I fed them to him. "Turning back, aren't you?" I jeered. "I just wanted a place and a time for thinking," he said across the Solar System. "But I'll die and I don't know if you can dream in death." "Just what I thought," I sneered. "I'm not turning back," he said slowly. "People need me. I've got a job to do. Haven't I? Haven't I?"