Along the sunlit bridge the delegation of Varans walked ceremoniously.
In the vanguard was a lovely shape, like an exquisite butterfly.
Kimball looked out the door again and saw her. With a slight smile he
left the room; Andreson didn't notice.
"Farewell, Ken."
"Farewell, Jina, I'm sorry to go."
There was a brief, stiff silence, and then she was in his arms, sobbing
bitterly.
"Ken--why, why?"
He swallowed. "Do you remember, up there on the solarium ledge before
the rock dome was destroyed--remember I said I had a question I had to
answer?"
"Yes ... what--was it?"
"Just this: _Can Earth and Air mix?_ There's a legend in my time that
few people understand, but I think I understand it. It's the story
of Lilith, queen of Air and Darkness. She fought with Satan and God
alike for the Earth, but she lost, because she was not part of their
universe. It's the same with me. What part could I play in a time not
my own, among people who live in the air?"
The girl did not move or answer. Steadily he went on: "Besides--there's
a gap between us greater than parsecs or centuries. Look." He took her
hand in his, held it up. The delicate, four-fingered limb made his
own five stubby fingers look lumpy and misshapen. "We have no future
together, Jina. We seem alike, but we're not. The apes are my cousins;
the bats are yours. You should stay with your own race, and have the
children I could never give you. We have no real happiness to give each
other."
She drew back and squared her shoulders proudly, though her eyes still
brimmed with tears. "You are right," she said. "Go back, then! But I
extract one promise before you go."