"No."
"If I had this machine, could I travel as you?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll kill you and take yours."
"It would not work for you."
"Why?"
"Each machine is tailored for each person."
The old man hung his head. He looked down into the black, charred
hole. He walked all around the hole. He kicked at the sand, looking
half-heartedly again for the book.
"Look," Michaelson said. "I'm sure I've convinced you that I'm human.
Why not have a try at negotiating our differences?"
He looked up. His expressive eyes, deep, resigned, studied Michaelson's
face. Finally he shook his head sadly. "When we first met I hoped we
could think the ancient thoughts together. But our paths diverge. We
have finished, you and I."
He turned and started off, shoulders slumped dejectedly.