"It's a little hard to explain," Langford said. "You've got a picture
in your mind of something pretty horrible happening to me. Somehow I
feel that everything about that picture is wrong. I've got to cross
that stream, darling; I'd be a pretty poor specimen of a man if I
turned back now, when we're so close to the answer."
Joan said nothing. She would have argued and pleaded, but she knew that
it would have been of no use.
* * * * *
Five minutes later Langford was stripping on the riverbank. He slipped
into the water quietly, and struck out with powerful, even strokes. On
the opposite bank he turned an instant to flick a wet strand from his
forehead, and wave to his wife. Then he struck off into the forest.
He was a hundred feet from the bank, walking with his shoulders
squared, when something bright and incredible swirled up from the
forest floor directly in his path.
"For your forbearance, your kindliness, thank you, Langford!" a voice
said.
It was not a spoken voice. It was still and small and remote, and it
seemed to come from deep inside Langford's head. Langford stopped
advancing; he stood utterly rigid, his temples pounding, his eyes
riveted on a darting shape of flame.
"Don't be alarmed, Langford," the voice said. "I'm not a shape of
flame. But I can wrap myself in blinding flame so that the human eye
cannot see me as I am."
"Who are you?" Langford heard himself asking.
"A traveler blown from his course by ill cosmic winds!" the voice said.
"A lone and bewildered stranger from a universe so remote its light has
not yet reached you. A genuinely frightened stranger and--a telepath,
Langford."
The voice paused, then went on. "I made you come to me just now. A
promise of medals could not have done it, but I got inside your mind,
and drew you to me. Medals, rewards, promotions; you prize them, don't
you? What a pity that I cannot stay until your tunic gleams with
ribbons."
Another pause. Then the voice said: "It is difficult to get the
intimate feel of your language. You must forgive me if my speech seems
a little strained."
"Your speech. You--"
"You're not afraid of me, Langford? No, you mustn't be; you are the
kindest of men. How can I convince you that I am--you have a phrase for
it--letting down my hair? I shall leave you soon, my friend. I have
repaired my ship, and I must try to return to my own people. But before
I go I will tell you the truth."
* * * * *
Another pause while the brightness pulsed. "You could have destroyed
my ship when we met in the Asteroid Belt with a single blast; but you
refused to do so. And I, not knowing you as I do now, tried to frighten
you. There are so many worlds where intelligent life is cold and
merciless that I was prepared for _any_ emergency. I am rather proud
of that little multiplying creature I shot out into the void. It was a
child's bauble in my world, Langford--a toy!
"I am alone, my friend. Alone in a ship that utterly dwarfs me. But you
like large ships, too; we're curiously alike in some respects. We'd
never be satisfied with mechanical mastery on a puny scale!"
"Mechanical mastery?" Langford's lips had gone cold. "Just what kind of
mastery? Why did you attack Commander Gurney and his men?"
The shape of flame seemed to pulse with a curious, inward merriment.
Langford could feel the merriment beating into his brain, waves upon
waves of it.
"I didn't attack them. I can no more divide by fission than you can.
But when I saw them crouching by the river, their faces merciless,
waiting to seize you, I got inside their minds and drove them into the
river.
"Like chattering monkeys they fled from the terrifying images I planted
in their minds. They were prepared to believe I was not one, but many,
a swarming multitude. They floundered and swam until their strength
gave out. When they could no longer swim they dragged themselves from
the river, and went floundering through the jungle, fleeing from shapes
that had no real existence.
"Good Lord!" Langford muttered.
"Their weapons are now at the bottom of the river. That stern and silly
little man, who is nothing more than a jumble of bones, fell face down
in the river; before I could reach his side you were lifting him up.
You have won his undying gratitude. He will grumble and fume, but when
he sees my ship disappearing into deep space you will wear ribbons, my
friend. You will become--yes, a senior commander!"
"A senior--"
"Perhaps you'd like to see me as I really am, Langford, my friend!
You'll promise not to laugh? I may look a little ridiculous to you."
Langford's eyes were suddenly moist. "You couldn't possibly look
ridiculous to me," he said.
"Well ... I wouldn't like to show myself to just anybody. Certainly
not to Skin-and-Bones! But it's terribly important that you know how
completely I trust you. How else can I prove my gratitude?"
* * * * *
Slowly the shape of flame began to contract. Its edges became brighter,
sweeping inward to become a small, dazzling circle of radiance that
hovered in the air like a blazing signet ring.
In the middle of the ring a tiny form appeared. Amidst Langford's
rioting thoughts one thing stood out with mind-numbing clarity. The
form was minute, so tiny that the mantis shape it had shot into the
void would have utterly dwarfed it. The form was minute, and yet--it
did resemble a mantis. Its arms were upraised, and its pinpoint eyes
fastened on Langford with a blazing intensity that seemed to bore deep
into his brain.
But there was no enmity in that stare. Only complete gratitude, trust
and friendship. Yes, and a certain _greatness_!
"Now you see me as I really am!" the voice said. "I am so small that
you could crush me between your thumb and forefinger. But I would not
hesitate to alight on your thumb, my friend!"
A strange wonder throbbed in Langford's brain. And suddenly he found
himself thinking: "Jimmy Cricket!"
Yes, that was it! The tiny shape was as friendly, as puckish, as
noble in essence as that little nursery rhyme will-o'-the-wisp, Jimmy
Cricket. And it did look like a cricket; a chirping, gleeful, truly
great cricket.
Suddenly down the long sweep of the years Langford saw two small human
figures advancing over a path of golden bricks toward a glittering
distant palace.
One of the forms was himself, the other his sister. They moved in awe
and terror, because the palace was inhabited by a mighty wizard with
truly terrifying powers. But when they reached the palace they met a
human, likeable little man who wasn't terrible at all. And they knew
then that the mighty wizard was a humbug. But somehow in his simple
humanness the wizard seemed even greater than he had been. Greater, but
no longer terrifying.
Jimmy Cricket was--the Wizard of Oz. And he was something more. A
lonely, wayfaring stranger, blown from his course by ill cosmic
winds, taking reasonable precautions, but seeking only a responsive
friendliness in the gulfs between the stars.
For a moment Langford felt a swirl of energy brush his fingertips, like
the clasp of an intangible hand. Then the mental voice said: "Good
heavens, Langford! You're dripping wet! See how the dry leaves of the
forest cling to your feet!"
Startled, Langford lowered his eyes.
When he looked up the circle of radiance was gone.
"Forgive me, Langford!" a faint, diminishing voice said. "But partings
should not be prolonged! Goodbye, my friend!"
When Langford emerged on the riverbank, sunlight struck down over his
tall, straight body, giving him the aspect of a Greek god emerging from
a forest glade in the morning of the world.
He paused for an instant on the sloping bank to wave to his wife. Then
he plunged into the river and swam straight toward her.