"I--I remember the face of an old woman who sold flowers on O'Farrell
Street in Frisco. Stood there all year long, she did. In winter,
summer, spring, fall. I used to buy gardenias from her when I had a
date."
"Do you want her to die?"
"She was so old that she's probably dead by this time anyway. But
listen, Captain, I--I'm not sure yet that this planet--"
Captain Torkel whirled frantically to Lieutenant Washington, kicked him
lightly in the side. The lieutenant, apparently somewhat sobered by the
cool air, rose shakily.
"Lieutenant, _you_ remember the people of Earth. Can't you still see
their faces in your mind?"
* * * * *
"The only face I remember," drawled Lieutenant Washington, "is my
Mom's. A good face, with a lot of work in it, but thin around the lips
and wrinkled around the eyes. It was a cold face, though. Mom was born
in Louisiana and then moved up to Maine as a girl. Her bones weren't
the kind to take those New England winters. So Mom slept, ate, lived
and died cold. Been dead now for eight years, and I think she's still
cold, even in her grave. I don't believe Mom'd mind one bit if the
Earth burns up. She'd be warm then. I think she'd like it."
"That's not the point," said Captain Torkel angrily. "The point is--"