*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64818 ***

                             THE WAY BACK

                           By SAM MOSKOWITZ

                 _The Story of a Vagabond of Space Who
                  Found Himself in the Far Galaxies._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                           Comet January 41.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Michel Drawers crumpled the enormous star-map in his big hairy arms and
let it drop from listless fingers. It floated slowly to the ground,
scarcely claimed by the infinitesimal gravity of the tiny sky-rock.

Hopelessly he gazed aloft, searching, with an air of finality the
immense sweep of the cosmos for some familiar sign--a well known
constellation, perhaps, that might be utilized as a sign post of space.

Unrewarded, he eased himself off a hard, metallic projection he
had been seated upon and turned back toward his petite little
star-ship--appropriately and affectionately known as "Star-Struck."

He had to face cold, inevitable reality. He was lost--lost amid the
stark immensity of unfamiliar worlds. Ahead of him lay a long and
hopeless search. He must sweep across the void from zone to zone.
Exploring the most colossal work of all nature for some clue that might
solve this puzzle and show him the way back--the way back home.

And he smirked as he thought of applying the term "home" to Tellus.
A home was something only successful people could boast of in this
day and age. Misfit youth could not expect such comfort. Himself, and
thousands like him, unable to fit into the scheme of civilization
currently preponderant upon Earth must take the only course open to
them. Must be vanguards of a new frontier--the greatest frontier.

Sick with nostalgia and ineffable longing, they must brave the dangers,
the rigors of outer space--blast trillions of miles past the solar
system on a metal steed that laughed at the limited speeds of light.
That roared and romped past universe after island universe. And always
the delicate Roxitometer clicked along--searching with tireless,
machine-like efficiency for traces of Roxite on the many worlds passed.

Roxite? That was the fuel that made these star-ships possible. The
substance whose elemental atoms could be split with tremendous fury to
release an inconceivable flood of power--controlled power--controlled
by the comparatively tiny Roxite engines which curbed these terrible
energies and directed them into the proper channels of usefulness.

Centuries ago men had searched for gold. Now gold was merely another
metal. Today, men searched for Roxite--a few ounces of which commanded
fabulous prices from the great interplanetary corporations on Earth.

And as gold had eluded the best efforts of most men in past years, so
Roxite eluded all but the luckiest prospectors today. There was plenty
of Roxite in the universe. But most of it was buried deep within the
cores of tremendous suns. Suns that had a surface temperature that
made the hottest things on Earth seem like a bitter arctic blast by
comparison.

The thing that counted on Earth these days was brains. Everyone had
ample opportunity to develop what brain power they had. The finest
schools and universities boasting the most advanced and elaborately
presented programs of education ever known were free to the multitudes.
But of what value was an ultra fine education when everyone else had
one, too? It still settled back to basic ingenuity and natural inborn
intelligence when it came to the man who got ahead and the man who
stayed behind.

Five hundred years ago, possessing his present knowledge he might have
been one of the world's greatest men. Today he was just one of millions
of others, all of whom could do the same things he could--and some of
them could do better.

What an incomparable paradox he presented. Physically he was more than
a match for ninety-nine per cent of all Earth men. His great height
and weight, his brutal strength--those thick hairy arms of his could
crush the average man in a few minutes. Gigantic muscles didn't count
any more. Of what use sixteen inch biceps when the frailest child could
operate the buttons necessary to perform most of the menial duties of
life?

Men like him were pushed by invisible, relentless pressures into the
only thing open for them. To operate one of these tiny star-ships and
comb the universe for more Roxite--to keep the interplanetary liners
blasting.

Roxite. He had found some. Enough to keep his ship operating as it
plunged past millions of starry universes. But not enough to bring back
to Earth and collect any sizeable sum.

But he couldn't stand this life any longer. The inexpressible
loneliness of space. Inconceivable light years from the world that bore
him. Six years alone in such vastness was too much for any man.

Six years of heartrending disappointments as he searched tirelessly for
the precious Roxite--and found only a little.

But this was the end. He was going to make a last desperate attempt to
find his way back. Back to a cold, hostile, unfriendly civilization
that might, out of charity, provide some lowly position for him--let
him work enough to stay alive.

Still, that was better than this. At least he could look up into the
blue ceiling of the sky. Tread over green carpeted fields. Eat real,
substantial, solid food and see other people.

Yes, of a poor choice that alternative was the best.

But here he was bitter again. Deluging himself with waves of self-pity.
The fault was not entirely with Earth and the way of life on Earth. He
was equally to blame. He was a throw-back. A throw-back to the days
when men pushed back new frontiers, blazed new trails for civilization
to follow. When brawn had been the equal, if not the superior of
brains. But this was a new world. It was built for the many, not
the few. Simply because there was a few thousand of misfits among a
population of millions was no creditable reason for revamping an entire
way of life to the satisfaction of a minor group of disgruntled men.
No, progress was relentless, inevitable. The old must bow before the
new, and the world must fight on toward its distant dream of tomorrow.

Funny how a man could become so completely lost. But he had plenty of
time to look for the right avenue back to his world. Plenty of time,
patience, fuel and food. And he would find it--though it take him the
rest of his life.

