“That last alone was a triumph that proved I was right. Male-femaleness is the greatest gift we have—romantic physical love may be unique to this planet. I don’t know. If it is, the universe is a much poorer place than it could be . . . and I grok dimly that we-who-are-God will save this precious invention and spread it. The actual joining and blending of two physical bodies with simultaneous merging of souls in shared ecstasy of love, giving and receiving and delighting in each other—well, there’s nothing on Mars to touch it, and it’s the source, I grok in fullness, of all that makes this planet so rich and wonderful. And, Jubal, until a person, man or woman, has enjoyed this treasure bathed in the mutual bliss of having minds linked as closely as bodies, that person is still as virginal and alone as if he had never copulated. But I grok that you have; your very reluctance to risk a lesser thing proves it . . . and, anyhow, I know it directly. You grok. You always have. Without even needing the aid of the language of grokking. Dawn told us that you were as deep into her mind as you were into her body.”

“Unh . . . the lady exaggerates.”

“It is impossible for Dawn to speak other than rightly about this. And—forgive me—we were there. In her mind but not in yours . . . and you were there with us, sharing.”

Jubal refrained from saying that the only times he had ever felt even faintly that he could read minds was precisely in that situation . . . and then not thoughts, but emotions. He simply regretted without bitterness that he was not half a century younger—in which case he knew that Dawn would have had that “Miss” taken off the front of her name and he would have boldly risked another marriage, in spite of his scars. Also that he would not trade the preceding night for all the years that might be left to him. In essence, Mike was dead right. “Go on, sir.”

“That’s what it should be. But that’s what I slowly grokked it rarely was. Instead it was indifference and acts mechanically performed and rape and seduction as a game no better than roulette but with poorer odds and prostitution and celibacy by choice and by no choice and fear and guilt and hatred and violence and children brought up to think that sex was ‘bad’ and ‘shameful’ and ‘animal’ and something to be hidden and always distrusted. This lovely perfect thing, male-femaleness, turned upside down and inside out and made horrible.

“And every one of those wrong things is a corollary of ‘jealousy.’ Jubal, I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t grok ‘jealousy’ in fullness, it seems an insanity to me, a terrible wrongness. When I first learned what this ecstasy was, my first thought was that I wanted to share it, share it at once with all my water brothers—directly with those female, indirectly by inviting more sharing with those male. The notion of trying to keep this never-failing fountain to myself would have horrified me, had I thought of it. But I was incapable of thinking of it. And in perfect corollary I had not the slightest wish to attempt this miracle with anyone I did not already love and trust—Jubal, I am physically unable even to attempt love with a female who has not already shared water with me. And this same thing runs all through the Nest. Psychic impotence unless our spirits blend as our flesh blends.”

Jubal had been listening and thinking mournfully that it was a fine system—for angels—when a sky car landed on the private landing flat diagonally in front of him. He turned his head to see and, as its skids touched, it disappeared, vanished.

“Trouble?” he said.

“No trouble,” Mike denied. “It’s just that they are beginning to suspect that we are here—that I am here, rather. They think the rest are dead. The Innermost Temple, I mean. The other circles aren’t being bothered especially . . . and many of them have left town until it blows over.” He grinned. “We could get a good price for these hotel rooms; the city is filling up ’way past capacity with Bishop Short’s shock troops.”

“Well? Isn’t it about time to get the family elsewhere?”

“Jubal, don’t worry about it. That car never had a chance to report, even by radio. I’m keeping a close watch. It’s no trouble, now that Jill is over her misconceptions about ‘wrongness’ in discorporating persons who have wrongness in them. I used to have to go to all sorts of complicated expedients to protect us. But now Jill knows that I do it only as fullness is grokked.” The Man from Mars grinned boyishly. “Last night she helped me with a hatchet job . . . nor was it the first time she has done so.”

“What sort of a job?”