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Kerwin nodded. “I’ve seen them measured. We call the instrument an electro-encephalograph— Hespoke the words in Terran Standard, not knowing if the Darkovans had a word for it, and began toexplain how it measured and made visible the electrical energies of the brain, but she shruggedimpatiently.

“A simple and clumsy instrument. Well, in general, thought waves, even those of a telepath, can’t have much effect in the material universe. Most of them can’t move a single hair. There are exceptions, special forces—well, you’ll learn about that. But in general, the brain waves themselves can’t move a single hair. But the matrix crystals somehow act to transform force into form. That’s all.”

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“And the Keeper—

“Some matrixes are so complex that one person can’t handle them; it takes the energy of several minds, linked together and feeding through the crystal, to form a nexus of energy. A Keeper handles and coordinates the forces. That’s all I can tell you,” she said abruptly, and turned, pointing down the stairs. “Straight down that way.” She turned and walked away in a flutter of filmy draperies, and Kerwin watched her go, startled. Had he done something, again, to offend her? Or was this some childish whim? She
 
looked
 
childish enough, certainly!

He went down the stairs, finding himself again in the great firelit hall where, this morning at sunrise, theyhad welcomed him—welcomed him
home
 
? His home? The room was completely empty, and Kerwindropped into one of the cushioned chairs, burying his head in his hands. If someone didn’t explain thingsfairly soon, he was going to go crazy with frustration!

Kennard found him there, that way; Kerwin looked up at the older man and said helplessly, “It’s toomuch. I can’t take it all in. It’s too much, coming all at once. I don’t understand it, I don’t understand anyof it!”

Kennard looked down at him with a curious mixture of compassion and amusement. “I can see how itwould be,” he said. “I lived a few years on Terra; I know all about culture shock. Let me get off myfeet.“ He lowered himself, carefully, to the mass of cushions, and leaned back, hands clasped behind hishead. ”Maybe I can clear it up for you. I owe you that.”

Kerwin had heard that the Darkovans, the nobility anyhow, had little to do with the Empire; the newsthat Kennard had actually lived on Terra amazed him, but no more than anything else that had happenedin the last day or so, no more than his own presence here. He was all but immune to further shock. Hesaid, “Start with this. Who am I? Why the devil am I here?”

Kennard ignored the question, staring into space over Kerwin’s head. After a while he said, “That nightin the Sky Harbor Hotel; do you know what I saw?”

“Sorry. Not in the mood for guessing games.” Kerwin wanted to ask straight questions and get straight

answers; he definitely didn’t want to answer more questions himself.

“Remember, I hadn’t the least notion who you were. You looked like one of us, and I knew you weren’t. I saw a Terran, but I’m an Alton, I have one of those screwy, out-of-phase time perceptors. So I looked at the Terran and I saw a child, a confused child, one who had never known who or what he was. I wish you had stayed and talked to us, then.”

“I do, too,” Kerwin said slowly.
 
A child who had never known who or what he was
 
. Kennard had

put it very precisely. “I grew up, all right. But I left myself somewhere.”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself here.” Kennard got slowly to his feet, and Kerwin rose too; he held out a hand to assist the older man, but Kennard drew away; after a moment, Kennard smiled self-consciously and said, “You’re wondering why—”

“No,” said Kerwin, suddenly understanding that all of them had deftly avoided touching him. “I hate people jostling me; I’ve never gotten along with most people at close quarters. And I feel like hell in a crowd. Always have.”

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Kennard nodded. “
 
Laran
,” he said. “You have just enough to find physical contact distasteful—”

Kerwin chuckled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say
 
that—
 
”

Kennard said, with a sardonic shrug, “Distasteful except in circumstances of deliberate intimacy. Right?”

Kerwin nodded, thinking over the rare personal encounters of his life. He knew he had gravelydistressed his Terran grandmother by his violent distaste for demonstrations of affection. And yet he hadgrown fond of the old lady, had loved her in his own way. His work associates—well, it occurred to himthat he had treated them as Auster had treated him on the plane: violently rebuffing the slightest personalcontact, shrinking physically from a random touch. It hadn’t made him particularly popular.

