"Sam--" Her voice in the darkness was eager. Her hands touched his. Soft
hands.
"You'd better hurry," he told her.
Sam watched her go to the house, and doubts began to gnaw at him. Was he
going to destroy his plans now at a whim? He felt an impulse to get into
the rocket and leave without her--yet he thought of the cold emptiness
of space and himself drifting through alien worlds, alone, lonely.
Perhaps it was wrong but he couldn't condemn her for something that was
partly his fault. He was trying to become the person he once might have
been, and it was only fair that she should have the same chance.
Dorothy came hurrying back, a suitcase in her hand, and there was an
eagerness about her that pleased him. He helped her put the suitcase on
board.
"Dorothy--"
Her voice was soft and low. "Yes, Sam?" Starlight danced in her eyes.
He pulled her gently to him. He kissed her, and that night eight years
ago came back, and in his arms was the young eager bride he had known,
the one he loved.
Minutes later they rose on wings of fire, in a slow upward spiral that
quickened painlessly. Sam had not questioned the hyperdrive. It had
worked in the factory and it would work here. He watched the needle
cross the dial in a swift, steady movement.