The one who was not a duplicate did not speak to us at all. I could write a book on them, the ones who did speak, but won’t digress anymore on that now. It’s enough to say they were inferior models of imitation human beings—hearty males appearing healthy in all respects, slow of speech and obviously deficient in emotional expression and so slow in their natural movements and responses as to arouse any human’s suspicion as to what they were. I saw them as foot soldiers in Bravenna’s war on the planet, whereas we were Bravenna’s attempt at espionage, and when the feasting was over, I wasn’t surprised that Amel asked only one—the silent one, the one who had not been designed on the same template—to remain behind for a private session with us.

This one was named Maxym, a being with dark reddish-brown skin and dark wavy reddish-brown hair, very neatly groomed, and perhaps the shabbiest and most indifferently attired creature I’d seen in Atalantaya. He was the only one present who had not attired himself especially for the evening.

As we gathered on the couches again for serious talk, Amel told us Maxym was among the last team of Replimoids sent to the planet before us. There had been three in the group, and the other two had long ago disappeared.

I didn’t say so, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with this Replimoid, that is, nothing that made him seem in the least inferior to us. But perhaps Amel knew of traits which I couldn’t perceive.

“Maxym came many years ago,” Amel explained. “More than three human lifetimes in years. And Maxym was with me when I built the first luracastric dwellings on the island. It is Maxym who sees to all the Meditation Centers on Atalantaya and develops new Meditation Centers as the population increases. That is his passion, providing places where souls can meditate and reflect.”

“That is not all I do,” said Maxym. He had had a rather dreamy expression on his rather solemn face as Amel described him. But when he spoke up he commanded everyone’s attention. His face was perfectly oval, and his features balanced. He lacked any of the calculated individualizing faults that we have. Perhaps that was the character of his inferiority. He’d been made too ideally perfect, and maybe the other two with him had been exact duplicates.

“I will never recover the sense of well-being I knew on Bravenna,” he said in a deep impressive voice, “and there is no redemption for me since my defection, but I have done what I believed to be right.”

“This is surprising,” Derek said. “Can you explain? I never felt a sense of well-being on Bravenna. I was disturbed from the outset by the film streams and confused when I was told that I was to die in fulfilling my purpose. What was it that gave you a sense of well-being?”