Arthur Clarke - A Meeting with Medusa

Falcon waited until Webster had opened the door, then pivoted neatly on his balloon tires and headed for it at a smooth and silent twenty miles an hour. The display of speed and precision was not flaunted arrogantly, rather, it had become quite unconscious.

Howard Falcon, who had once been a man and could still pass for one over a voice circuit, felt a calm sense of achievement, and, for the first time in years, something like peace of mind. Since his return from Jupiter the nightmares had ceased. He had found his role at last.

He now knew why he had dreamed about that superchimp aboard the doomed Queen Elizabeth. Neither man nor beast, it was between worlds; and so was he.

He alone could travel unprotected on the lunar surface. The life support system inside the metal cylinder that had replaced his fragile body functioned equally well in space or under water. Gravity fields ten times that of Earth were an inconvenience, but nothing more. And no gravity was best of all…

The human race was becoming more remote, the ties of kinship tenuous. Perhaps these air-breathing, radiation-sensitive bundles of stable carbon compounds had no right beyond the atmosphere, they should stick to their natural homes, Earth, Moon, Mars.

Some day the real masters of space would be machines, not men, he was neither. Already conscious of his destiny, he took a somber pride in his unique loneliness the first immortal midway between two orders of creation.

He would, after all, be an ambassador, between the old and the new, between the creatures of carbon and the creatures of metal who must one day supersede them.

Both would have need of him in the troubled centuries that lay ahead.