Mattern had insisted the planet was useless and that stopping here was
a waste of time; Leopold had disagreed, and Leopold had turned out to
be right. We had found something of great value.
We had found a machine that could spew forth new and awesome recipes
for death. We held in our hands the sum and essence of the Thaiquen
science--the science that had culminated in magnificent weapons,
weapons so superb they had succeeded in destroying all life on this
world. And now we had access to those weapons. Dead by their own hand,
the Thaiquens had thoughtfully left us a heritage of death.
Grayfaced, I rose from the table and went to my cabin. I wasn't hungry
now.
"We'll be blasting off in an hour," Mattern said behind me as I left.
"Get your things in order."
I hardly heard him. I was thinking of the deadly cargo we carried, the
robot so eager to disgorge its fund of data. I was thinking what would
happen when our scientists back on Earth began learning from Ozymandias.
The works of the Thaiquens now were ours. I thought of the poet's
lines: "_Look on my works, ye mighty--and despair._"