Telepathy—direct telepathy—so that was how it felt!

“Thank you…sir.” Somehow, the thing rated the title, rated an awed respect to match his own grave formality. “But I thought you were in a trance of concentration till now. How did you know—” Saunders’ voice trailed off and he flushed with sudden distaste.

“No, traveler, I did not read your mind as you think. The Vro-Hi always respected privacy and did not read any thoughts save those contained in speech addressed solely to them. But my induction was obvious.”

“What were you thinking about in the last trance?” asked Vargor. His voice was sharp with strain. “Did you reach any plan?”

“No, your highness,” vibrated the Dreamer. As long as the factors involved remain constant, we cannot logically do otherwise than we are doing. When new data appear, I will reconsider immediate necessities. No, I was working further on the philosophical basis which the Second Empire must have.”

“What Second Empire?” sneered Vargor bitterly.

“The one which will come—some day,” answered Taury quietly.

The Dreamer’s wise eyes rested on Saunders and Belgotai. “With your permission,” he thought, “I would like to scan your complete memory patterns, conscious, subconscious, and cellular. We know so little of your age.” As they hesitated: “I assure you, sirs, that a nonhuman being half a million years old can keep secrets, and certainly does not pass moral judgments. And the scanning will be necessary anyway if I am to teach you the present language.”

Saunders braced himself. “Go ahead,” he said distastefully.

For a moment he felt dizzy, a haze passed over his eyes and there was an eerie thrill along every nerve of him. Taury laid an arm about his waist, bracing him.

It passed. Saunders shook his head, puzzled. “Is that all?”

“Aye, sir. A Vro-Hi brain can scan an indefinite number of units simultaneously.” With a faint hint of a chuckle: “But did you notice what tongue you just spoke in?”

“I—eh—huh?” Saunders looked wildly at Taury’s smiling face. The hard, open-voweled syllables barked from his mouth: “I—by the gods—I can speak Stellarian now!”

“Aye,” thought the Dreamer. “The language centers are peculiarly receptive, it is easy to impress a pattern on them. The method of instruction will not work involving other faculties, but you must admit it is a convenient and efficient way to learn speech.”

“Blast off wit me, den,” said Belgotai cheerfully. “Ih allays was a dumkoff at languages.”

When the Dreamer was through, he thought: “You will not take it amiss if I tell all that what I saw in both your minds was good—brave and honest, under the little neuroses which all beings at your level of evolution cannot help accumulating. I will be pleased to remove those for you, if you wish.”

“No, thanks,” said Belgotai. “I like my little neuroses.”

“I see that you are debating staying here,” went on the Dreamer. “You will be valuable, but you should be fully warned of the desperate position we actually are in. This is not a pleasant age in which to live.”