So Michel Drawers roared away from a tiny, lonely little rock in
a strange distant universe, and, with his seemingly inexhaustible
patience explored the sky ways for the section of the milky way in
which his solar system might be located.

And as the months passed his homesickness grew and grew and reached
unbearable proportions. A subconscious chant repeated itself and
reiterated in pounding rhythms within his brain. He must find a way
back, a way back, a way back, a way back, a way back. God! he couldn't
stand this any longer. Where was the way back? Merciful heavens, how
much more of this torture could he endure without going mad? And the
distant pin-points of light mocked him with cold ferocity. Gloated with
aloof disdain. Laughed at his fruitless efforts to escape their mighty
trap.

But the soul of the frontiersman, the conqueror, burnt on. Michel
Drawers did not go mad. He simply went on and on and on. Searching,
seeking the way back.

Then, when it seemed that interminable eons had fled past he was
awakened from a sleeping period by the piercing, raucous scream of
the Roxitometer, pleading to him to arise and investigate its latest
discoveries before they flashed past and it was too late.

In a mad lunge he pulled the space bar all the way back. The forward
tubes blasted violently--the ship drew to a theoretical stop. Poised
motionless amidst the splendor of a trillion stars.

Working frantically Michel Drawers made the proper connections. He
might find a valuable deposit of Roxite yet. Perhaps there would be
something to take back to Earth after all. Perhaps all was not yet
hopeless. He might still be rich when he got back--if he got back.

The powerful little rockets streamed blazing glory again and the little
silvery projectile was drawn by the magic of the Roxitometer, down the
path of Roxite radiations to some still unknown world from where it
emanated.

And gradually Drawers began to realize that they were heading for a
beautiful little globe more than sixty million miles from a medium
sized sun. And he prepared to enter the atmosphere of this world--and
let the powers of the Roxitometer lead him to the location of the
Roxite deposit. He muttered a silent prayer that it might not be
located too deeply in the bowels of the planet.

Now he was holding tight as the "Star-Struck" streamed through the
atmosphere of the planet. The landscape began to lay itself out before
him. He could make out soft blue forests of alien vegetation--golden
streams of unknown liquids. At two thousand feet he halted the ship's
descent. Momentarily he allowed it to float above the terrain of this
strange world. Drinking in its wonders with curious eyes.

He had been drawn to many worlds before by the insistent clangings of
the Roxitometer--but never had he witnessed a world of such unutterable
beauty and color. Barely a discordant note in the entire scheme of
things. Even the winds blew softly, gently, against the hull of his
ship. Prompted by an unfathomable urge he tested the atmosphere
of the planet. Oxygen and Nitrogen proved present in appreciable
quantities--but there was also another--and unknown gas of undetermined
qualities.

He wondered if it were breathable. It had been so long, so very long
since he had known anything other than the metallic smell of synthetic
air. With gladness he would trade half of his possessions for a few
great lungfulls of pure, fresh, untainted air.

Then it was that Michel Drawers performed a suicidical act. He opened
the inner and outer locks of his ship simultaneously and allowed the
atmosphere of this unfamiliar world to pour in and mingle with that
of the ship. He breathed in deeply, heavily. Lungful after lungful.
Nothing happened. The new air had a certain, pleasant perfumed
quality--perhaps a characteristic of the new gas. If it were fatally
poisonous, at least it was not immediately so.

Forgotten were thoughts of Roxite and riches. Forgotten was his
heartbreaking longing for Earth. Only one instinct possessed him. A
desire to set foot upon real soil again. To tread agilely forward--to
breath in natural air--to view natural, though alien sights. To see
streams of liquids bubble past.

He settled the "Star-Struck" with unprecedented clumsiness down
upon the surface of the world--saved from a bad shock by the light
gravitational pull of the planet.

Then, with the demeanor of a school-boy released for summer vacation,
his huge frame trod lightly from the ship, and he ambled grotesquely
amidst an almost fragile world.

With ecstatic delight he plucked brilliant, sweet smelling blossoms;
plunged his face recklessly into the golden liquid that tumbled in
miniature falls down a short sloping hill; marveled at the coolness,
the exhilaration of it--and in the midst of this madness the idea
struck him that this gleaming liquid was the aqua pura of this world.
It took the place of water, in fact it seemed to have every attribute
of water except for its golden color, and the few drops that had
trickled between his lips left a pure, clean, sweet taste that could be
described only by comparing it to the palate of a man, three days on
the desert without a drink, suddenly being presented with a tall, cool
glass of water.

It was becoming more and more noticeable that the color motive of this
world was not so much green as it was golden.

And he wandered on. Far, far from the ship he strayed. As if possessed
by a strange, uncontrollable mania he laughed and cried by turns.
Sometimes he ran, sometimes he walked. Often he leaped incredible
distances into the air--floating softly down--his two hundred and
fifteen pound bulk landing with only the slightest jar.

And as suddenly as this crazy thing had come upon him it passed. He
stood stock sober; the awful realization of the inconceivable risks he
had run swelling his brain like a painful hangover.

That he was alive and apparently in good health was a miracle. The
worlds where a native of Earth might cavort with reckless abandon and
utter disregard for existing conditions were few and far between.
Swift doom often descended upon those who made light of other worldly
conditions.

