“It’ll be all right,” he said. “It’ll be all right, now.” Slowly, like invisible bonds melting away, the rigidity began to melt out of the man before them. Gradually he softened back into the shape of humanity again. His eyes, now comprehending, went to
Donal as if Donal’s tall form was one light in a cavern of lightlessness.
“There’ll be work for you to do,” said Donal. “Good work. All you ever wanted to do. I promise you.”
William sighed deeply. Donal took his hand from the brow. The eyes dropped closed; and William slept.
“Not your fault,” said Donal, absently, looking down at him. “Not your fault, but your nature. I should have known.” He turned a little unsteadily, to the others who were staring at him with new eyes. “He’ll be all right. Now, I want to get to my headquarters on Cassida. I can rest on the way. There’s a great deal to do.”
The trip from the Maran hospital where both Donal and William had been under observation, to Tomblecity on Cassida, passed like a dream for Donal. Waking or dreaming, he was still half in that ocean into which at Mor’s death he had finally stepped, and the dark waters of which would never entirely leave him now. It was to become finally a matter of living with it—this sea of understanding along the margin of which he had wandered all the young years of his life, and which no other human mind would be able to comprehend, no matter how long his explanation. He understood now why he understood—this much had the shock of Mor’s death brought him. He had been like any young animal, hesitant on the edge of the unknown, before his own uncertain desires and the sharp nudge of circumstance combined to tumble him headlong into it.
He had had to learn first to admit, then to live with, and finally to embrace his difference.
It had been necessary that what was uniquely Donal be threatened—first by the psychic shocks of the phase shifts during the attack on Newton; and second by the manner of Mor’s dying, for which only he knew how truly he was responsible—in order that he be forced to fight for survival; and fighting, discover fang and use of claw. In that final battle he had seen himself at last, full-imaged in the un-plumbed depths; and recognized himself at last for what he was—a recognition no one else would ever be able to make. Anea, alone, would know without needing to understand, what he was; it is Woman’s ancient heritage to appreciate without the need to know. Sayona, William, and a few such would half-recognize, but never understand. The rest of the race would never know.
And he—he himself, knowing and understanding, was like a man who could read, lifting the first small book from a library the shelves of which stretched off and away to infinity. A child in a taller land.
Anea, Sayona, Gait and the others came with him back to Tomblecity. He did not have to ask them to come with him. Now, they followed instinctively.
DONAL
The man was different.
Already, a few people were beginning to say it. And in this fact lay the’ seeds of a possible difficulty. It was necessary, considered Donal, that a means be taken to lightning-rod such a recognition, and render it harmless.
He stood in that position which was becoming very common with him of late, alone on a balcony of his residence outside Tomblecity, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at parade rest, gazing out toward the Milky Way and the unknown stars. He heard Anea come up behind him.
“Sayona’s here,” she said.
He did not turn. And after a moment she spoke again.
“Do you want me to talk to him by myself?” she asked,
“For a little while,” answered Donal, still without moving. He heard her footsteps move away from him into the bigness of the lounge behind him. He lost himself in the stars again; and, after a moment, there was the sound of a man’s voice and a murmur of conversation between it and Anea’s. At this distance, their words were indistinguishable; but Donal did not have to hear the words to know what they were saying.
Eight months had gone by since he had opened his eyes onto the full universe that was exposed to his view alone. Eight months, thought Donal to himself. And in that short time, order had been returned to the civilized worlds. A parliament of peoples had been formed with an interiorly elected council of thirty-two Senior Representatives, two for each world. Today, here on Cassida, that parliament had voted on its choice for a permanent Secretary for Defense—
Donal’s mind reached out and enclosed the problem of what Sayona would, this moment, be saying to Anea.
“… And then he went around the room, a little before the voting.” Sayona’s voice was now murmuring in the lounge behind him. “He said a word here, and a word there—nothing important. But when he was done, he had them in the palm of his hand. It was just as it was last month when he mingled with the delegates to the full parliament.”
“Yes,” replied Anea. “I can see it how it was.”
“Do you understand?” asked Sayona, looking at her keenly.
“No,” she said, serenely. “But I’ve seen it. He blazes—blazes—like an atomic flare among a field full of little campfires. Their small lights fade when they get too close to him. And he hoods his light, when he’s amongst them, to keep from blinding them.”
“Then you’re not sorry—?”
“Sorry!” Her happy laugh tore his question to foolish ribbons.
“I know,” said Sayona, soberly, “what effect he has on men. And I can guess his effect on other women. Are you sure you’ve got no regrets?”
“How could I?” But she looked at him suddenly, questioningly. “What do you mean?”
“That’s why I’ve come tonight,” said Sayona. “I’ve got something to tell you … if I can ask you a question after I’m through?”
“What kind of question?” she queried sharply.
“Let me tell you first,” he said. “Then you can answer or not, whichever you like. It’s nothing that can touch you—now. Only I should have told you before. I’m afraid I’ve put it off, until … well, until there was no more putting off possible. What do you know about your own gene history, Anea?”
“Why,” she looked at him, “I know all about it.”
“Not this part,” said Sayona. “You know you were bred for certain things—” He put one old, slim hand on the edge of her float in a gesture that begged for understanding.
“Yes. Mind and body,” she answered, watching him.
“And more,” said Sayona. “It’s hard to explain in a moment. But you know what was behind Montor’s science, don’t you? It treated the human race as a whole, as a single social entity, self-repairing in the sense that as its individual components die off they are replaced by the birth of new components. Such an entity is manipulable under statistical pressures, in somewhat the same manner that a human being may be manipulated by physical and emotional pressures. Increase the temperature of a room in which a man stands, and he will take off his jacket. This was William’s key to power.”
“But—” she stared at him. ‘7’m an individual—”
“No, no. Wait,” Sayona held up his hand. “That was Montor’s science. Ours on the Exotics had somewhat the same basis, but a differing viewpoint. We regarded the race as manipulable through its individuals, as an entity in a constant state of growth and evolution by reason of the birth of improved individuals among the mass that constituted it. Gene-selection, we believed, was the key to this—both natural or accidental, and controlled.”
“But it is!” said Anea.
“No,” Sayona shook his head slowly. “We were wrong. Manipulation by that approach is not truly possible; only analysis and explanation. It is adequate for an historian, for the meditative philosopher. And such, Anea, have we of the Exotics been, wherefore it seemed not only valid, but complete, to us.
“But manipulation by that means is possible only in small measure—very small. The race is not controllable from within the race; such gene-selection as we did could use only those characteristics which we already knew and understood. And it repelled us from those genes which we detected, and could not understand, and, of course, we could not work with ones we did not know existed, or could exist.
“We were, without seeing the fact, crippled both at the beginning and the end; we had only the middle. We could not conceive of characteristics to breed toward—goals—which were not already presented to us, and already understood by us. That was the proper end, however—truly new characteristics. And the beginning was, necessarily, truly new genes, and gene-combinations.
“The problem was stated long ago; we deceived ourselves that the statement was not meaningful. Simply, it is this; could a congress of gorillas, gathered to plan the breeding of the supergorilla, plan a human being? Discard the line of development of mightier muscles, stronger and longer teeth, greater specialization to master their tropical environment? “Manipulation of the race from within the race is a circular process. What we can do, the valuable thing we can do, is to stabilize, conserve, and spread the valuable genetic gifts that come to us from outside our own domain.