Proteus stared at her, transfixed yet scandalized. What nonsense, he thought, wondering how Window could take Story so seriously.

“Then there’s another man,” she said. “Older than Proteus, but still young. He’s imprisoned in a room all alone. And there’s a painting of an ancient farmhouse, with trees all around.”

Proteus started and leaned forward. He’d dreamed of such a painting or one like it. The trees had fired his imagination and made him even more determined to go to the Earth’s surface.

“What is it, Proteus?” Window asked.

“Nothing,” Proteus lowered his eyes uneasily. He wasn’t lying, he told himself. It was just coincidence.

Story’s eyes never changed direction. She kept staring over to the right without turning her head until Proteus was tempted to turn himself, to see what she was looking at.

“Anyhow, I don’t like this particular man too much,” she said, “the one locked in the room. He’s terribly self-indulgent. And I see a young black woman too. She’s connected with us, with the Tellers, in some odd fashion. And—” Story broke off for a moment, her face so grave that Proteus didn’t interrupt as he wanted to. Despite himself, he felt frightened … or anticipatory. He couldn’t tell which.

“She has something to do with archeology too,” Story went on. “Or with ruins or a god or spirit of some kind. I see her standing by pyramids. But the threat to us comes through her!” Story looked at Window now, almost appealingly. “That’s all I have so far,” she said. “Does any of it make sense to you, Proteus?”

He shook his head. “To me least of all. I think that it’s, well, just a story. If you want to believe that stuff, that’s up to you, but it made no sense at all to me. If it did, I’d tell you.”

“If you get anything more, Story, make sure you tell me,” Window said. “And Proteus too.”

“But if Proteus doesn’t understand, and I don’t know that he ever will—”

“Wait, now,” Window said. “Proteus, listen to me for a moment. When the women took over, they tried to emphasize physical agility, strength, boldness, logic—all the qualities that men insisted were prerogatives of the male in the past. They minimized some other excellent characteristics, because they erroneously considered them beneath their new status, and a threat to it. They tried to ignore the intuitive understanding with which they were basically gifted, for example. So there are many quite normal human abilities that you’re probably prejudiced against, because of your background—”

“But I’m very open-minded,” Proteus objected.

“What about seeing into the future or into the past? Or reading minds? Just before the massive takeover by the women, scientists were realizing that such things were quite possible. The world was at a point of new discovery—”