“How long?” He felt that the answer was deeply important; he had to know.

“You must understand about replays, Raj. Earth has gone through its history for Me, replayed itself at My Command.”

“Replayed . . . the same way every time?”

“Most of the times.”

Flattery felt the inescapable truth of it and a cry was torn from him: “Why?”

“You would not understand.”

“All of that pain and . . .”

“And the joy, Raj. Never forget the joy.”

“But . . . replay?”

“The way you might replay a musical recording, Raj, or a holorecord of a classical drama. The way Moonbase replayed its Project Consciousness, getting a bit more out of it each time.”

“Why have You brought me out of hyb?”

“You are like a favorite instrument, Raj.”

“But Bickel . . .”

“Ohh, Bickel! Yes, he gave Me his genius. He was the black box out of which you achieved Me, but friendship requires more, Raj. You are My best friend.”

“I would’ve destroyed You, Ship.”

“How little you understand friendship.”

“So I’m . . . an instrument. Are You replaying me?”

“No Raj. No.” Such sadness in that terrible voice. “Instruments play.”

“Why should I permit You to play me?”

“Good! Very good, Raj!”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“That was approval. You are, indeed, My best friend, My favorite instrument.”

“I’ll probably never understand that.”

“It’s partly because you enjoy the play.”

Flattery could not suppress it; a chuckle escaped him.

“Laughter suits you, Raj.”

Laughter? He remembered little laughter except the bitter amusement of self-accusation. But now he remembered going into hyb—not once, but more times than he cared to count. There had been other awakenings . . . other games and . . . yes, other failures. He sensed, though, that Ship was amused and he knew he was supposed to respond.

“What are we playing this time?”

“My demand remains unfulfilled, Raj. Humans somehow cannot decide how to WorShip. That’s why there are no more humans now.”

He felt frigid cold all through his body.

“No more . . . What’ve You done?”

“Earth has vanished into the cosmic whirl, Raj. All the Earths are gone. Long time, remember? Now, there are only Shipmen . . . and you.”

“Me, human?”

“You are original material.”

“A clone, a doppelganger, original material?”

“Very much so.”

“What are Shipmen?”

“They are survivors from the most recent replays—slightly different replays from the Earth which you recall.”

“Not human?”

“You could breed with them.”

“How are they different?”

“They have similar ancestral experiences to yours, but they were picked up at different points in their social development.”

Flattery sensed confusion in this answer and made a decision not to probe it . . . not yet. He wanted to try another tack.

“What do You mean they were picked up?^;

“They thought of it as rescue. In each instance; their sun was about to nova.”

“More of Your doing?”

“They have been prepared most carefully for your arrival, Raj.”