"This time—?"
"I spoke to them," laughed Loala, "in the tongue of our mother planet, Daan, Yes."
"But—but I understood you!"
"Of course. It was for that you took the Treatment. Search your mind, Steve of Emmeity, and tell me—what month is it upon our native world?"
"Why—why, Kraama, of course—" replied Steve instantly—and stopped with his mouth an O of astonishment. "I—I knew!"
"That," smiled Loala, "and many other things. Where are the nearest Daan fortresses, Steve, in the event that you should ever need help quickly?"
"Kleevlun," responded Steve promptly, "Slooie, Yanaplis, Davun—Yes, Princess! That, too, I know! And a—host of other things! The number of our forces ... the legends of our people ... the history of our great race ... your race...."
He stopped, corrected himself in confusion. It was a hopeless jumble in his mind. His thoughts, his knowledge, his instincts, were still those of Stephen Duane, Earthman—but superimposed upon these were the thoughts, the knowledge, the instincts of another, a second Stephen Duane—a Brother in the fellowship of Daan!
The old Steve Duane had looked upon the woman Loala and found her seductive, alluring. The new Duane, seeing her, was blinded by the radiance of her overwhelming beauty! Gone were any last, small, lingering doubts as to the attractiveness of her pallid skin, her bleached-silver hair, her grey-shadowed eyes. To him, these physical traits were now tokens of perfection. Her white flesh roused a crying hunger within him ... he felt an impulse to bury his hands in her silver hair and feel its fineness strain through his fingers like a web of molten glory ... the quickening beat of his pulse was like a metronome pacing the tempo of his heart's breath.