Now he saw in every brilliant blossom a lurking death of hideous
proportions. He examined their expansive golden-yellow blossoms with
critical care. Many of the plants were predominantly blue. Blue and
gold. Here flowers with tall, slender, graceful stalks moved gracefully
to and fro in the soft breeze. There, gigantic blue plants towered far
above his head, with stalks the thickness of trunks and blossoms the
circumference of a water-wheel but, throughout, the idea of fragility
persisted. And with it a gnawing doubt as to their innocent nature.
It seemed more and more that the strange gas that permeated the air
had its source here in those blossoms which grew in such abundance,
with groves the thickness of forests, and a multiplicity that replaced
trees, on this world at least.

He stumbled on, his hand wiping again and again at his face as if to
scrape away a golden liquid which was no longer there.

He even breathed with fearful deliberateness--wracking his brain for
all he knew and had heard of the effects and varieties of fatal gases.

But the luck of the gods was with him. No untoward symptoms appeared
and as he made his way back to the ship his fears began to dissipate
one by one and a new sense of reasonableness replace them.

Into the clearing he trod--and then recoiled with amazement. Before him
stood a human figure! A small man, perfectly, beautifully proportioned,
radiating a golden aureole and crowned by curly, yellow locks of hair.
He seemed fragile, incredibly delicate, yet he bore himself with
buoyant ease, a result of the lighter gravitational pull of the planet,
and in his eyes sparkled whirling motes of color that lent to him an
air of unimpeachable intelligence.

Michel Drawers advanced slowly toward the man. His towering bulk
looming massively with strikingly primitive and brutal aspect in
comparison to the statuesque lines and angelic beauty of this native
son.

"Who? Who are you?" Michel Drawers questioned, his loud, rough voice
almost artificial in an obvious attempt at impossible gentleness.

The aura of golden light seemed to thicken about the form of the little
man.

Softly, Drawers thought he heard:

"I, strange one, am Persum, dweller in the city of Saeve. In all my
years I have never known a man like you. From whence do you come?"

Drawers was rigid, surprise-struck. He had heard or thought he heard
words as clear, as plain as words could be--_yet he had seen no lips
move_, knew that no sound, other than his own voice had pierced the air.

"Telepathy," he uttered in awe. "Mental telepathy."

"Telepathy? Telepathy?" an unspoken voice returned. "We have no such
word in our language. What is its meaning?"

"To communicate without sound--by thought."

A look of comprehension dawned upon the golden man's features.

"Ah, yes. Here, in my city, all men speak by thought--that is the
purpose of this radiance which surrounds me--to help pick up and to
transmit thoughts. Apparently your race is not so gifted. I wondered
why you writhed your lips peculiarly when you questioned me! Your brain
must be a very powerful one indeed to transmit thoughts without any
natural aid."

Drawers laughed inwardly at the unexpected compliment. Men had often
told him that he possessed a marvelous physique, but no one had ever
attempted to hint that his brain was other than passably mediocre,
even poor. And here, the most intelligent little man he had ever
met--not over five feet tall--a man with the power to transmit thoughts
telepathically--an achievement that practically no earthman could
boast, had told him that he was unusually gifted in a mental sort of a
way. It was funny, ironic.

Suddenly Drawers became almost timid in the presence of this superb
little creature. There was almost a god-like quality about him. An
innate goodness, kindness, that could be taken for granted.

"Would you care to partake of our hospitality?" came an inviting
thought.

The invitation brought a gasp of amazement to Michel Drawers' lips, and
also a trace of suspicion.

This little man before him, who, common sense said must be feeling
uneasy, to put it mildly, in the presence of a stranger of hitherto
unknown size and undetermined strength--someone who was as different in
make-up and physique from his as night is from day--still had been able
to suppress his fears sufficiently to extend a cordial invitation.

"Oh--I can stay on the ship," Drawers replied, his mind sparring for
additional time to clear its confusion.

"My people would be very interested in meeting you," the golden man
replied.

Still, Drawers hung back with obvious reluctance. This man was small,
but it wasn't size that counted, as experience had taught him--it was
brains--and this alien had those in super abundance. How was he to
know the creature's motives? Perhaps they might overcome him with some
strange ray, and use him for some diabolical experiment.

Even as the thoughts surged through his mind, a trace of a smile seemed
to flicker across the golden man's features.

As if he had read his thoughts the golden man challenged.

"Certainly you are not afraid to accompany me? I should be the one to
fear, not you. One of those great arms that hang at your side could
overpower me in an instant. You have nothing to fear."

Mental argument was an achievement Michel Drawers had never been
particularly adept in. He found his fears being chided, and his own
subconscious mind seemed to tell him there was no danger, still--

Michel stepped slowly forward to accompany the golden man, his hands
tapping his hips for the butts of his low-voltage guns and finding only
the empty holsters. _He had left them in the ship!_

Without further thought the golden man turned and strode gracefully
from the clearing. Michel Drawers lumbered self-consciously along
behind, tripping occasionally over vine-like foliage--and with the
light of curiosity growing ever brighter within him.