“You’re—how old? Twenty-six, twenty-seven? Of course I know how old you are, Darkovan—I was one of the first ones Cleindori told—but I never can convert that to Terran reckoning. It was too long ago I lived on Terra. Hell of a long time to live outside your proper element!”

“Proper element hell,” Kerwin retorted. “Show me where I fit into this mess, will you?”

“I’ll try.” Kennard went to a table in the corner and poured himself a drink from an assortment of bottles

there; lifted his eyebrows in question at Kerwin.

“We’ll have drinks when the others come down; but I’m thirsty. You?”

“I’ll wait,” Kerwin said. He’d never been that much of a drinker.
 
Kennard’s bad leg must be giving him considerable pain if he’d break custom this way
 
, the thought flickered through his mind and he wondered impatiently where it had come from, as the older man came cautiously back to his seat.

Kennard drank, set the glass down, locked his fingers meditatively. “Elorie told you; there are sevenfamilies of telepaths on Darkover, a ruling family for each of the Seven Domains. The Hasturs, the Ridenow, Ardais, the Elhalyn, the Altons—my family—and the Aillard. Yours.”

Kerwin had been counting. “That’s six.”

“We don’t talk about the Aldarans. Although some of us have Aldaran blood, of course, and Aldaran gifts. And there’s been some intermarriage —well, we won’t talk about that, that’s a long story and a shameful one; but the Aldarans were exiled from the Domains a long time ago; I couldn’t tell you all about that now, even if I knew it all, and even if we had the time—which I don’t and we don’t. But, with only six main telepath families—have you any idea how inbred we are?”

“You mean that normally you marry only within your caste? Telepaths?”

“Not entirely. Not—deliberately,” Kennard said, “but, being a telepath, and being isolated in the

Towers, only with others of our own kmd—it’s like a drug.” His voice was not quite steady. “It completely unfits you for—for contact with outsiders. You, well, you get lost in it, and when you come up for air, as it were, you find you can’t breathe ordinary air any more. You find you can’t stand having outsiders around, people who aren’t tuned to your thoughts, people who—who jostle against your mind. You can’t come close to them; they aren’t quite real to you. Oh, it wears off, after a while, or you couldn’t live outside the Tower at all, but—but it’s a temptation. Non-telepaths feel to you like barbarians, or like strange animals, alien, wrong…” He was staring into space, over Kerwin’s head. “It spoils you for any kind of contact with ordinary people. With women. Even at your level, I should imagine, you’ve had trouble with women who can’t—can’t share your feelings and thoughts. After ten

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years at Arilinn, anything else is like—like bedding with a brute beast…”

The silence stretched while Kerwin thought about that, about the curious alienation, the sense of
difference
 
, which had come between him and every woman he had ever known. As if there had to besomething more, deeper than the most intimate contact…

Abruptly with a little shiver, Kennard recalled himself, and his voice sounded harsh.

“Anyway. We’re inbred mentally, even more than physically; just because of that inability to tolerate outsiders. And the physical inbreeding is bad enough; some very strange recessives have come up. A few of the old Gifts are bred out altogether; I haven’t seen more than one or two catalyst telepaths in my lifetime. That’s the old Ardais gift, but Dom Kyril didn’t have it, or if he did he never learned to use it, and he’s mad as a banshee in a Ghost Wind. In the Aillards, the Gift has become sex-linked; shows up only in the women, and the men don’t carry it. And so forth, and so on… If you learn anything about genetics, you’ll find out what I mean. A solid outbreeding program might still save us, if we could do it; but most of us can’t. So— ” he shrugged. “Every generation fewer and fewer of us are born with the old
 
