"Come, Ilon," said Nyo. "The variable-star Necktor has changed three times. Another moment, and your union with Nyrilla will have been recorded. You must go to meet her. It is the time-old custom of the Galax."
"But the girl, father, the girl of the silver sphere...."
"I disobeyed the laws of the Galax, son, and brought her here for an instant, so that you might understand. Our race of beings is a glorious race, son. It has come across vast universes, across unthinkable aeons of time, and across unmeasurable dimensions of space. Somewhere along the paths, seeds have been lost, and life remained in retrograde places—like this little planet you have just witnessed.
"This silver sphere has floated forever in several surrounding seas of—force—shall we say, son. Gravity—atmosphere—and several other energies of which we will not speak.
"But several faculties—such as we know them—menta-portation, radiance-life—are impossible under the layers of atmospheric molecules. Though the power for menta-portation lies dormant in their bodies, as in our own, their atmosphere prevented its use.
"So—as the mastodons in the mines are blind because they have not seen light—so are the people of the silver sphere without true powers of the mind, because they have never been able to use them.
"When I transported her here, the sudden comprehension of these powers would have killed her in another instant. So I sent her back, Ilon, back to her own true world. Have I done rightly, son? Will you go now to Nyrilla?"
Ilon reached out for the strength of his father's arm. Memory of the girl, her pliant erectness, her sheer beauty, was like a racing livid fire in his mind.
He would have to forget her—and go on loving her. He would have to leave her unnamed, unknown, a savage creature in her own primitive world. And though her memory never quite went from his mind, well, that was something to be faced. For her own sake he would never dare again to think of bridging the space that separated them.
"Let us go, father," he said.