"This is too interesting to miss," I said in an undertone. "Send the
escort back with word for Mr. Correy that these people are very
friendly, and we are going on into the city. Let three men remain with
us. We will keep in communication with the ship by menore."
* * * * *
Hendricks gave the necessary orders, and all our escort, save for three
men, did a brisk about face and marched back to the ship. The five of
us, conducted by Artur, started for the city, the rest of the
procession falling in behind us. Behind the double file of the
procession, the companies that had formed the living wall marched
twenty abreast. Not all the companies, however, for perhaps a thousand
men, in all, formed a great hollow square about the _Ertak_, a great
motionless guard of honor, clad in kirtles like the pennon-bearers in
the procession, save that their kirtles were longer, and pale green in
color. The uniform of their officers was identical, save that it was
somewhat darker in color, and set of with a narrow black belt, without
shoulder straps.
We marched on and on, into the city, down the wide streets, walled with
soaring buildings that shone with an iridescent lustre, toward the
great domed building I had seen from the _Ertak_.
The streets were utterly deserted, and when we came close to the
building I saw why. The whole populace was gathered there; they were
drawn up around the building in orderly groups, with a great lane
opened to the mighty entrance.
There were women waiting there, thousands of them, the most beautiful I
have ever seen, and in my younger days I had eyes that were quick to
note a pretty face.
Through these great silent ranks we passed majestically, and I felt
very foolish and very much bewildered. Every head was bowed as though
in reverence, and the chanting of the men behind us was like the
singing of a hymn.
* * * * *
At the head of the procession, we entered the great domed,
lozenge-shaped building, and I stared around in amazement.
The structure was immense, but utterly without obstructing columns, the
roof being supported by great arches buttressed to pilasters along the
walls, and furnished with row after row of long benches of some
polished, close-grained red wood, so clear that it shone brilliantly.
There were four great aisles, leading from the four angles of the
lozenge, and many narrower ones, to give ready access to the benches,
all radiating from a raised dais in the center, and the whole building
illuminated by bluish globes of light that I recognized from
descriptions and visits to scientific museums, as replicas of an early
form of the ethon tube.
These things I took in at a glance. It was the object upon the huge
central dais that caught and held my attention.
"Hendricks!" I muttered, just loud enough to make my voice audible
above the solemn chanting. "Are we dreaming?"
"No, sir!" Hendricks' eyes were starting out of his head, and I have no
doubt I looked as idiotic as he did. "It's there."
On the dais was a gleaming object perhaps sixty feet long--which is a
length equal to the height of about ten full-sized men. It was shaped
like an elongated egg--like the metal object surmounting the staffs of
the pennon-bearers!
And, unmistakably, it was a ship for navigating space.
* * * * *
As we came closer, I could make out details. The ship was made of some
bluish, shining metal that I took to be chromium, or some compound of
chromium, and there was a small circular port in the side presented to
us. Set into the blunt nose of the ship was a ring of small disks,
reddish in color, and deeply pitted, whether by electrical action or
oxidization, I could not determine. Around the more pointed stern were
innumerable small vents, pointed rearward, and smoothly stream-lined
into the body. The body of the ship fairly glistened, but it was dented
and deeply scratched in a number of places, and around the stern vents
the metal was a dark, iridescent blue, as though stained by heat.
The chanting stopped as we reached the dais, and I turned to our guide.
He motioned that Hendricks and I were to precede him up a narrow,
curving ramp that led upwards, while the three Zenians who accompanied
us were to remain below. I nodded my approval of this arrangement, and
slowly we made our way to the top of the great platform, while the
pennon-bearers formed a close circle around its base, and the people,
who had surrounded the great building filed in with military precision
and took seats. In the short space of time that it took us to reach the
top of the dais, the whole great building filled itself with humanity.
Artur turned to that great sea of faces and made a sweeping gesture, as
of benediction.
"Toma annerson!" His voice rang out like the clear note of a bell,
filling that vast auditorium. In a great wave, the assembled people
seated themselves, and sat watching us, silent and motionless.
* * * * *
Artur walked to the edge of the dais, and stood for a moment as though
lost in thought. Then he spoke, not in the language which I understood,
but in a melodious tongue which was utterly strange. His voice was
grave and tender; he spoke with a degree of feeling which stirred me
even though I understood no word that he spoke. Now and again I heard
one recognizable sequence of syllables, that now familiar phrase, "toma
annerson."