Through thick growths of blue plants they trailed. Across chuckling
stream's of bubbling, brilliant liquids; through fields thick with
yellow blossoms, and overhead a golden sun hung resplendent in the sky
as if to match the make-up of the planet.

Drawers' attention was suddenly distracted by one of the most unusual
plants he had yet seen. This one was golden as were the others but had
long, regular veins of blue running like a well formed design up the
outside of the blossom. Instinctively he sniffed at it. As he did so he
felt his new found companion plucking at his sleeve. He paid no notice,
preferring to again smell the beautiful blossom. The fragrance affected
him like a heady, aromatic perfume. Entirely different from any scent
he had ever known before.

Persum finally distracted his attention by mental urging.

"Come away, that plant is deadly. I cannot understand why you have not
been already overcome."

Drawers turned back to Persum in curiosity. "This plant deadly? Why it
has a delightful fragrance. The most pleasing I've ever smelled."

It was obvious that Persum was disconcerted.

"I do not understand it. A small whiff of the odor exuded by that plant
is enough to render any of my race unconscious. A few minutes under its
influence often brings death. You are the first man I have ever known
who has been able to inhale its gases without succumbing. This is most
curious. I must inform others of my race."

They walked on, Persum shaking his head in bewilderment.

Drawers began to realize that this plant, although affecting him only
to the extent that a pleasant perfume affects an individual, could be
deadly to the golden people. From Persum's description of its effects
it acted almost like an anesthetic--a few breaths induced temporary
unconsciousness, but if released to its influence for more then a few
minutes it resulted in death.

Abruptly a lovely city of golden towers and soaring minarets
appeared resplendently before them--a city of incarnate beauty and
craftsmanship--a city that might have been designed by a master
draftsman--with an eye to blending harmoniously to the surrounding
color scheme.

Drawers stopped for a moment to take in the wonder of it.

"You like it?" Persum queried.

"It's great!" Drawers rumbled enthusiastically.

"We take delight in the development of our cities," Persum continued.
"There are seven cities, all constructed along the lines of this one.
These seven cities contain the total populations of our people; about
one hundred thousand people to a city. They are built with great care.
The smaller buildings form the general limits of the city, and then
we construct the buildings taller toward the center of the city. They
are all unlike in structure for we try to give each and every one
a distinct artistic touch. We do not believe in building row after
monotonous row of dwellings that are of value for efficiency alone.
The human pride and joy in beauty amply compensates us for any loss in
efficiency."

Drawers did not reply. He was gazing in astonishment at the long curved
walks that stretched between the taller buildings. Some of them must
have been two hundred feet from the ground, with no noticeable railing
for safety, and they were hardly more than three feet in width. Dozens
of the golden people at this very moment could be seen moving leisurely
across these shaky bridges, seeming to take no notice of the great
chasm that yawned beneath. Even as Drawers watched, one of the golden
people lost his balance, weaved erratically about for a moment, then
started to fall.

Drawers closed his eyes to shut out the horror of the scene. Then he
slowly opened them and gaped with astonishment to see a little golden
man floating casually down to the ground, and alighting with scarcely a
jar. Then he understood! The gravitational pull of this world was not
very exacting. Few falls could be fatal here. The golden people had
little to fear on that score.

Then a gigantic wall of auspicious strength and thickness bordering the
city caught Drawers' eye. It seemed to inject a discordant note.

Questioningly Drawers turned to the golden man and asked. "What is the
reason for that enormous wall?"

A sad, haunted look entered the expressive eyes of the little man. For
a moment he did not answer, then replied.

"Perhaps, in your land you have no Griffs."

"Griffs? What are Griffs?"

As they walked the little man explained.

"Long ago, there were no violent forms of life on this planet. There
were no cities with thick walls about them, and the people of our
race lived luxuriously, cradled in the gentle arms of nature. Our
home was wherever we happened to be at the time. Art and knowledge
flourished and our people were content. Then, one day, an earthquake
of violent proportions rocked the land. Great rifts were torn in the
ground. And from subterranean caverns, of which we had no knowledge,
emerged terrible monsters who lived on flesh and preyed upon my people
unceasingly.

"We have never had strife of any kind on this world. Weapons have
always been unknown. There was no way we knew to fight back. In
desperation we built great walls around the cities to keep these great
monsters away. Only when the sun is at its height do we dare emerge and
gather food or wander through the forests we love so much. Sun hurts
the Griffs' eyes and they prefer to do their hunting at night or on
cloudy days.

"Gradually the Griffs have been dying out for lack of food. They are
carnivorous and have systematically eliminated most of the lower animal
life from our world. My race, except for occasional mishaps have been
virtually beyond their reach. There are only a few of them left now,
but they prowl perpetually about the walls of the city searching for an
opportunity to enter and wreak havoc, or to catch some one of my race
as they pass a particularly gloomy spot in the forest."

Michel Drawers thought over what the little man had said. He thought
too of the sub-atomic blast used for blasting aside obstacles in
search of Roxite. It would not be the first time it had been used as a
weapon--a most terrible weapon of destruction.

