The fireplace was electric with porcelain logs and it was simple to turn on, and it provided prettier more natural-looking flames than he had ever thought possible. He sat still, on the striped couch, looking at the flames as the cabin slowly filled with warmth, blessed warmth.

It seemed he had never felt anything as wondrous as this warmth. He had never walked the warm jungles of the savage lands long aeons ago with Welf, and Kapetria and Garekyn, as Kapetria spoke of the danger of capture, and that they must all remember they had been made to survive.

And then die in Atalantaya, Derek had thought, when it goes up in flames and smoke. But he had not said it aloud. He knew that he was not to complain. He was born for one thing and one thing only. And he had not yet seen the glories of Atalantaya. None of them had. They had known only the chambers of the Parents with the motion-picture walls and their great garden enclosures.

Now on the gently rolling little ship, he lay down on the striped couch and covered himself with one of the blankets. It was soft as his overcoat. A lovely warmth filled the room, lovely as the light from the fireplace. In a half sleep he was walking through the jungles again, with those he loved. Maybe we will not have to rush there, he thought, and that was before the natives had found them and been so kind to them, and they had sat down to their first feast. He remembered the drums and the dancing, and the eerie music of the wooden flutes, and the headman saying to Kapetria, “Our Lord, Amel, will welcome you to Atalantaya. You are the very kind he welcomes. We’ll send word to the port in the morning. He will welcome you with open arms.”

He closed his eyes. He was dozing. He saw Amel, Amel of the pale skin and red hair, Amel with his godlike green eyes. Amel said, “They are liars and they are evil. They are the origin of all evil!” Kapetria was trying to reason with him. “Even if what you say is true…”

He opened his eyes with a start. Rain thundered down on the boat all around him. The panes of the windows ran with water. The cabin was wondrously warm and filled with the sweet flickering light of the fire. He was not in that horrid room in Budapest, and he would never be there again. He was free.

Music came from the cockpit. Dertu had found some way to play music. A magnificent tenor voice was singing in Italian. Amor ti vieta di non amar. It was so beautiful, this music, so poignant. Derek’s heart broke, and as always his eyes filled with tears.