"I'm sorry. Now _I_ don't get _you_."
"I said I created them. It's very simple. My friend and I decided a very
long time ago it would be nice or interesting or I forget what, it was
so long ago, if we had some Indians. So, we created Indians."
Glaudot threw his head back and laughed. "For a minute," he said, "you
almost had me believing you." The girl was dressed like a savage, he
told himself, like a beautiful savage, but at least she had a sense of
humor. That was something.
"But what is so funny?" Robin asked.
"You just now said--"
"I know what I said. My friend and I created the Indians. Of course.
Why? Can't you create anything you want? Just anything?"
"All right, sister," Glaudot said a little angrily. He did not like
being made fun of, for he lacked the capacity to laugh at himself. "Just
how much of a fool do you think I am?"
"Why, I don't know," Robin replied. "How much of a fool are you?"
Glaudot glared at her. Purcell was going to be one mad captain when he
was told of Chandler's death, but men had died on expeditions before and
it really wasn't Glaudot's fault. At any rate he had established contact
with somebody of obvious importance among the natives, and Purcell would
appreciate that.
"Never mind," Glaudot said.
"Tell me about being a spaceman. Do you really fly among the stars?"
"Well, yes," Glaudot said, "although it isn't really flying."
"And do you create new stars as you go along?"
* * * * *
There she went again with her talk of creation, as if creating things
out of nothing was the commonest occurrence in the world. Glaudot stood
up. "All right, sister. Show me."
"Why, show you what?"
"Create something."
"You mean," Robin said, disappointed, "you actually can't?"
"Just go ahead and create something."