However, for the moment he deemed it best not to mention this to
Persum, as the little man so quaintly named himself. Perhaps these
Griffs were not so easily destroyed. And then again to destroy them
might be a fatal error. He remembered how in ages past men had wantonly
destroyed the once-numerous mountain lions in reckless numbers, and
then had the wild deer, which had been the mountain lion's natural
prey, multiply so that they left no grass for the cattle who should
have benefited through the death of the mountain lions.

Then, too there was the problem of Australia, where an apparently
innocuous rodent, the rabbit, had multiplied into a national menace,
once there was no natural enemy to check them. He must learn more.

They stopped before a great golden gate. Persum lifted a small reed
to his lips and blew. From it there issued a long, sweet, piercing
whistle. Slowly the gates rolled smoothly open, fitting right into the
thick walls beside them.

Without hesitation Persum walked through the opening. Michel Drawers
held back for a moment, blinded by a chance ray of sun-light that
bounced off the gleaming sides of one of the buildings.

Then, he too entered, and the gates, as if by their own volition,
closed behind him.

He was in another world now. Gone was all harshness and crudity.
Here there was only beauty and color and gold. Buildings in peerless
symmetry dug their way through the low hanging clouds to unknown
heights. Spell-binding displays of coruscating lights played in rhythms
through curious designs of crystals. Later Drawers learned that this
corresponded to music--by sight instead of ear.

Self-consciously he ambled along the spotless streets behind
Persum--streets which seemed to be paved with pure gold. He tried not
to notice the open stares given him by the city's inhabitants. He
realized that they did not mean to be impolite. It was simply that a
man of his bulk was unique in this civilization.

More and more as they proceeded he began to take cognizance of the
complete absence of transportation of any sort. Everyone here walked.
Of course, the slighter gravitational pull made walking considerably
less strenuous, but still, that didn't account for the various groups
of golden men he had passed, laboriously pulling great blocks of stone
by man-power alone--when a small wheeled vehicle, or even one beast of
burden would have lightened the load immeasurably.

He stopped in utter perplexity though, when he saw a group of golden
men attempting to lift an enormous stone block into place by the sheer
strength of their bodies. They seemed totally ignorant of the enormous
saving in strength and labor that might have been enacted by the
building of a simple pulley arrangement.

It was becoming increasingly evident that this race's knowledge of even
the most fundamental laws of mechanics was practically nil.

But as if in compensation, he noted too, that these people seemed to
get along with each other without the slightest friction. Nothing
seemed sufficient to arouse anger. He wondered if they were incapable
of the emotion.

The people moved about the streets tending entirely to their own
business. There were no doors to any of the dwellings--simply arched
openings. Numerous valuable objects such as painstakingly carved
chairs, and richly sculptured busts, were present in front of many of
the homes. Yet they remained untouched.

Nowhere, so far, had he seen even one person who might have passed as
a peace officer. The golden people seemed to need no enforcement to
maintain the effective carrying out of whatever laws they were governed
by. Each and every one of them seemed to take it for granted that
he must do what was required as a duty to himself as well as to the
community and that's all there was to it.

Persum had stopped in front of a grand edifice of such beauty and
brilliance that it faded into insignificance the surrounding buildings,
fine as they were.

He followed Persum into the building. Through upward sloping halls that
wound around and around up into the vitals of the building and served
in lieu of stairways, and into a glistening hall of gold and crystal.
The hall was partially filled with others of the golden people.

Drawers watched in bewilderment as Persum approached the group of
little people--apparently officials of the city--and without opening
his lips informed them of all that had transpired.

And now others of Persum's strange race came forward to greet him.
Drawers marveled at the perfection of these golden people. At the
unsurpassed, delicate beauty and construction of their forms; the
charm and adorableness of their women. Here indeed was a tiny race of
perfection, soul-satisfying to the extreme.

One of the welcoming party bowed low before him.

"We are pleased to have this opportunity to show you our hospitality,"
the man said. "My name is Garanjor, humble Raciv of my people."

Drawers gulped impulsively. The highest official of the land was
out to greet him. Him, a nobody from Earth who had landed here by
accident, in search of Roxite. Perhaps this was some form of a joke? He
scrutinized the faces about him. All were serious to the extreme. An
air of serenity seemed to pervade. Drawers drew from his brain all he
remembered of the proper etiquette for such occasions. Six years in a
space-ship--it was easy to forget.

"I am honored," was all he could think of.

Nervously he juggled a small meter, for the determining of the purity
of Roxite, in his hands.

One of the golden people took note of the instrument, and turned to
the others with an unmistakable air of excitement. In an instant the
entire assembly was crowded about him examining the meter with feverish
interest.

One asked: "This metal--have you any more of it?"

"Why that's nothing very much," Drawers replied. "That's only common
iron. The ground is filthy with this back on Earth. Why do you ask?"

Persum mentally replied to the question.

"Here, in this city, Ronir, which is what you call Iron is the rarest
of all metals. We use it only in the construction of vital instruments
and tools. All other uses, because of its extreme scarcity, are
forbidden."

"Well, you can have all I have on the ship, if you want it," Drawers
offered generously. "It's nothing more than trimmings on the inside of
the ship. Iron and steel haven't been of much value since the invention
of much superior alloys which have an infinitely greater resistance to
heat and cold."

