"Yes. Rotting with inactivity and futility, the logical next step is death. If we are unable to discover any purpose in living further--end it. But I can't admit such a possibility. The plenum of all evolution mustn't end in oblivion. The greatness of organic matter must be evolving toward some future other than nothingness. Flux must mean something besides an inevitable return to vacuum!" "At least we have a problem," said Amco. "And the greatest problem of all," said the Coordinator. "Because if we can find the true answer now, I shall dictate whether or not life as far as Dhoma is concerned should continue." Amco found himself tensing forward. "You mean if we could definitely determine that Dhomastrial life isn't justified because it has no ultimate goal--you would destroy it?" "Yes," said the Coordinator hoarsely. "And why not?" * * * * * Amco finally managed to say, "No reason, logically. Why go on living without an ultimate goal?" His voice bore a note of resignation, but his eyes hinted at the anxiety he felt. "That, then, is our problem," enthused the Coordinator. "Is a worthy cause for continued Dhomastrial life determinable? If not, I'll envelop Dhoma in the vibratory blasts that destroyed the invaders of 9400." He paused, then added, thoughtfully, "Perhaps that will be the logical end of it." Amco revealed what had occurred to him when the Coordinator first mentioned the crisis. He said: "The space-time converter. That is an answer. We could go into the plegarthic time flow called the future and find out." The Coordinator nodded. "I can think of no other way. Even if it is unsatisfactory. Though it's been proven that the space-time converter operates satisfactorily no rationale has ever been reached as to _how_ it functions. The converter is illogical." Amco nodded, too. "It is that. Perhaps it's been wise, restricting the converter. But I see no other way." "You agree then to make the attempt, Amco? You are the only one I could trust. I know of no one else who still retains adequate sense of responsibility." "Of course," Amco was saying, his heart pounding abnormally, and his face flushed. "Thank you, Amco. I put the future of Dhoma in your hands then. Any questions?" "One," said Amco. "What if my findings are negative? You are definitely determined to destroy all Dhomastrial life?" "Yes, Amco." Amco shrugged. He watched the three-dim screen fade. * * * * * Amco stood beside the space-time converter on the periphery of a dead sea. A slight cold wind blew from it, whispering of a worldly loneliness. Away from the sea stretched an undulating plane of naked clay, unblemished, glossy, cruel. An anemic pale red sun shown fitfully through a slight dust-mist on the dead sea's horizon. Realizing that outside his plastic suit, the air was crackling cold, Amco shivered. He had plunged two million years into the plegarthic flow.