"Wonder what that means, sir?" whispered Hendricks. "'Toma annerson?'
Something very special, from the way he brings it out. And do you know
what we are here for, and what all this means?"
"No," I admitted. "I have some ideas, but they're too wild for
utterance. We'll just go slow, and take things as they come."
As I spoke, Artur concluded his speech, and turned to us.
"John Hanson," he said softly, "our people would hear your voice."
"But--but what am I to say?" I stammered. "I don't speak their
language."
"It will be enough," he muttered, "that they have heard your voice."
He stood aside, and there was nothing for me to do but walk to the edge
of the platform, as he had done, and speak.
My own voice, in that hushed silence, frightened me. I would not have
believed that so great a gathering could maintain such utter, deathly
silence. I stammered like a school-child reciting for the first time
before his class.
"People of Strobus," I said--this is as nearly as I remember it, and
perhaps my actual words were even less intelligent--"we are glad to be
here. The welcome accorded us overwhelms us. We have come ... we have
come from worlds like your own, and ... and we have never seen a more
beautiful one. Nor more kindly people. We like you, and we hope that
you will like us. We won't be here long, anyway. I thank you!"
* * * * *
I was perspiring and red-faced by the time I finished, and I caught
Hendricks in the very act of grinning at his commander's discomfiture.
One black scowl wiped that grin off so quickly, however, that I thought
I must have imagined it.
"How was that, Artur?" I asked. "All right?"
"Your words were good to hear, John Hanson," he nodded gravely. "In
behalf----"
The hundreds of blue lights hung from the vaulted roof clacked suddenly
and went out. Almost instantly they flashed on again--and then clicked
out. A third time they left us momentarily in darkness, and, when they
came on again, a murmur that was like a vast moan rose from the sea of
humanity surrounding the dais. And the almost beautiful features of
Artur were drawn and ghastly with pain.
"They come!" he whispered. "At this hour, they come!"
"Who, Artur?" I asked quickly. "Is there some danger?"
"Yes. A very great one. I will tell you, but first--" He strode to the
edge of the dais and spoke crisply, his voice ringing out like the thin
cry of military brass. The thousands in the auditorium rose in unison,
and swept down the aisles toward the doors.
"Now," cried Artur, "I shall tell you the meaning of that signal. For
three or four generations, we have awaited it with dread. Since the
last anniversary of his coming, we have known the time was not far off.
And it had to come at this moment! But this tells you nothing.
* * * * *
"The signal warns us that the Neens have at last made good their threat
to come down upon us with their great hordes. The Neens were once men
like ourselves, who would have none of Him"--and Artur glanced toward
the gleaming ship upon the dais--"nor His teachings. They did not like
the new order, and they wandered off, to join those outcasts who had
broken His laws, and had been sent to the smaller land of this world,
where it is always warm, and where there are great trees thick with
moss, and the earth underfoot steams, and brings forth wriggling life.
Neen, we call that land, as this larger land is called Libar.
"These men of Neen became the enemies of Libar, and of us who call
ourselves Libars, and follow His ways. In that warm country they became
brown, and their hair darkened. They increased more rapidly than did
the Libars, and as they forgot their learning, their bodies developed
in strength.
"Yet they have always envied us; envied us the beauty of our women, and
of our cities. Envied us those things which He taught us to make, and
which their clumsy hands cannot fashion, and which their brutish brains
do not understand.
"And now they have the overwhelming strength that makes us powerless
against them." His voice broke, he turned his face away, that I might
not see the agony written there.
"Toma annerson!" he muttered. "Ah, toma annerson!" The words were like
a prayer.
"Just a minute, Artur!" I said sharply. "What weapons have they? And
what means of travel?"
He turned with a hopeless gesture.
"They have the weapons we have," he said. "Spears and knives and short
spears shot from bows. And for travel they have vast numbers of
monocars they have stolen from us, generation after generation."
"Monocars?" I asked, startled.
"Yes. He Who Speaks gave us that secret. Ah, He was wise; to hear His
voice was to feel in touch with all the wisdom of all the air!" He made
a gesture as though to include the whole universe.
* * * * *
There were a score of questions in my mind, but there was no time for
them then. I snatched my menore from its clip on my belt, and adjusted
it quickly. It was a huge and cumbersome thing, the menore of that day,
but it worked as well as the fragile, bejeweled things of today. Maybe
better. The guard posted outside the ship responded instantly.
