The technological ingenuity of these young sexuals will be apparent when I tell you that only four decades after the departure of that ill-fated first ship, they were experimenting with ultra-dimensional travel. Even at the time of the landing at Aldebaran, ultra-di scouts were already exploring the systems closest to Sol. Eventually--within a decade after the child's death--one of these came to Aldebaran, and sighted the still-orbiting Mother Ship. A second landing was clearly imminent. The Arlemites had still devised no way to aid this species to live in safety on their planet, nor did they have any means to communicate adequately with psi-negatives whose primary perceptions were aural and visual. But they did have, from the child's mind, a working knowledge of the strongest emotional symbols the culture knew, and they had long since devised a warning sign they could erect for visual perception. The statue of the Woman of Earth was constructed in an incredibly brief time through the combined efforts of the whole Arlemite consciousness. They had no way to know that the new ship, designed for exploration, not colonizing, and equipped with ultra-di drive, which obviated the long slow traveling, was crewed entirely by males. Even had they known, they did not yet comprehend the extreme duality of the two-sexed double-culture. So they built their warning to the shape of the strongest fear-and-hate symbols of a female. (Shot of statue, held for some time, angle moving slowly. No narration. Assuming that emotional-projection notion--and I think we must--the timing here is such that I believe they first project what they seem to think a human female would feel, looking at it. I tried women on staff here. They focused more on phallic than female component, but were just as positive in reactions as males. ???? Anyhow, like I said, no narration. What follows, though out of parens, is my own reaction.) * * * * * It seems more a return than a venture. The Woman waits, as she has waited ... always?... to greet her sons, welcome us ... home?... She sits in beauty, in peacefulness, perfect, complete, clean and fresh-colored ... new?... no, _forever_ ... open, welcoming, yet so impervious ... warm and ... untouchable?... rather, _untouched_ ... almost but never, forgotten Goddess ... Allmother, Woman of Earth ... enveloped, enveloping, in warmth and peace ... * * * * * One stands back a bit: this is the peace of loving insight, of unquesting womanhood, of great age and undying youth ... the peace of the past, of life that is passed, of that immortality that nothing mortal can ever achieve except through the frozen impression of living consciousness that we call _art_. The young men are deeply moved and they make jokes. "Allmother," one hears them say, sarcastically, "Old White Goddess, whaddya know?"