We humans are a strange breed, unique in the Universe. Of all the races met among the stars, only "homo sapiens" thrives on deliberate self-delusion. Perhaps this is the secret of our greatness, for we are great. In power, if not in supernal wisdom.
Legends, I think, are our strength. If one day a man stands on the rim of the Galaxy and looks out across the gulfs toward the settee suns of Andromeda, it will be legends that drove him there.
They are odd things, these legends, peopled with unreal creatures, magnificent heroes and despicable villains. We stand for no nonsense where our mythology is concerned. A man becoming part of our folklore becomes a fey, one-dimensional, shadow-image of reality.
Jaq Merril -- the Jaq Merril of the history books -- is such an image. History, folklore's jade, has daubed Merril with the rouge of myth, and it does not become him.