"Commander Hanson emanating," I shot at him. "Present my compliments to
Mr. Correy, and instruct him as follows: He is to withdraw the outside
guard instantly, and proceed with the _Ertak_ to the large domed
building in the center of the city. He will bring the _Ertak_ to rest
at the lowest possible altitude above the building, and receive further
orders at that time. Repeat these instructions."
The guard returned the orders almost word for word, and I removed the
menore with a little flourish. Oh, I was young enough in those days!
"Don't worry any more, Artur," I said crisply. "I don't know who _He_
was, but we'll show you some tricks you haven't seen yet! Come!"
I led the way down the ramp, Hendricks, Artur, and the three Zenians
following. As we came out into the daylight, a silent shadow fell
across the great avenue that ran before the entrance, and there, barely
clearing the shining roof of the auditorium, was the sleek, fat bulk of
the _Ertak_. Correy had wasted no time in obeying orders.
Correy could smell a fight further than any man I ever knew.
* * * * *
From her emergency landing trap, the _Ertak_ let down the cable
elevator, and the six of us, Hendricks, Artur, the three Zenians of the
crew, and myself, were shot up into the hull. Correy was right there by
the trap to greet me.
"What are the orders, sir?" he asked, staring curiously at Artur. "Is
there trouble brewing?"
"I gather that there is, but we'll talk about that in a moment--in the
navigating room." I introduced Artur and Correy as we hurried forward,
and as soon as the door of the navigating room had closed on the three
of us, I turned to Artur with a question.
"Now, where will we find the enemy, these Neens? Have you any idea?"
"Surely," nodded Artur. "They come from their own country, to the
south. The frontier is the narrow strip of land that connects Libar
with Neen, and since the alarm has been sounded, the enemy is already
at the frontier, and the forces of my people and the enemy are already
met."
"I don't know anything about the set-up," put in Correy, "but that
sounds like poor management to me. Haven't you any advance guards, or
spies, or outposts?"
Artur shook his head sadly.
"My people are not warlike. We who spread His teachings have tried to
warn the masses, but they would not listen. The land of the Neens was
far away. The Neens had never risen against the Libars. They never
would. So my people reasoned."
"And you think there is fighting in progress now?" I asked. "How did
the word come?"
"By phone or radio, I presume," said Artur. "We are in communication
with the frontier by both methods, and the signal of the lights has
been arranged for generations. In the day, all lights were to flash on
three times; at night, they were to be darkened three times."
* * * * *
So they had telephones and radios! It was most amazing, but my
questions could wait. They would have to wait. Correy was shuffling his
feet with anxiety for orders to start action.
"All right, Mr. Correy," I said. "Close the ports and ascend to a
height that will enable you to navigate visually. You are sufficiently
familiar with the country to understand our objective?"
"Yes, sir! Studied it coming down. It's that neck of land that
separates the two continents." He picked up the microphone, and started
punching buttons and snapping orders. In twenty seconds we were
rushing, at maximum atmospheric speed, toward the scene of what, Artur
had told us, was already a battle.
Artur proved to be correct. As we settled down over the narrow neck of
land, we could see the two forces locked in frenzied combat; the Libars
fighting with fine military precision, in regular companies, but
outnumbered at least five to one by the mob-like masses of brown Neens.
From the north and from the south slim, long vehicles that moved with
uncanny swiftness were rushing up reserve forces for both sides. There
were far more monocars serving the Libars, but each car brought but a
pitifully few men. And every car shot back loaded with wounded.
"I thought you said your people weren't fighters, Artur?" I said.
"They're fighting now, like trained soldiers."
"Surely. They are well trained, but they have no fighting spirit, like
the enemy. Their training, it is no more than a form of amusement, a
recreation, the following of custom. He taught it, and my people drill,
knowing not for what they train. See! Their beautiful ranks crumple and
go down before the formless rush of the Neens!"
"The disintegrator beams, sir?" asked Correy insidiously.
"No. That would be needless slaughter. Those brown hordes are witless
savages. An atomic bomb, Mr. Correy. Perhaps two of them, one on either
flank of the enemy. Will you give the order?"
* * * * *
Correy rapped out the order, and the ship darted to the desired
position for the first bomb--darted so violently that Artur was almost
thrown off his feet.
"Watch!" I said, motioning to Artur to share a port with me.
The bomb fled downward, a swift black speck. It struck perhaps a half
mile to the west (to adopt Earth measures and directions) of the
enemy's flank.
