Physical vitality. Long life. These things were obvious.
The deepness of the eyes. Constant for all three.
And a deepness of personality, a strange complexity of behavior, a pattern of actions that appeared to be based on random selection. Yes, that was it. "You're unpredictable," Kesley said. "One never knows what to expect from you. It's as if you act without motivation sometimes."
"It seems that way, doesn't it? But look: you're lying in a tub of water, completely submerged. A hand suddenly breaks the surface of the water and plunges a knife into you. All you see is the hand; for all the evidence you have, that's all there is—just a hand.
"It's completely unmotivated, isn't it? Why would a mere hand want to murder you? No reason at all. But suppose that hand is attached to the arm of your most deadly enemy? It's not so unmotivated then, is it?"
"You mean we only see segments of events; you see the entire happening. That it?"
"It comes with long life. You'll have it too," van Alen said. "It's a curse. You'll be living in three dimensions and everyone else in two. And no one will ever manage to understand you fully except another one like you."
"You're stalling. The Barrier," Kesley prodded.
"The Barrier. I put that up out of fear." Van Alen's strong head drooped; his ancient eyes looked bleak. "I'm safe, secure down here. We've continued to progress. No bombs were dropped on Antarctica. I don't want any bombs coming down."
"But there won't be! There can't be! They've virtually reverted to a pre-mechanical culture in the Twelve Empires. They've got as much chance of being able to build bombs as you do of sprouting wings."