laran
 
Gifts. Mesyr told you; once there were three circles here at Arilinn, each with its own Keeper. Once there were over a dozen Towers; and Arilinn was not the largest. Now— well, there are three other Towers working a mechanic’s circle; we are the only Tower with a fully qualified Keeper, which means Elorie is virtually the only Keeper on Darkover. And, within the Comyn, and the minor nobility connected to us by blood, there are hardly enough of us, in each generation to keep them alive. So there are two lines of thought within the Comyn.” He spoke briskly now, without a trace of the earlier remoteness. “One faction felt we should cling to our old ways while we could, resist every change, until we died out, as we inevitably would in a generation or two, and it didn’t matter any more; but at least we would remain what we were. Others felt that, with change inevitable, or at least the only alternative to death, we should make what changes we could tolerate, before intolerable ones were forced upon us. These people felt that matrix science could be taught to anyone with the rudiments of skill at
 
laran
 
, developed and trained to work in the same ways that a Comyn telepath could do. There were a few of this faction in power in the Comyn a generation ago, and during those few years, matrix mechanics came into being as a profession. During that time we discovered that most people have some psi power—enough to operate a matrix, anyway—and could be trained in the use of matrix sciences.”

“I’ve met a couple,” Kerwin said.

“You’ve got to remember,” Kennard told him, “that this was complicated by a lot of intense, very emotional attitudes. It was virtually a religion, and the Comyn were almost a priesthood at one time. The Keepers, especially, were objects of religious fanaticism that amounted to worship. And now we come to where you fit into the story.”

He shifted his weight, uncomfortably, sighed and stared at Jeff Kerwin. Finally he said, “Cleindori Aillardwas my foster-sister. She was a
 
nedestro
 
of her clan; that means she was not born in a legitimatemarriage, but was the daughter of an Aillard woman and one of the Ridenow, a younger son of that clan. She carried the Aillard name because among us a child takes the name of the parent of higher rank, notnecessarily the father’s name as you do on Terra. She and I were brought up together from the time shewas a small girl, and she was handfasted—which is a sort of pledge of marriage, more between thefamilies than the persons concerned—to my older brother Lewis. Then she was chosen to be trained as Keeper at Arilinn.”

Kennard was still, his face bitter and remote again. Then he said, “I don’t know all the story; and Iswore an oath—they forced me to swear, when I came back to Arilinn—there are things I can’t tell you. Anyway, during part of it I was away, fostered on Terra; that’s a long story, too. My father chose a

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Terran foster-son, and I went to Terra as what you’d call, I suppose, an exchange student, while Lerryswas fostered here. And so I did not see Cleindori for six or seven years, and when I came back she was Dorilys of Arilinn. Keeper. Cleindori was—in some ways—the most powerful person in the Comyn, themost powerful woman on Darkover. Lady of Arilinn. She was a
 
leronis
 
of surpassing skill; and, like all Keepers, she was pledged virgin, living in seclusion and a rigid isolation… she was the last. Even Eloriewas not trained as Cleindori had been trained, in the old ways; Cleindori accomplished that much, atleast.” He slid away for a moment into the bitter remoteness again. Then, sitting upright on his cushions,his voice dry and emotionless, he said:

“Cleindori was a fighter; a rebel. She was a reformer at heart; and, as Lady of Arilinn, and one of the last surviving Aillard women in the direct line, she had considerable power and Council status in her own right.. So she tried to change the laws of Arilinn. She fought bitterly against the new Council, and the conviction they held, that the Comyn Towers should maintain their secrecy and their old, protected, semi-religious status. She tried to bring in outsiders to the Towers—she succeeded in that, a little. Neskaya Tower, for example, will take anyone with telepathic power—Comyn, commoner, or beggar born in a ditch. But then, they have not had a real Keeper for half a hundred years. But then she began to attack the taboos around her own special status. And that was too much, that kind of heresy raised up rebellion… Cleindori broke the taboos again and again, insisting that she could break them with impunity because, as Keeper, she was responsible only to her own conscience. And at last she ran away from Arilinn.”

Kerwin had begun to suspect that it would end there, but even so it was a shock. He said, very low,