Isak had asked himself that question every time a crisis, large or small, had loomed in his life—ever since his school days, when Haise himself had given him the blue plaque, which he had brought to Ceres with him, and which he kept these days on his balcony table. It was a single piece of pressed cardboard to which a small strip of beta-cloth netting had been glued. Almost as an afterthought, the Apollo 13 astronauts had torn the cloth from their Lunar lander turned tugboat before abandoning it in space. They had wanted to personally thank the builders of the ship that had saved them; and each of the three hundred plaques was autographed by the crew. One of these had become Isak’s prize possession. He ran his fingers over the beta cloth and read the words:

A PIECE OF AQUARIUS LAUNCHED

SPLASHDOWN 4-17-70

THANKS FOR A JOB WELL DONE.

That near disaster had occurred over one hundred years ago and more than fifteen light-minutes away. But even in the midst of an infinitely greater crisis, Haise’s reassuring presence was still welcome. And Isak asked, “Well, old friend, what is your advice?”

Don’t dwell on cracked heat shields, an inner voice answered. And don’t fail to do your best, either.

So Isak continued his little game of planning for the worst, and at least trying to hope for the best. Perhaps the aliens would want to find some survivors out of sheer curiosity, to examine, maybe to preserve some samples of DNA against the day when humankind might be resurrected in the same way as Crichton—when the Intruders had attained the quality of mercy. It was a low-probability hope, Isak realized, and a sad one at that, but only hope and action would save any vestige of humanity. But what action? Only thought could answer that question—if he thought the right thoughts and undertook the right actions. The strategy was right but bare of tactics. There was nothing to do except move one step at a time, very carefully, to live long enough to take the next step.

It startled him that in the secret depths of his mind, in that core of ancient reptilian brain that resided in all humanity, there was more than mere hope. Every morning when he awoke from his dreams, he actually believed that vengeance could be had against his enemies, that he or some other warrior messiah might rise up and smite the Intruders hip and thigh. What confidence! What arrogance! What delusion! Crichton gave a confident snort, as if commenting, then lifted his neck and moved back from the mammal whose ancestors had once been only a feeble competitor of his kind, eating saurian eggs and quietly slipping away into the foliage.

Isak looked at the small screen again and saw that the digging for the gamma tanks was nearly complete. Suddenly the holes in the ground reminded him of a mass grave, and he felt tearful and angry at the same time.