EPILOGUE

"This is undoubtedly," Stirner said, eyes wet with emotion, "the very best glass of wine I have drunk, ever thought of drinking, managed to drink, ever drank, will

ever drink, ever imagined that I some day might have considered drinking . . ."
  "While your grip on syntax seems to be failing," Mark Forer said, "I appreciate the emotion. Now that you have all tasted the wine, I am much cheered that you enjoy it, I would like to propose a toast. To James diGriz, planet

saver. We shall be ever grateful, Jim."
  "Ever grateful!" they chorused, raised their glasses and drank. Except for Mark, who had no glass to raise. Instead of drinking wine he had one of his robots pour a dollop of electrolytic fluid into a dry battery; Mark had informed us that the sudden surge of electrons was most stimulating.
  "Thank you, my friends, thank you," I said, then raised

my glass in turn. "To Morton and Sharia, who sit on the couch beside you, holding hands and blushing because they are soon to be married."
  They all cheered and drank at that; Mark Forer giggled

over his zippy electrons. I raised my glass again.
  "A toast of thanks as well to my physical guide and intellectual mentor, Stirner, And to my companion in adventure, Neebe—long may her bicycle roll." More cheers

262               Harry Harrism

and glugging followed as I turned to the glowing machine before us.
  "Last—and certainly—not least, to Mark Forer. Guide, teacher, spiritual leader, purveyor of fine wines. .To Mark!" When the cheering had died away, and another bottle had been cracked, Mark Forer spoke to his attentive audience.
 "Thank you, thank you dear believers in Individual Mutualism. Too long have I been sholitary . . ." Sholitary? This mean machine was getting pissed on whizzing electrons! Drunk!
  ". . . too long a lurker beneath the streets watching the passing parade passing above me. Now, at last, finally I welcome your dear company and I greet you. And we had better crack another case of wine."
  Stimer staggered off to fetch it and Neebe went to help. Alone for the moment Morton and Sharia wrapped themselves in happy osculatory embrace. Mark was muttering to himself.
  This was the perfect opportunity to slip away. I hated good-byes. Quietly, so as not to disturb them, I rose and made my exit. As I slowly eased shut the door behind me I saw Mark's TV pickup swivel to face me; the diaphragm contracted and dilated quickly in an electronic wink. I winked back and closed the door, turned and slowly climbed the stairs.
  As much as I liked this planet and its politically monomaniacal citizens, I knew it was not for me. Too civilized and peaceful. Without crime and without police— what would I do for a living?
  Go, Jim, go! The stars are yours!