"So rich politicians instead of soldiers," Raimey said. "Big improvement. You haven't answered my question."

"How long the complete transformation would take?" Faraday shrugged. "We don't have a precise number yet, of course. But from the tissue and animal experiments we've run, our best guess is between eight and twenty months. Sometime during the Qanskan childhood stage, and well within the shelf life of your life-support system."

Raimey stared at him, a sudden tightness squeezing at his throat. "You're serious about this," he said.

"Deadly serious," Faraday assured him, his eyes glittering. "We have a chance—you have a chance—to do something no one else has ever done before. You can step into a brand-new culture, an alien culture, in a way no human being has ever done before. You'll be able to join with a new race, and learn about it from the inside. Think of what they might be able to teach us about philosophy, or social interaction, or biochemistry. The knowledge you gain and send back could influence mankind's perceptions and behavior for generations to come."

He gave Raimey a tight smile. "And as for you, your name would be set alongside those of Marco Polo and Columbus and Neil Armstrong. Forever."

"Yeah," Raimey said. "And all it'll cost is everything I've ever had or known or been."

Faraday shrugged fractionally. "How much of that do you have left now?"

"I have a lot left," Raimey snarled. "I still have a career, you know. Or I will, once I graduate. All you need for a job in business structuring is a computer, an office, and a brain."

"Is that what you want?" Faraday asked quietly. "To work all day, alone, in an office? And then to go home to an empty apartment with nothing but caretaker machines to keep you company?"

"Who says I won't get married?" Raimey countered.

Faraday lifted his eyebrows. Just slightly, but enough. "And maybe they'll find a cure," Raimey muttered. "Maybe they'll be able to..."