Eva Armour was calling to him softly.
"Ash. Oh, Ash. Wake up."
To Sutton's ears came the muted mutter of the coasting rockets, the hollow, thrumming sound of a small ship hurtling through space.
"Johnny," said Sutton's mind.
"We're in a ship, Ash."
"How many are there?"
"The android and the girl. The one called Eva. And they are friendly. I told you they were friendly. Why don't you pay attention?"
"I can't trust anyone."
"Not even me?"
"Not your judgment, Johnny. You are new to Earth."
"Not new, Ash. I know Earth and Earthmen. Much better than you know them. You're not the first Earthman I've lived with."
"I can't remember, Johnny. There's something to remember. I try to remember it and there's nothing but a blur. The big things, of course, the things I learned, the things I wrote down and took away. But not the place itself or the people in it."
"They aren't people, Ash."
"I know. I can't remember."
''You're not supposed to, Ash. It was all too alien. You can't carry such memories with you…you shouldn't carry such alien memories, for when you carry them too closely, you are a part of them. And you had to stay human, Ash. We have to keep you human."
"But someday I must remember. Someday…"
"When you must remember them, you will remember them. I will see to that."
"And, Johnny."
"What is it, Ash?"
"You don't mind this Johnny business?"
"What about it, Ash?"
"I shouldn't call you 'Johnny.' It is flippant and familiar.. but it is friendly. It is the friendliest name I know. That is why I call you it."
"I do not mind," said Johnny. "I do not mind at all."
"You understand any of this, Johnny? About Morgan? And the Revisionists?"
"No, Ash."
"But you see a pattern?"
"I am beginning to."
Eva Armour shook him. "Wake up, Ash," she said. "Can't you hear me, Ash? Wake up."
Sutton opened his eyes. He was lying on a bunk and the girl still was shaking him.
"O.K.," he said. "You can stop now. O.K."
He swung his legs off the bunk and sat on its edge. His hand went up and felt the lump on his jaw.
"Herkimer had to hit you," Eva said. "He didn't want to hit you, but you were unreasonable and we had no time to lose."
"Herkimer?"
"Certainly. You remember Herkimer, Ash. He was Benton's android. He's piloting this ship."
The ship, Sutton saw, was small, but it was clean and comfortable and there would have been room for another passenger or two. Herkimer, talking his precise, copybook speech, had said it was small but serviceable.
"Since you've kidnapped me," Sutton told the girl, "I don't suppose you'd mind telling me where we're going."
"We don't mind at all," said Eva. "Were going to the hunting asteroid that you got from Benton. It has a lodge and a good supply of food and no one will think of looking for us there."
"That's fine," said Sutton, grinning. "I could do with a spot of hunting."
"You won't be doing any hunting," said a voice behind them. Sutton swung around. Herkimer stood in the hatch that led to the pilot's shell.
"You're going to write a book," said Eva, softly. "Surely you know about the book. The one the Revisionists…"
"Yes," Sutton told her. "I know about the book…"
He stopped, remembering, and his hand went involuntarily to feel of his breast pocket. The book was there, all right, and something that crinkled when he touched it. He remembered that, too. The letter…the incredibly old letter that John H. Sutton had forgotten to open six thousand years before.
"About the book," said Sutton, and then he stopped again, for he was going to say they needn't bother about writing the book, for he already had a copy. But something stopped him, for he wasn't certain that it was smart just then to let them know about the book he had.
"I brought along the case," said Herkimer. "The manuscript's all there. I checked through it."
"And plenty of paper?" asked Sutton, mocking him.
"And plenty of paper."
Eva Armour leaned toward Sutton, so close that he could smell the fragrance of her copper hair.
"Don't you see," she asked, "how important it is that you write this book? Don't you understand?"
Sutton shook his head.
Important, he thought. Important for what? And whom? And when?
He remembered the open mouth that death had struck, the teeth that glittered in the moonlight and the words of a dying man still rang sharply in his ears.
"But I don't understand," he said. "Maybe you can tell me."
She shook her head. "You write the book," she told him.