“Yes,” answered Sayona. “Partly as a result of your Maran genes, partly as a result of a lucky genetic accident that is beyond our knowledge to understand, now. Of course—you would have to be retrained. That other part of your character that rules you now would have to be readjusted to a harmonious integration with the other part we consider more valuable.”

Donal shook his head.

“There would be compensations,” said Sayona, in a sad, almost whimsical tone, “things would become possible to you—do you know that you, personally, are the sort of man who, for example, could walk on air if only you believed you could?”

Donal laughed.

“I am quite serious,” said Sayona. “Try believing it some time.”

“I can hardly try believing what I instinctively disbelieve,” said Donal. “Beside, that’s beside the point. I am a soldier.”

“But what a strange soldier,” murmured Sayona. “A soldier full of compassion, of whimsical fancies and wild daydreams. A man of loneliness who wants to be like everyone else; but who finds the human race a conglomeration of strange alien creatures whose twisted ways he cannot understand—while still he understands them too well for their own comfort.”

He turned his eyes calmly onto Donal’s face, which had gone set and hard.

“Your tests are quite effective, aren’t they?” Donal said.

“They are,” said Sayona. “But there’s no need to look at me like that. We can’t use them as a weapon, to make you do what we would like to have you do. That would be an action so self-crippling as to destroy all its benefits. We can only make the offer to you.” He paused. “I can tell you that on the basis of our knowledge we can assure you with better than fair certainty that you’ll be happy if you take our path.”

“And if not?” Donal had not relaxed.

Sayona sighed.

“You are a strong man,” he said. “Strength leads to responsibility, and responsibility pays little heed to happiness.”

“I can’t say I like the picture of myself going through life grubbing after happiness.” Donal stood up. “Thanks for the offer, anyway. I appreciate the compliment it implies.”

“There is no compliment in telling a butterfly he is a butterfly and need not crawl along the ground,” said Sayona.

Donal inclined his head politely.

“Good-by,” he said. He turned about and walked the few steps to the head of the shallow steps leading down into the sunken garden and across it to the way he had come in.

“Donal—” The voice of Sayona stopped him. He turned back and saw the Bond regarding him with an expression almost impish. “I believe you can walk on air,” said Sayona.

Donal stared; but the expression of the other did not alter. Swinging about, Donal stepped out as if onto level ground—and to his unutterable astonishment his foot met solidity on a level, unsupported, eight inches above the next step down. Hardly thinking why he did it, Donal brought his other foot forward into nothingness. He took another step— and another. Unsupported on the thin air, he walked across above the sunken garden to the top of the steps on the far side.