"But I've seen them. Down there in the square building."
"Not poetry. Books, yes, but not poetry. That was the only book with
songs."
"I'm sorry."
"_You_ killed it!" Maota suddenly sprang for the weapon, lying
forgotten in the sand. Michaelson put his foot on it and Maota was too
weak to tear it loose. He could only weep out his rage.
When he could talk again, Maota said, "I am sorry, Mr. Earthgod. I've
disgraced myself."
"Don't be sorry." Michaelson helped him to his feet. "We fight for some
reasons, cry for others. A priceless book is a good reason for either."
"Not for that. For not winning. I should have killed you last night
when I had the chance. The gods give us chances and if we don't take
them we lose forever."
"I told you before! We are on the same side. Negotiate. Have you never
heard of negotiation?"
"You are a god," Maota said. "One does not negotiate with gods. One
either loves them, or kills them."
"That's another thing. I am not a god. Can't you understand?"
"Of course you are." Maota looked up, very sure. "Mortals cannot step
from star to star like crossing a shallow brook."
"No, no. I don't step from one star to another. An invention does that.
Just an invention. I carry it with me. It's a tiny thing. No one would
ever guess it has such power. So you see, I'm human, just like you. Hit
me and I hurt. Cut me and I bleed. I love. I hate. I was born. Some day
I'll die. See? I'm human. Just a human with a machine. No more than
that."
* * * * *