As it struck, a circle of white shot out from the point of impact, a
circle that barely touched that seething west flank. The circle paled
to gray, and settled to earth. Where there had been green, rank growth,
there was now no more than a dirty red crater, and the whole west flank
of the enemy was fleeing wildly.
I said the whole west flank; that was not true. There were some that
did not flee: that would never move again. But there was not one
hundredth part of the number that would not have dissolved into dust
with one sweep of the disintegrator ray through that pack of striving
humanity.
"The other flank, Mr. Correy," I said quietly. "And just a shade
further away from the enemy. A little object lesson, as it were!"
* * * * *
The battle was at a momentary standstill. The Neens and the Libars
seemed, for the moment, to forget the issue; every face was turned
upward. Even the faces of the runners who fled from a disaster they did
not understand.
"I think one more will be enough, sir," chuckled Correy. "The beggars
are ready to run for it right now." He gave a command, and as though
the microphone itself released the bomb, it dropped from the bottom of
the _Ertak_ and diminished swiftly as it hurtled earthward.
Again the swift spread of white that turned to gray; again the vast red
crater. Again, too, a flank crumpled.
As though I could see the faces of the brown men, I saw terror strike
to the heart of the Neens. The flanks were melting away, and the panic
of fear spread as flame spreads on a surface of oil. Correy has a good
eye for such things, and he said there were fifty thousand of the enemy
massed there. If there were, in the space that it takes the heart to
tick ten times, fifty thousand Neens turned their back to the enemy and
fled to the safety of their own jungles.
* * * * *
The Libars made no effort to pursue. They stood there, in their
military formations, watching with wonderment. Then, with crisp
military dispatch, they maneuvered into great long ranks, awaiting the
arrival of transportation.
"And so it is finished, John Hanson," said Artur slowly, his eyes
shining with a light that might almost be called holy. "My people are
saved! He spoke well, as always, when He said that those who would come
after Him would be our friends if we were their friends."
"We are your friends," I replied, "but tell me, who is this one of whom
you speak always, but do not name? From what I have seen, I guess a
great deal, but there has been no time to learn all the story. Will you
tell me, now?"
"I will, if that is your wish," said Artur, "but I should prefer to
tell you in the Place. It is a long story, the story of toma annerson,
the story of He Who Speaks, and there are things you should see, so
that you may understand that story."
"As you wish, Artur." I glanced at Correy and nodded. "Back to the
city, Mr. Correy. I think we're through here."
"I believe we are, sir." He gave the orders to the operating room, and
the _Ertak_ swung in a great circle toward the gleaming city of the
Libars. "It looked like a real row when we got here; I wouldn't have
minded being down there for a few minutes myself."
"With the _Ertak_ poised over your head, dropping atomic bombs?"
Correy shook his head and grinned.
"No, sir!" he admitted. "Just hand to hand, with clubs."
* * * * *
Artur and I were together in the great domed building he called "the
Place." There were no others in that vast auditorium, although outside
a multitude waited. Artur had expressed a wish that no one accompany
me, and I could see no valid reason for refusing the request.
"First," he said, pausing beside the great shining body of the space
ship upon the central dais, "let me take you back many generations, to
the time when only this northern continent was inhabited, and the
Libars and the Neens were one people.
"In those days, we were of less understanding than the Neens of today.
There were no cities; each family lived to itself, in crude huts,
tilling the ground and hunting its own food. Then, out of the sky came
this." He touched, reverently, the smooth side of the space ship. "It
came to earth at this very spot, and from it, presently, emerged He Who
Speaks. Would you inspect the ship that brought Him here?"
"Gladly," I said, and as I spoke, Artur swung open the small circular
door. A great ethon flashlight, of a type still to be seen in our
larger museums, stood just inside the threshold, and aided by its
beams, we entered.
I stared around in amazement. The port through which he had entered led
to a narrow compartment running lengthwise of the ship: a compartment
twice the length of a man, perhaps, and half the length of a man in
breadth. The rest of the ship was cut off by bulkheads, each studded
with control devices the uses of which I could but vaguely understand.
* * * * *
Forward was a veritable maze of instruments, mounted on three large
panels, the central panel of the group containing a circular lens which
apparently was the eyepiece of some type of television disk the like of
which I have never seen or heard. From my hasty examination I gathered
that the ship operated by both a rocket effect (an early type of
propulsion which was abandoned as ineffective) and some form of
attraction-repulsion apparatus, evidently functioning through the
reddish, pitted disks I had observed around the nose of the ship. The
lettering upon the control panels and the instruments, while nearly
obliterated, was unmistakably in the same language in which Artur had
addressed us.
