"The final question," Walden said softly. "I wondered how long it would be before you asked it. I wondered if you'd ever ask it.
"Haven't you ever thought about why I never married, Eric? Haven't you ever asked yourself why I alone learned to read, and collected books, and studied the old race?"
"No," Eric admitted. "I just accepted you."
"Even though I can perceive and you can't." Walden paused and Eric waited, not knowing what was coming and yet sure that nothing could surprise him now.
"My father was normal," Walden said slowly. "But I never saw him. My mother was like you. So was my brother. We lived in the hills and I was the only one who could perceive. I learned what it was to be different."
Eric stared. He couldn't stop staring. And yet he should have realized, long ago, that Walden was different too, in his own way.
Walden smiled back, his face, shadowed in moonlight, as quiet and as understanding as ever. For a moment neither spoke, and there was only the faraway sound of crickets chirping and the rustling of the wind in the gardens.
And then, from within the aircar, there was a different rustling, that of a person moving.
"Lisa!"
Eric pushed the compartment panel back. The soft light came on automatically, framing her where she curled against the far wall.