“I disagree with you,” said Donal. “Because I, myself, am an intuitional superman. I have a conscious intuitive process. I use intuition consciously, as you use logic, to reach a conclusion. I can crosscheck, one intuition against the other, to find out which is correct; and I can build an intuitive structure to an intuitive conclusion. This is one, single talent—but it multiplies the meaning and the power of all the old, while adding things of its own.”
Sayona burst out laughing.
“And since, according to my own argument, this ability would do you so little good that you wouldn’t even be able to discover it, it therefore stands that you wouldn’t be able to answer my question about being a superman in the affirmative, when I ask it! Very good, Donal. It’s been so long since I’ve had the Socratic method used in argument against me I didn’t even recognize it when I came face to face with it.”
“Or perhaps you instinctively would prefer not to recognize my talent,” said Donal.
“No, no. That’s enough,” said Sayona, still laughing. “You win, Donal. Anyway, thank you for setting my mind at rest. If we had overlooked a real possibility, I would have held myself personally responsible. They would have taken my word for it and—I would have been negligent.” He smiled. “Care to tell me what the real secret of your success has been, if it’s not a wild talent?”
“I am intuitive,” said Donai.
“Indeed you are,” said Sayona. “Indeed you are. But to be merely intuitive—” he chuckled, “Well, thank you, Donal. You don’t know how you’ve relieved my mind on this particular score. I won’t keep you any longer.” He hesitated, but Donal did not turn around. “Good night.”
“Good night,” said Donal. He heard the older man’s footsteps turn and move away from him.
“Good night,” came Sayona’s voice from the lounge behind him.
“Good night,” answered Anea.
Sayona’s steps moved off into silence. Still Donal did not turn. He was aware of the presence of Anea in the room behind him, waiting.
“Merely intuitive,” he echoed to himself, in a whisper. “Merely—”
He lifted his face once more to the unknown stars, the way a man lifts his face from the still heat of the valley to the coolness of the hills, in the early part of the long work day when the evening’s freedom is yet far off. And the look on his face was one which no living person—not even Anea—had seen. Slowly, he lowered his eyes, and slowly turned; and, as he turned, the expression faded from him. As Anea had said, carefully he hooded the brilliance of his’ light that he might not blind them; and, turning full around at last, entered once more, and for a little while again, into the habitation of Man.
The End