The ship had, beyond the shadow of doubt, come from Earth!
"Artur," I said gravely, "you have shown me that which has stirred me
more than anything in my life. This ship of the air came from my own
world, which is called Earth."
"True," he nodded, "that is the name He gave to it: Earth. He was a
young man, but He was full of kindness and wisdom. He took my people
out of the fields and the forests, and He taught them the working of
metals, and the making of such things as He thought were good. Other
things, of which He knew, He kept secret. He had small instruments He
could hold in His hand, and which roared suddenly, that would take the
life of large animals at a great distance, but He did not explain
these, saying that they were bad. But all the good things He made for
my people, and showed them how to make others.
* * * * *
"Not all my people were good. Some of them hated this great one, and
strove against Him. They were makers of trouble, and He sent them to
the southern continent, which is called Neen. Those among my people who
loved Him and served Him best, He made His friends. He taught them His
language, which is this that I speak, and which has been the holy
language of His priests since that day. He gave to these friends names
from his own country, and they were handed down from father to son, so
that I am now Artur, as my father was Artur, and his father before him,
for many generations."
"Just a second," I put in. "Artur? That is not--ah! Arthur! That is the
name: Arthur."
"Perhaps so," nodded the priest of this unknown Earth-child. "In many
generations, a name might slightly change. But I must hasten on with my
story, for outside my people become impatient.
"In the course of time, He passed away, an old man, with a beard that
was whiter than the hair of our new-born children. Here, our hair grows
dark with age, but His whitened like the metal of his ship that brought
Him here. But He left to us His voice, and so long as His voice spoke
to us on the anniversary of the day upon which He came out of the sky,
the Neens believed that His power still protected His people.
"But the Neens were only awaiting the time when His voice would no
longer sound in the Place. Each year their brown and savage
representatives came, upon the anniversary, to listen, and each time
they cowered and went back to their own kind with the word that He Who
Speaks, still spoke to His people.
"But the last anniversary, no sound came forth. His voice was silenced
at last; and the Neens went back rejoicing, to tell their people that
at last the god of the Libars had truly died, and that His voice
sounded no more in the Place."
* * * * *
A tense excitement gripped me; my hands trembled, and my voice, as I
spoke to Artur, shook with emotion.
"And this voice--it came from where, Artur?" I whispered.
"From here." Sorrowfully, reverently, he lifted, from a niche in the
wall, a small box of smooth, shining metal, and lifted the lid.
Curiously, I stared at the instruments revealed. In one end of the
horizontal panel was a small metal membrane, which I guessed was a
diaphragm. In the center of the remaining space was thrust up a heavy
pole of rusty metal. Supported by tiny brackets in such fashion that it
did not quite touch the pole of rusty metal, was a bright wire, which
disappeared through tiny holes in the panel, on either side. Each of
the brackets which supported the wire was tipped with a tiny roller,
which led me to believe that the wire was of greater length than was
revealed, and designed to be drawn over the upright piece of metal.
"Until the last anniversary," said Artur sadly, "when one touched this
small bit of metal, here,"--he indicated a lever beside the diaphragm,
which I had not noted--"this wire moved swiftly, and His voice came
forth. But this anniversary, the wire did not move, and there was no
voice."
"Let me see that thing a moment." There were hinges at one end of the
panel, and I lifted it carefully. An intricate maze of delicate
mechanism came up with it.
* * * * *
One thing I saw at a glance: the box contained a tiny, crude, but
workable atomic generator. And I had been right about the wire: there
was a great orderly coil of it on one spool, and the other end was
attached to an empty spool. The upright of rusty metal was the pole of
an electro-magnet, energized by the atomic generator.
"I think I see the trouble, Artur!" I exclaimed. One of the connections
to the atomic generator was badly corroded; a portion of the metal had
been entirely eaten away, probably by the electrolytic action of the
two dissimilar metals. With trembling fingers I made a fresh
connection, and swung down the hinged panel. "This is the lever?" I
asked.
