"Well, then, the engines I gave them can't take them out of this galaxy any more than those same engines can take humanity out of it. But, given time, I can invent _new_ engines, Peter--engines that can jump the gap from galaxy to galaxy. If I cannot give Man the weapons with which to fight, at least I can give him the means by which to flee! And, since I was the man who invented the one, I can be the man to invent the other!" * * * * * That was true, Hubbard thought, hope rising in him, despite all his efforts to hold it back. That was possible. But would Emrys do this? Right now, in the first flush of repentance, he might try to. But if the work grew tedious, might he not say to himself: _Why bother? I'm bound to live forever, anyway. Why should I care what happens to the others of my kind?_ "Who knows, Peter," Emrys cried, "I may be able to invent engines that can move the whole world--all our worlds--to another galaxy, where the Morethans will never be able to follow!" "What's in it for you, Emrys?" Hubbard asked bluntly. "I want to save humanity ... and, of course," Emrys added, his eyes lighting exultantly, "by doing that, I will do more than Dyall ever did. My name will go down in history, and his--" "Do you hate him so much, Emrys, even though he's dead?" Hubbard asked wonderingly, unable to conceive of such a thing. "_Especially_ because he's dead," Emrys snarled. "Because now I'll never have the pleasure of mocking him." He looked anxiously at Hubbard. "Don't you think I'm doing the right thing, Peter?" The right thing, but for the wrong reason. Only for the wrong reason, though, was Emrys sure to finish what he had set out to do. It was the one motive that would keep him working long after he grew bored with the work. It was humanity's only chance, and so it did not matter _why_ Emrys was doing this. "It's a splendid thing you're planning to do, Emrys," Hubbard said warmly. "A splendid thing!" What if Emrys _did_ go down in history? It would be thanks to him that history had continued at all. * * * * * Yes, he was a vicious man. And Dyall had been equally vicious. And Peter Hubbard was a good man--and it was he who had _not_ been granted that fifty extra years of life. What was goodness? Was it inherently opposed to greatness? Did things get done only out of malevolent motives--anger and ruthlessness and spite? If, as it seemed, goodness was a passive force, and evil an active one, perhaps the world needed both. And if, as it seemed, evil could beget good, then evil could not be all bad. _So_, Peter Hubbard thought, _there is hope for the Morethans as well as for humanity._ End of Project Gutenberg's Never Come Midnight, by Christopher Grimm