o
drugs, no night spots, no bigtime gamblers slapping him on the back and
calling him "pal," no brassy blondes giving him the eye. Still, it was
better than the life he had actually lived, much better. It would do, it
would have to do.

* * * * *

From what he had seen of the natives, he liked them--and feared them.
For all their mistaken faith in him, they seemed to be no fools. How
many times before had men from some supposedly superior civilization
dropped in upon the people of a new world and made that first impression
of divinity, only to have the original attitude of worship by the
natives give way to disillusion and contempt? Who was that fellow they
told about in the history books he had read as a kid? Cortez, way back
on Earth, when that planet itself had offered unexplored territory. And
later on it had happened on one of the moons of Jupiter, and on several
planets outside the System. The explorers had been gods, until they had
been found out. Then they had been savage murderers, plunderers, devils.

It would be too bad if he were found out. He was one against them all,
he would never be able to fight off so many enemies. More than that, he
was a stranger here, he needed friends. No, he mustn't be found out.

"Better put on your helmet, dope," he told himself savagely. "They'll be
coming back soon, and if they find you without it--" He put on his
helmet, still muttering to himself. It wouldn't make any difference if
he were overheard. They didn't know Earth language and would take his
words for oracular utterances. He could talk to himself all he wanted,
and from the looks of things, there would be no one to understand him.
He hoped he didn't grow crazy and eccentric, like those hermits who had
been lost alone in space for too many years.

The helmet was the first nuisance. There would be others too. He
couldn't even talk in what had become his natural manner, with a whine
in every word, a whine that came from being treated with contempt by
police and fellow-criminals alike. A god had to speak with slow gravity,
with dignity. A god had to walk like a god. A god had endless
responsibilities here, it seemed.

He thought again of his mother. Ever since he could remember, it had
been, "Georgie, wipe your nose!" and, "Georgie, keep your fingers out of
the cake!" and Georgie do this and _don't_ do that. A fine way to speak
to a god. Even after he had grown up, his mother had con