"Yes; you touch it so." Artur moved the bit of metal, and instantly the
shining wire started to move, coming up through the one small hole,
passing, on its rollered guides, directly over the magnet, and
disappearing through the other hole, to be wound up on the take-up
spool. For an instant there was no sound, save the slight grinding of
the wire on its rollers, and then a bass, powerful voice spoke from the
vibrating metal diaphragm:
"I am Thomas Anderson," said the voice. "I am a native of a world
called Earth, and I have come through space to this other sphere. I
leave this record, which I trust is imperishable, so that when others
come to follow me, they may know that to Earth belongs the honor, if
honor it be, of sending to this world its first visitor from the stars.
"There is no record on Earth of me nor of my ship of space, the
_Adventurer_. The history of science is a history of men working under
the stinging lash of criticism and scoffing; I would have none of that.
* * * * *
"The _Adventurer_ was assembled far from the cities, in a lone place
where none came to scoff or criticize. When it was finished, I took my
place and sealed the port by which I had entered. The _Adventurer_
spurned the Earth beneath its cradles, and in the middle of the
Twenty-second century, as time is computed on Earth, man first found
himself in outer space.
"I landed here by chance. My ship had shot its bolt. Perhaps I could
leave, but the navigation of space is a perilous thing, and I could not
be sure of singling out my native Earth. This is a happy world, and the
work I am doing here is good work. Here I remain.
"And now, to you who shall hear this, my voice, in some year so far
away that my bones shall be less than dust, and the mind refuses to
compute the years, let me give into your charge the happiness and the
welfare of these, my people. May peace and happiness be your portion.
That is the wish of Earth's first orphan, Thomas Anderson."
There was a click, and then the sharp hum of the wire re-spooling
itself on the original drum.
"Toma annerson," said Artur solemnly: "He Who Speaks." He offered his
hand to me, and I understood, as I shook hands gravely, that this old
Earth greeting had become a holy sign among these people. And I
understood also the meaning of the familiar phrase, "toma annerson"; it
was the time-corrupted version of that name they held holy--the name of
Thomas Anderson, child of my own Earth, and explorer of space centuries
before Ame Baove saw his first sun.
* * * * *
There is more I could tell of Strobus and its people, but an old man's
pen grows weary.
The menace of the Neens, Artur agreed, had been settled forever. They
knew now that He Who Speaks still watched over the welfare of his
people. The Neens were an ignorant and a superstitious people, and the
two great craters made by our atomic bombs would be grim reminders to
them for many generations to come.
"You have done all that need be done, John Hanson," said Artur, his
face alight with gratitude. "And now you must receive the gratitude of
my people!" Before I could protest, he signalled to the men who guarded
the four great entrances, and my words were lost in the instant tramp
of thousands of feet marching down the broad aisles.
When they were all seated, Artur spoke to them, not in the "holy"
language I understood, but in their own common tongue. I stood there by
the ship, feeling like a fool, wondering what he was saying. In the end
he turned to me, and motioned for me to join him, where he stood near
the edge of the dais. As I did so, every person in that monstrous
auditorium rose and bowed his head.
"They greet you as the successor to He Who Speaks," said Artur gently.
"They are a simple folk, and you have served them well. You are a man
of many duties that must soon carry you away, but first will you tell
these people that you are their friend, as Toma Annerson was the friend
of their fathers?"
* * * * *
For the second time that day I made a speech.
"Friends," I said, "I have heard the voice of a great countryman of
mine, who is dead these countless centuries, and yet who lives today in
your hearts. I am proud that the same star gave us birth." It wasn't
much of a speech, but they didn't understand it, anyway. Artur
translated it for them, and I think he embroidered it somewhat, for the
translation took a long time.
"They worship you as the successor to Toma Annerson," whispered Artur
as the people filed from the great auditorium. "Your fame here will be
second only to His, for you saved, to-day, the people He called His
own."
We left just as darkness was falling, and as I shot up to the hovering
_Ertak_, the chant of Artur and his bright-robed fellows was the last
sound of Strobus that fell upon my ears. They were intoning the praises
of Thomas Anderson, man of Earth.
And so, my good Zenian friends, you learn of the first man to brave the
dangers of outer space. He left no classic journal behind him as did
Ame Baove, nor did he return to tell of the wonders he had found.
But he did take strong root where he fell in his clumsy craft, and if
this record, supported only by the log of the _Ertak_, needs further
proof, some five or six full generations from now Strobus will be close
enough for doubting Zenians to visit. And they will find there, I have
no least doubt, the enshrined _Adventurer_, and the memory, not only of
Thomas Anderson, but of one, John Hanson, Commander (now retired) of
the Special Patrol Service.