His mission was complete. He returned to his own physical form and abandoned the _abasic_ senses. He sat there in the huge chair in the control room, while those about him revived and life gradually returned to the dying ship. Of the enemy fleet there was no more, for it was descending to an Earth shorn of the hope of Galaxy-wide conquest. They did not know yet where they would go or where they could find refuge, but when the wreckage was cleared and the ship lived again, Underwood and Illia stood alone in a darkened observation pit, watching the stars slip across the massive arc of the screens. As Underwood watched, he thought he sensed something of the drive that might have whipped Demarzule's brain, the goad that made vast superior powers intolerable in the possession of even a beneficent man, for he would no longer remain beneficent. By the might that was in him he had vanquished the Great One! He could stand in the place of the Great One if he chose! He did not know if his powers were becoming greater than those of Jandro, like a strengthened plant in new soil, but surely they were growing. The secrets of the Universe seemed to be appearing before him, one by one. A mere glance at a slab of inert matter, and his senses could delve into the composition of its atoms and sort out and predict its properties and reactions. One look into the far spaces beyond the Solar System and he could sense himself soaring in eternity. Yes, he was growing in power and perception, and where it might lead, he dared not look. But there were other things to be had, other, simpler ambitions in which common men had found fulfillment throughout the ages. Illia was warm against him, soft in his arms. "I want you to operate again, as quickly as possible," he said. * * * * * She looked up at him with a start. "What do you mean?" "You must take out the _abasic_ organs. They've served their purpose. I don't want to live with them. I could become another Demarzule with the power I have." Her eyes were faintly blue in the light that came from the panel and they were intent upon him. In them he read something that made him afraid. "There is always a need for men with greater powers and greater knowledge than the average man," she said. "The race has need of its mutants. They are dealt so sparingly to us that we cannot afford not to utilize them." "_Mutants?_" "You are a true mutant, whether artificial or not, possessing organs and abilities that are unique. The race needs them. You cannot ask me to destroy them." He had never thought of himself as a mutant, yet she was right for all practical purposes. His powers and perceptions would perhaps not have been produced naturally in any man of his race for thousands of years to come. Perhaps he _could_ use them to assist man's slow rise. A new wealth of science, a new strength of leadership and guidance if necessary--.