Nor, again, although his stomachs churned and his body felt sluggish and heavy, can it be said that he felt any regret for what he had done. That is not to say that he felt _no_ emotion. He did. His emotions were as strong and as deep as those of a very sensitive human being. His emotions could bring him pain and they could bring him pleasure. They could crush him or exalt him. His emotions were just as real and as effective as any human emotions. But they were _not_ human emotions. They were emotions, but not _human_ emotions. It is impossible to render into any human terms the simple statement: "The Nipe felt that he had properly rendered homage to a validly slain foe." That cannot even begin to indicate the emotion the Nipe felt as he moved down toward the sewer and escape. * * * * * Captain Davidson Greer, his eyes staring with glassy hatred through the infra-red gunsight, was registering a very human emotion. His trigger fingers were twitching spasmodically--squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. But his fingers were not on the triggers. _[17]_ "It is not your fault, Bart," said George Yoritomo softly. "You had a perfect right to go." Bart Stanton clenched his fists and turned suddenly to face the Japanese psychologist. "Sure! Hell, yes! We're not discussing my _rights_, George! We're discussing my criminal stupidity! I had the right to leave here any time I wanted to, sure. But I didn't have the right to exercise that right--if that makes any sense to you." "It makes sense," Yoritomo agreed, "but it is not the way to look at it. You could not have been with the colonel every minute of every day. There was no way of knowing--" "Of course not!" Stanton cut in angrily. "But I should have been there _this_ time. He wanted me there, and I was gone. If I'd been there, he'd be alive at this moment." "Possibly," Yoritomo said, "and then again, possibly not. Sit down over there on your bed, my young friend, and listen to me. Sit! That's it. Take a deep breath, hold it, and relax. I want your ears functioning when I talk to you. That's better. "Now. I do not know where you went. That is your business. All you--" "I went to Denver," Stanton said. "And you found?" "Nothing," Stanton said. "Absolutely nothing." "What were you looking for?" "I don't know. Something about my past. Something about myself. I don't know." "Ah. You went to look up your family. You were trying to fill the holes in your memory. Eh?" "Yes." "And you did not succeed." "No. No. There wasn't anything there that I didn't remember. In general, I mean. I found the files in the Bureau of Statistics. I know how my father died now, and how my mother died. And what happened to my brother. But all that didn't tell me anything. I'm still looking for something, and I don't know what it is. I was stupid to have gone. I suppose I should have asked you or Dr. Farnsworth or the colonel."