”“No,” he said. ”Michael Poole gasped. It was just a way-station, a place to pass through. Gaunt peered intently at the windows and decks but saw no sign of human activity on any of the structures.
We’ve got smart people. Either there was no one around here or they were out hunting. The prefabricated surroundings, the background hum of distant machines, the utilitarian clothing of his wake-up team: perhaps he was aboard some kind of spacecraft, sailing between the worlds. The fact that she stands in front of him at this moment instead of in front of God is, after all, a demonstration that he is a failure.
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