"We would be glad to give you anything you request for this metal," the
Raciv offered. "There have been numerous occasions when the possession
of a little larger supply of Ronir might have relieved much suffering."

"In that case, why don't you just consider it my contribution to the
advancement of science and let it go at that?"

"I'm afraid you do not understand," Persum clarified. "Our race will
not accept anything of this sort without first arranging a fair
exchange."

Michel Drawers realized that he must be careful not to offend these
people due to his ignorance of their laws. He made an admirable stab at
diplomacy.

"Suppose you give me something that you believe would be a fair
exchange."

The golden people drew away a moment and conversed telepathically among
themselves.

Then the Raciv walked toward Drawers. There was a resigned expression
upon his features. He threw back his shoulders and looked Drawers
straight in the eye.

"_I am prepared to turn my leadership over to you in exchange!_" came
his startling thoughts. The other golden people looked solemn.

Drawers drew back aghast. _Just how precious were these small amounts
of iron that he had offered these people, if they were willing to
entrust him with their entire government in return._

Persum must have read his thoughts for he again explained.

"At the base of the skull of every new born babe of our race there
lies a dormant gland. What use this gland once had we do not know.
Through thousands of years of disuse it has atrophied, and the
slightest mental exertion causes its inflammation. In almost every case
the pressure exerted upon the brain by this swollen gland has resulted
in death.

"At one time hundreds died daily from this dread malady. We tried to
operate, but our metals were all too soft to be sharpened to a keen
edge, and used for operation. Eventually we discovered Ronir. Minute
deposits of this invaluable metal came to light at various times.
We melted the crude ore and fashioned it into the vital instruments
we needed. Now we operate upon a baby immediately after birth and
remove this gland so that it cannot do any harm. The operation is a
comparatively simple one. We have mastered various balms that will
heal the incision within a few hours. However, we have been unable
to discover new deposits of this valuable metal for many centuries
now--due, largely to the menace of the Griffs.

"The instruments we fashioned many centuries ago are almost all worn
out. It is estimated that if a new supply of Ronir is not obtained
soon, within the next generation or so, our tools will be useless, and
then--"

The inference was obvious. Michel Drawers realized that he was in a
mighty uncomfortable position. For once his brain found a suitable
solution.

He faced the Raciv. "I accept your Racivship with thanks."

The Raciv handed Michel Drawers an elongated prism of crystal, through
which played curious designs of ever-changing color.

"Please accept this as a sign of your position," Garanjor asked.

Drawers received the colorful prism, then quickly stated, "As Raciv, I
do not feel capable of performing the duties required of me in this new
capacity. For that reason I hereby return the great honor entrusted to
me to its original possessor."

Quickly he handed the prism back to Garanjor.

There was a murmur of thought. Apparently the golden people were deeply
moved by this noble gesture.

Michel Drawers gave them no time to reconsider. He emptied his pockets
of all the iron and steel objects he carried. There was the meter, a
steel measuring rule, and several handy implements he happened to have
with him.

While divesting himself of these objects he took opportunity to examine
the golden people more carefully.

The men were attired only in what seemed to be a glorified pair of
trunks--although a few of them wore a crepe-like cloak. Their entire
bodies were of a deep golden hue as was their hair. The pronounced aura
about each of them, he decided, must be due to the peculiar, unknown
gas in the atmosphere. In some way it must affect the radiations thrown
off by the body and make them visible to the naked eye.

The women were beautiful, that's all there was to it. They had all
the same characteristics of the men. Their dress was a satiny,
tight-fitting garment that reminded one, more than anything else, of
a bathing suit done over for evening wear. Their hair was arranged in
such a manner as to give the impression of additional height.

Both men and women were approximately the same height--about five
feet--but built entirely in proportion.

Further observations were interrupted. The people about him suddenly
assumed masks of great concern. One little man left the party. Through
one of the windows he could be seen dashing off in the direction of the
great wall. Drawers stood puzzled.

Persum turned to him.

"Some of our people have just sent a message of distress. They have
been accosted by several Griffs and are in serious danger. We don't
know what we can do, though," he ended hopelessly.

"Where is all this taking place?" Drawers inquired with an unsuccessful
attempt to appear calm.

Persum gestured for him to follow.

Back to the gate they swiftly retraced their steps. The gates were
slightly ajar. A hundred yards over to the right Drawers could see two
of the golden people--one a woman, perched precariously in the branches
of a gigantic fern.

At the base of the fern were two tremendous beasts. Each must have been
at least eight feet long. They stood on four bony legs--their bodies
big and broad and shaggy as a grizzly bear, which animal they resembled
more than anything else, excepting for their incongruously thin legs
and grotesquely large mouths. Mouths almost two thirds the size of an
alligator and fiercely reinforced by large, yellow fangs.

The beasts were tearing away at the foot of the fern. It began to shake
and shiver and lean heavily to one side. It was obvious that inevitably
they would weaken the trunk so that it would give way and drop the two
little people to a hideous death below.

