He shot up rapidly from the sanded floor of the Arena. Beneath him for one long instant, he saw Adatha Za with her lovely face upturned: hands clasped between her breasts, red mouth bitten until it swelled, dark eyes misted. Shar Bytu stood beside her, his scaly hide brushing her naked arm. The others were grouped in twos and threes: silent and motionless, watching him. How long they stood there, Jonathan never knew. His mind was fully occupied in a furious effort of incredible concentrative power: forcing his body into the rigid and alien pattern that his mind knew would alone spell safety from disaster. Light that never deviated from its straight and ruthless path. Light that would absorb matter, that would shower a stream of electrons from it, releasing the electrons in a blast of power that fed upon the stuff it touched. Such were the black shadows! And as he hurtled onward into the flames, he forced his body into beams of light, rigid and unbending. He had to merge with the flames, or be destroyed. He hurtled onward, toward the ebony maw that shook and glistened and bellied against the dark of space like a translucent blob of jelly. He held out his hands like a diver, going into the shadows. The movement helped him concentrate on straightness. The wind and the blackness was about him, licking at his lighteous form. Along his chest and thighs the flames touched, caressing. The blackness was himself, now; part of him, a segment of his mind, a portion of his body. And he went on swiftly. Toward his goal. On the planet, Neeoorna, Adatha Za knew the salt taste of her tears. Her red lips were puffed by the teethmarks driven deeply into their softness. Her breasts rose swiftly. The others stood about her, and their minds were blank. At that moment they comprehended, but joy and awe were stronger than mere knowledge. The black shadows winked once. They winked again, fleetingly. Then they disappeared. V Dr. Wooden stood silent as Jonathan Morgan drew his hand from the switch that drove a bath of heat at the blocks of calcatryte set in their metallic cradles. The humming of motors stopped. The blackish screen in the background went silent, dead. "Well," said Dr. Wooden, straightening. "Hello." Jonathan sat down and put out a trembling hand, drew an open pack of cigarettes toward him. "I've been far away," he said slowly. "To the other side of the universe. Billions of miles away, and yet--in your own backyard." Dr. Wooden grinned and sat on the edge of the sandstone tabletop. He lighted a cigarette himself, saying, "Tell me." Jonathan told him. And then he said, "It seems understandable enough, really. Those powers I possess. What are they but an innate adaptability to environment. And isn't that the true goal of Nature?