You haven't had time yet, they told him without words, to realize how alone you are. You haven't tried, as most of us do at first, to be human again, to fit yourself into life as though the gap of time was not there, as though nothing had changed. You haven't watched people getting old around you while you have hardly added a gray hair. You haven't had to move from one place to another, one job, one group of friends to another, because sooner or later they sense something wrong about you. You haven't had to hide your new powers as you would hide a disease because people would fear and hate you, perhaps even kill you, if they knew. That's why there is a brotherhood. And that's why we built the ship. Symbol of flight. Symbol of freedom. A universe wide beyond imagining, thronging with many colored guns, with new worlds where men in a human society could build a society of their own. _No boundaries beyond which the mind cannot dare to go. All space, all time, all knowledge--free!_ Once more he saw those wide dark seas between the suns. His mind raced with hers through the cold-flaming nebulae, wheeled blinded and stunned past the hiving stars of Hercules, looked in eager fascination at the splendid spiral of Andromeda--no longer, perhaps, beyond reach, for what are time and space to the intangible forces of the mind? Then that wild flight ceased, and instead there was a smaller vision, misty and only half realized, of houses and streets, a place where they could live and be what they were, openly and without fear. _Can you understand now_, she asked him, _what they would think if they knew about the ship? Can you understand that they would be afraid to have us colonizing out there, afraid of what we might do?_ He understood. At the very least, if the truth were known, the Lazarites would never be free again. They would be taken and tested and examined and lectured about, legislated over, restricted, governed, and used. They might be fairly paid for their ship and whatever other advancements they might develop, but they would never be permitted to use them. With sudden savage eagerness Hyrst said, "But first of all I must know who killed MacDonald. Shearing explained about the latent impressions. I'm ready." She stood up, regarding him with grave eyes. "There's no guarantee it will work. Sometimes it does. Sometimes not." Hyrst thought about the tired, gray-haired man who had stood at the foot of his bed. "It'll work. It's got to." He added, "If it doesn't, I'll tear the truth out of Bellaver with my hands." "It may come to that," she said grimly. "But we'll hope. Lie quiet. I'll make the arrangements."