nd the ship's crew he was
a criminal, a cheap chiseler and pickpocket, almost a murderer, escaping
credit for _that_ crime only by grace of his own good luck and his
victim's thick skull. They had felt such contempt for him that they
hadn't even bothered to guard him too carefully. They had thought him a
complete coward, without the courage to risk an escape, without the
intelligence to find the opportunities that might be offered to him.

They hadn't realized how terrified he was of the thing with which they
threatened him. Regeneration, the giving up of his old identity? Not for
him. They hadn't realized that he preferred the risks of a dangerous
escape to the certainty of _that_.

And here he was a god.

* * * * *

He lifted his hand without thinking, to wipe away the perspiration that
covered his forehead. But before the hand touched his helmet he realized
what he was doing, and let the hand drop again.

To the people watching him the gesture must have seemed one of double
significance. It was at once a sign of acceptance of their food and
flowers, and their offer of good-will, and at the same time an order to
withdraw. They bowed, and moved backwards away from him. Behind him they
left their gifts.

They seemed human, human enough for the features on the men's faces to
impress him as strong and resourceful, for him to recognize that the
women were attractive. And if they were human, the food must be fit for
human beings. Whether it was or wasn't, however, again he had no choice.

He waited until they were out of sight, and then, stiffly, he removed
his helmet and ate. The food tasted good. And with his helmet off, with
the wind on his face, and the woods around him whispering in his ears,
it was a meal fit for the being they thought him to be.

He was a god. Possibly it was the space suit which made him one,
especially the goggle-eyed helmet. He could take no chance of becoming
an ordinary mortal, and that would mean that he would have to wear the
space suit continually. Or at least the helmet. That, he decided, was
what he would do. That would leave his body reasonably free, and at the
same time impress them with the fact that he was different from them.

By manipulating the air valve he would be able to make the viewplates
cloud and uncloud at will, thus giving dramatic expression to his
feelings. It would be a pleasant game to play until he had learned
something of their