menace of the Neens, Artur agreed, had been settled forever. They
knew now that He Who Speaks still watched over the welfare of his
people. The Neens were an ignorant and a superstitious people, and the
two great craters made by our atomic bombs would be grim reminders to
them for many generations to come.

"You have done all that need be done, John Hanson," said Artur, his
face alight with gratitude. "And now you must receive the gratitude of
my people!" Before I could protest, he signalled to the men who guarded
the four great entrances, and my words were lost in the instant tramp
of thousands of feet marching down the broad aisles.

When they were all seated, Artur spoke to them, not in the "holy"
language I understood, but in their own common tongue. I stood there by
the ship, feeling like a fool, wondering what he was saying. In the end
he turned to me, and motioned for me to join him, where he stood near
the edge of the dais. As I did so, every person in that monstrous
auditorium rose and bowed his head.

"They greet you as the successor to He Who Speaks," said Artur gently.
"They are a simple folk, and you have served them well. You are a man
of many duties that must soon carry you away, but first will you tell
these people that you are their friend, as Toma Annerson was the friend
of their fathers?"

* * * * *

For the second time that day I made a speech.

"Friends," I said, "I have heard the voice of a great countryman of
mine, who is dead these countless centuries, and yet who lives today in
your hearts. I am proud that the same star gave us birth." It wasn't
much of a speech, but they didn't understand it, anyway. Artur
translated it for them, and I think he embroidered it somewhat, for the
translation took a long time.

"They worship you as the successor to Toma Annerson," whispered Artur
as the people filed from the great auditorium. "Your fame here will be
second only to His, for you saved, to-day, the people He called His
own."

We left just as darkness was falling, and as I shot up to the hovering
_Ertak_, the chant of Artur and his bright-robed fellows was the last
sound of Strobus that fell upon my ears. They were intoning the praises
of Thomas Anderson, man of Earth.

And so, my good Zenian friends, you learn of the first man to brave the
dangers of outer space. He left no classic journal behind him as did
Ame Baove, nor did he return to tell of the