But he, what did he matter? He was only a means to the end. The plot
was known now. Back on Earth, here on Mars, in all the other solarian
havens of life, the Vrons of Centauri would meet defeat; for Solarians
would believe him now with Del Andres by his side. Andres who knew the
Vrons of Centauri for the strange, changeable, domineering creatures
that they were, Andres who called him friend and in whose great heart
only friendship was left--aye, they would believe him well!
When he heard the murmuring of rockets out of Kaa, he was thinking
many things: of what the strange life form he had come to know by the
lowly name of "Monk" had done--truly the workings of something far
greater than man striving for universal betterment. He thought of the
earnestness, the striving, the sense of honor and glory and all that is
good.
In essence, what had it been? A consciousness born of the basic fabric
of the universe, electricity however strange the form. Something come
out of seemingly nowhere to aid a race in its moment of greatest
blindness, of greatest need. Come to render a queer, heroic, supernal
sacrifice.
And now, despite the living, shuddering pain within him, a smile
twisted his lips. He was thinking of a little voice whispering a very
virile tune as it went down into death. He was thinking that even
something akin to a god, in its most serious workings for good, might
find time to know laughter.
And he was wishing that that intelligence had not been consumed by
the blessed flame of martyrdom. He was wondering what aid it might
have given in those moments not far hence when the Armada would come
blasting out of the void between the stars.