he djinn had been at once a triumph and a sad mistake of nature. They
were the ultimate in physical perfection, needing nothing, living
perfectly independently, huge and strong and yet able to assume the
tiniest proportions when needed. Wounds were nothing, for their makeup
was such that their molecules compressed away from weapons, to ooze back
into place when danger was past. They controlled the forces of the atom,
at least to the extent of ability to freeze protons, and probably they
could do many more stunts in that line.

All their powers, being far in advance of man's, had been misunderstood
and misinterpreted in the old days. So when a djinni let his atoms flow
into the most convenient shape for getting into bottles for alcohol or
for passing an obstruction he didn't care to demolish, it seemed to men
that he turned into a cloud of smoke. Hadn't Pink used that simile to
himself?

The fact that they could levitate, probably by control of the force of
gravity, and fly through the thin upper air, by some process Pink only
dimly understood, was certainly enough to stamp them as minor gods in
Arabia and all the other countries they had infested.

Sure, they were a triumph of nature; but also a colossal failure. For
they were, despite their scientific powers, too stupid for pity, too
insensitive for compassion, and too egocentric for tolerance. Their
nature was that of the most depraved human being. Consequently they'd
been beaten. In spite of their terrific strength, they'd been beaten by
puny, unscientific, bumbling man.

How?

Well, Solomon had known about the lead. He'd sealed them in copper
bottles with stoppers of lead, and Pink would bet a buck those bottles
had been lead-lined, too. Solomon hadn't gone far enough, of course;
he'd thrown the bottles into the sea, and sometimes they'd washed up and
been opened. For bait, he must have used alcohol, too, since it was the
Achilles heel of the djinn.

Had he nailed the entire breed of djinn in his lifetime? It seemed
likely, for the legends stopped soon afterwards, didn't they? Pink
wasn't sure. Anyway, there sure as hell weren't any djinn on Earth
today.

How had they gotten out here, all the way to Star System Ninety? That
was beyond conjecture. How come the first brute he had contacted, old
Ynohp the phony Martian, spoke a kind of messed-up Shakespearian lingo?
God only knew.

Now he'd discovered them, anyway, and they wanted to go back to Earth.
If the