Drawers thought fast. Who was he anyway? Virtually an outcast from
Earth. Unwanted and unnecessary. Here, for the first time in his life,
someone had treated him as though he were a leader. They pretended, at
least, that he was an honored guest. His bulkiness, his crudeness had
been discreetly overlooked. Possibly, if he tried, he could distract
the attention of those man-eating beasts long enough for the golden
people to run to safety behind the walls of the city. He would try. It
would be his token of thanks for all their kindness.

Without a word of his intentions he swiftly pushed himself through the
opening in the gate. His earthly muscles covered prodigious distances
at each stride across the terrain of this lighter planet. He shouted
once, a sort of half-hearted battle cry. The beasts wheeled about at
the sound and snarled viciously.

Drawers slowed up. He was within ten yards of them now. For an instant
he sparred for position. Then he flung himself forward at the nearest
of the two creatures with all of his earthly speed and bulk. He crashed
head on, and surprisingly enough, the animal fell back on its haunches
with a sort of dazed expression.

Drawers' powerful arms arched about the creature's neck. His tremendous
biceps bulged. Slowly, terribly, he tightened his grip. Applied more
and more pressure.

The second Griff had been running around and around in circles. It
seemed undecided, whether to attack or await the outcome of this
struggle.

The Griff beneath him panted in agony. Madly it thrashed about,
flinging him from side to side, but he held on like grim death. Bending
its neck back, back. And suddenly, when it seemed that his strength was
ebbing and that this creature would never give in, he was rewarded by a
loud snap, and the beast's head hung grotesquely from his hands.

[Illustration: _The beast reared violently, but Michel clung to its
back. Only one idea obsessed him--to bend, break--_]

He let go and the entire body slumped limply to the ground.

Again he sparred with the other animal, but this one beat him to the
attack, catapulting itself straight through the air at him. Drawers
side-stepped the charge, and then his right fist descended with
crushing force alongside of the Griff's ribs. There was a cracking
noise as its ribs stove in like papier-mache.

It was squealing terrifiedly, and now Drawers knew his own power and
illimitable strength. These Griffs, big and brutal, were hardly a match
for him. Born to resist a gravity of more than twice that of his planet
his bones were heavier, more compact. His muscles harder, his speed
dazzling.

Again and again he came to grips with the Griff. Once its bestial fangs
closed upon his shoulders and he just about tore away, his skin ripped
and bleeding. His own breath was coming in great choking gasps, and
his legs seemed to sag from the effort, but around and around the Griff
he danced, his fists smashing a crescendo pitch of hate and power and
destruction. And at every blow he could feel something give. Could
hear the wind go whistling out of the weakening Griff. Could sense its
great, untamed strength dissipating ounce by ounce.

Then he closed in for the kill. In a fever of fury he crashed his two
big fists in bludgeoning hate to the Griff's head. It tottered to
the ground--dazed. He leaped upon its back and grabbed for its head.
Instinctively it eluded him and almost threw him from his perch.
He grabbed a fistful of fur and retained his position. In a fit of
inspiration, he began pounding sledge-hammer blows on the thing's back.
His arms worked in a sort of savage rhythm, descending and rising in
a blur of speed and power. And as he pounded away it seemed that this
thing would never die; things were growing hazy ... he was tired, oh,
so tired ... he was barely conscious of striking and from far, far in
the distance his blows echoed back a tirade of destruction.

"What are you beating at, friend?" came a distant voice.

Drawers stopped suddenly.

"There is nothing but a mass of bleeding pulp beneath you."

Drawers started to get off the Griff's back. He staggered erratically.
The world began to turn around and round, around and round.

Someone was leading him. He followed blindly. The next he knew he
was lying back amid a mass of billowy perfumed cushions. Someone was
forcing a sweet, golden liquid between his lips. He drank greedily,
some of the liquid spilling down his shirt. He wiped his lips with his
hand and settled back, relaxed.

Through half-closed eyelids he peered out at the small golden people.
Then, in a tired, happy sort of a voice, rumbled, "I guess those two
weren't hurt."

Persum, good old Persum, was standing there. Two radiant beings stood
beside him.

"They are very grateful," stated Persum by proxy. "They wish to thank
you personally."

"Aw, 'twas nothing."

"Nothing!" came an excited thought wave. "Nothing to kill single-handed
and weaponless two of the most terrifying beasts this planet has ever
known? Nothing to risk your life to save two alien people whom you did
not even know? You are a hero! A great hero! And we are deeply grateful
to you."

Now the woman came timidly toward him. Drawers breathed heavily with
appreciation. A thing of exquisite, unutterable delight. A living poem
of brilliance and charm. The most adorable, fascinating, of all the
golden people he had met so far.

She barely topped the five foot mark. She was dressed in a little
bathing-suit-like affair that had two bright stripes running up the
front, and two small points extending down from the hips. Her eyes were
flaked with tiny gold motes of color and seemed filled to overflowing
with tender compassion.

Michel Drawers couldn't help noticing the feminine, unassumed grace
of her movements, the smooth, round contours of her face, her soft,
perfectly proportioned curves. The glory-sheen of her hair that was
arched up a few inches at the brow, and then allowed to fall in
glistening strands down and around her shoulders.

Here were beauty and goodness incarnate.

Without further consideration Drawers knew he was falling hopelessly in
love. Knew it in the maddening fashion that only a man who yearns for
the admittedly impossible can know.

