"I'm leaving for Venus," he said, "the day after tomorrow. They need
doctors up there, and I can probably do more good there than here.
Besides, I'd like to investigate these amoeba creatures; I suspect they
have more intelligence than we give them credit for."
"I--I'll be sorry to see you leave, Tom."
"I came to ask you to go with me. You know how I feel about you, Abby;
I thought I'd try just once more."
"I couldn't leave Linda," Abby said.
"The standard excuse," he reminded her, his voice more weary than
bitter. "What Linda has needed all these years was a father, Abby.
You're giving her a warped viewpoint."
"The Somaticists don't think so," Abby flung at him.
He crimsoned. "Somatics aren't the answer. Our era has become so
mechanical that people have come to think that pressing a button is
going to cure the evils of the world. Pills and pushbuttons are fine
in their place, Abby, but they're not the answer, not the complete one
anyway. At one time, they thought psychiatry was the answer; they were
wrong there, too. The answer's probably a combination of the two."
"I'm not looking for the answer to anything," Abby said wearily. "I
just want to be let alone."
Dr. Gower nodded and turned to go.
"Have a nice trip," Abby said, trying to sound cheerful, "I'm sorry we
had to argue like this." The thought of his leaving brought a sinking
sensation which she tried to thrust off and couldn't. But there was
Linda to think of; the girl couldn't go to Venus.
At the door, Dr. Gower hesitated. "I don't know if I should tell you
this; it might help, and it might not." He paused again uncertainly and
then went on in a decisive tone. "Linda's your own child, Abby."