"Deiba! That is one of the things I sought! Tell me of Deiba."

"There is nothing to tell, _Dra_. It is a small world in an insignificant portion of the galaxy. There is nothing special about it."

"But there is. I am certain. A shrine ... ? Yes. On a high plateau. There is a ruined city all about it. The shrine is underground--is it not?"

"There are many such places in the universe."

"But this one is special. Isn't it?"

"Yes, in a strange, sad way it is, offspring of Terra. Only one man of your race ever came to proper terms with what you met there."

"What was it?"

"No," she said; and she touched him once more.

Then he heard music, soft and simple, and she began to sing to him. He did not hear--or if he heard, did not understand--any of the words she sang; but the blue mists swirled about him and there were perfumes, breezes, a kind of quiet ecstasy; and when he looked again there were no questions at all.

_______________

Dr. Larmon Pels orbited the world Lavona and transmitted a message to Medical Central, a message to Immigration and Naturalization Central and a message to Vital Statistics Central. Then he folded his hands and waited.

There was nothing else for him to do but fold his hands. He did not eat, drink, smoke, breathe, sleep, excrete, feel pain or indulge in any of the other common expressions of the flesh. In fact, he possessed no heartbeat. Various powerful chemical agents with which he had been invested were all that stood between Dr. Pels and putrefaction. There were several things which kept him going, however.

One was a tiny power system implanted within his body. This allowed him to move about without expending his own energy (though he never descended to the surface of a world, for his mini-powered movements would be overcome immediately, transforming him into a living statue captioned, perhaps, "Collapse"). This system, feeding as it did into his brain, also provided sufficient neural stimulation for his higher cerebral processes to function at all times.