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?”