Cold, callous, indifferent. And frightened. More frightened, perhaps, than he was. For now they knew there was something in the galaxy that could become aware of the disembodied observer they had been sending out. They could never send another, if indeed they had another, for the old fear would be there. And perhaps an even greater fear — base upon the overriding suspicion that the linkage had been cut not quit soon enough, that this factor which had spotted their observer had already traced it back to them.
Fear for their bodies, and their profits…
Not for their bodies, a voice said inside him. Not their biologic bodies. There are no longer any of your kind who have biologic bodies…
Then what? he asked.
An extension of their bodies, carrying on the purpose those with bodies gave them in a time when the bodies still existed. Carried on mindlessly ever since, but without a purpose, only with a memory of a purpose…
Who are you? he asked. How do you know all this? What will you do with me?
In a very different way, it said, I am one like you. You can be like me. You have your freedom now.
I have nothing, he said.
You have yourself, it said. Is that not enough?
But is self enough? he asked.
And did not need an answer.
For self was the basis of all life, all sentience. The institutions, the cultures, the economics were no more than structures for the enhancement of the self. Self now was all he had and self belonged to him. It was all he needed.
Thank you, sir, said he, the last human in the universe.