It was agreed that the training program as outlined by Barry should be continued on a trial basis, risking no more than three groups—thirty children. And further, if the children were psychologically damaged by the equipment, they were not to be salvaged, and the experiment would be discontinued immediately. Barry left the meeting satisfied.

"What will I get out of it?" Mark demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you get a teacher, and the brothers and sisters get training. What do I get?"

"What do you want? You'll have companionship. More than you have now."

"They won't play with me," Mark said. "They'll listen and do what I say because they're afraid and they know I'm not, but they won't play with me. I want my own room again."

Barry glanced at his brothers and knew they would all agree to that instantly. It had been a nuisance having the boy in their communal bedroom. By mutual consent they had not dragged the mat out in his presence, and their talk had been censored—when they remembered he was there. Barry nodded. "Not back in the dormitory, here in this building."

"That's all right."

"Then here's what we'll do. Once a week each group will go out, one hour at a time to start with, and not more than a few minutes from a place where they can see the valley. After several exposures of this limited duration and distance, you'll take them farther, keep them longer. Are there games you could play with them in the woods to help them become accustomed to being there?" There was no longer any question of not including Mark in this phase of the training.

Mark sat on a branch hidden by thick foliage from below and watched the boys stumbling about the edges of the clearing, looking for the path he had left them to follow. It was as if they were blind, he thought wonderingly. All they really cared about was staying close together, not becoming separated even momentarily. This was the third time this week Mark had tried this game with the clones; the other two groups had failed also.

At first he had enjoyed leading them out into the woods; their frank admiration of him had been pleasant, unexpected, and for once he had felt the differences that separated them might be lessened when they learned some of the things he knew, when they could all play together among the whispering trees. He knew now such hopes had been wrong. The differences were more pronounced than ever, and the early admiration was turning into something else, something he could not really understand. They seemed to dislike him more, to be almost afraid of him, certainly resentful of him.