"You loved her too," Evon said. He nodded. The native held the sword out questioningly, as if offering it. "Keep it," the analyst grunted. "You remembered its feel after twenty thousand years. That's why you'll need it." Some deeds, he thought, would haunt the soul of Man until his end, and there was no erasing them ... for they _were_ the soul, self-made, lasting in the ghost-grey fabric of mind as long as the lips of a child greedily sought the breast of its mother, as long as the child mirrored the mind of the man and the woman. _Kulturverlaengerung._ The analyst left the native with the sword and went to seek the next in line of command. The purpose of the fleet must be kept intact, he thought, laughing bitterly. Yet still he went. THE END