“I’m quite sure that’s exactly what they were planning,” said Noxon. “Their only goal all along has been to get to Earth and prevent the destruction of Garden. Keeping the human race from evolving in the first place would do the job.”

Again, the howls from the mice. But they were both angrier and briefer in their protests. Which Noxon took as a sign that his guess was dead on.

“Still, their point is valid,” said Noxon. “We don’t have to leave a living ship to be picked up in the high-technology future. We’re going to come back to the beginning of the ice age to pick it up. So whatever happens between the time we leave the ship and the far future, when we find out why the Visitors attack Garden, doesn’t matter.”

“You’re suggesting that we kill everybody aboard?” said Ram Odin.

“Without stasis fields, all the colonists will rot away within a few decades, no matter how strong the seal on their sleep chambers is,” said the expendable.

“So the kindest thing,” said Ram Odin to the expendable, “would be to park the ship where we know the ice will form, kill everybody aboard, leave you awake long enough to make sure it’s fully covered with ice, and then you shut everything down permanently.”

Killing everybody aboard would obviously include the mice, unless Noxon took them with him into the future. Which he clearly had no intention of doing, since they could not be trusted.

The mice started a few feeble protests. But Noxon could hear them convincing each other that the plan made sense.

“There isn’t a hundred thousand years of life support for us, even though our needs are few,” said a spokesman for the mice. “Covered with ice, it would be very difficult to do the necessary air exchange. But instead of killing us, you should bring us with you.”

“Nice try,” said Noxon. “Even if you don’t take over the ship, all you have to do is start having babies while humans are still evolving, and if you permit us to survive at all, I have a feeling it will still be a world run by mice.”

“We promise we won’t!” cried the mouse in despair.

“I think they have to get back in the box,” said Noxon. “Then we give them a week, to give us time to get back from the future, send for the flyer, and return to take off again. So, my dear expendable,” he said, “will you take care of shutting down all life support on the ship a week after we leave?”

“Will I really have to do it?” said the expendable. “Won’t you be back before the week is up?”