He had changed the future and in the future he himself had been changed, but not enough. Somewhere below in the hold of the Ark were his ancestors who had evolved along a new path in the new future. The evolution had been slower, perhaps, but it had been as sure, external appearances notwithstanding. Somewhere in the far new future, he was sure, there was a simian Dr. Gar looking down in solitude on the remains of Earth. The Ark had touched the land. The animals--his fellow creatures--were beginning to go forth, two by two, onto the shore of Ararat. His foescope set up a clamor. There in the sky was a new thing, a spacecraft like his, yet unlike it. It looked deadlier, more purposeful. Ignoring him, it was diving out of the unknowable future to destroy its own past. He watched in professional admiration as his fellow pilot screamed unerringly for the Ark in sacrificial completion of the mission he himself had failed to accomplish. Death to the animals, too--from an animal pilot. He knew then that Earth would not die. It might circle lifeless for eons, waiting to welcome the foot--or paw, or tentacle--of others from outside. But it would be there, intact and serene. Even as the mountain-shattering explosion came and he himself ceased to exist, he knew.