"Thank you," she was thinking. And then, "Oh, how _can_ I ever thank
you enough? You were so brave, so fine, so strong, so daring."

"Ah--it was nothing. I mean--" Drawers knew he was speaking tripe.
Common everyday, ordinary tripe, but he couldn't think in the presence
of this dazzling little creature. All his senses, except his pounding
heartbeat, seemed locked in a state of suspended animation.

Then he was tired--more tired than he thought anyone could ever be. He
tried to sustain himself, but his words lisped off, and nature demanded
that he rest. He fell back upon the radiant pillows, asleep before his
head had indented its form upon their softness.

So he couldn't have seen, as Persum did, the soft, lingering caress
that the golden girl bestowed upon his brow before she hastily retired
from the room.

The ensuing days were happy ones for Michel Drawers. He was entertained
royally by the elite of the golden people. The dazzling little woman
he had rescued, along with Persum, were always at his side, acting as
a sort of self-appointed escort service. They showed him their great
city, strangely devoid of any mechanical devices or any utilization of
natural laws.

He was introduced to the nation's leading thinkers who expounded
learnedly upon almost incomprehensible theories. He was shown the
ideal, simple, quiet life led by most of the populace and noted without
being told the general tone of happiness, good will, and the utter lack
of crime of any sort.

The complete and utter lack of sensible equipment convinced him more
than ever that he should and could repay in some ways the unusual
kindness bestowed upon him.

It was heart warming to watch the jubilation upon the faces of the
workers as he arranged a simple pulley for them, and showed them how
their lifting could be done with comparative ease. He shuddered to
think of the work that must have gone into building some of those
high, glistening towers, with the utilization of only crude man-power.

He watched the eyes of the scientific men pop with incredulity as he
showed them the principle of the wheel. They were chagrined that they
could have overlooked so simple a principle, but Drawers knew that the
discovery of the wheel on Earth had been nothing but a lucky accident.
If man had not discovered it by accident, it might never have been
known at all. Then, too, he began to understand the utter lack of
mechanical equipment. The wheel was one of the fundamental and most
vital of parts in all moving machinery. Without the wheel, it would be
difficult to construct a usable pulley, or a feasible vehicle.

There was another thing he accomplished. He constructed the first wagon
these people had ever seen. They viewed it with insatiable curiosity.

But the sight of the golden men happily pulling their loads through
the streets on wagons irked him. These people were not made for hard
physical tabor. It took a heavy toll. He questioned Persum as to the
absence of beasts of burden.

Persum thought a moment and then said, "There has never been anything
but very small animals on our planet as far as we know. Nothing we
might use for beasts of burden. Anyway," he concluded, "why should the
animals perform our tasks for us? Why place any poor beast in bondage?"

"And why not?" asked Drawers. "It would be poetic justice to place the
Griffs in bondage and force them to pull your wagons for you."

"The Griffs!" thought Persum with a note of astonishment. "Surely you
are joking. Who could subdue those savage beasts so that they would
labor peaceably? And even then, who would care to drive them and tend
to them? It would be sheer suicide."

Drawers ignored the last statement. "Have you some strong rope that
I might use?" he asked. "Some tough vegetable fiber--perhaps the
material you use for pulling those blocks through the street."

"Why certainly," Persum replied. "You are welcome to all you need."

"Thank you," said Drawers. "I have a crazy sort of an idea."

That evening Michel paced back and forth in the small, luxuriously
furnished apartment the little people had provided for him. It had
three square sides and one open. There were apertures for light, but no
glass or any other material in them. Neither was there anything other
than a drape to serve as a door.

The temperature on this world was ideal. It stayed perpetually between
seventy and eighty-five, hardly ever varying above or below these
figures as rated on the Fahrenheit scale. Therefore there was no
necessity of window panes to keep out the cold. Even without a door
there was infinitely more privacy in these apartments than any man
had ever known on Earth. The golden men never entered without first
telepathizing their intentions in advance. Nor did anyone ever gaze
into another's apartment or home. These people strictly maintained the
ideal that a man's home is his castle.

His mind was surging with many thoughts. These Griffs, if he remembered
correctly, though fiercely armed, had showed definite evidences of
cowardice. He remembered the way they squealed when hurt. Their furious
attempts to escape when soundly beaten. There was a possibility they
could be trained. By force, if need be, but surely it would not hurt to
try.

Then, too, those strange blossoms that acted as an anesthetic upon the
golden people--perhaps they might act similarly upon the Griffs? It was
a theory worth investigating.

The next morning he left the city, a long coil of hemplike rope around
his arm. He found a group of the flowers he was looking for after a
brief search, and quickly snapped a number of the largest blossoms
at the stems. Their odor lent charm to the beauty of the scenery he
passed. It struck him that these flowers were the very personification
of the adage "one man's meat is another man's poison."

As though they knew he was searching for them, the Griffs seemed to
elude him. The day wore on and the sun began to set and still he had
found no Griffs. He began to wonder if the people of the golden city
would be worried as to his whereabouts.

But as the long fingers of evening began to stretch gray paths across
the sky, he was startled out of his thoughts by a fierce squealing. He
turned rapidly, and there, emerging from an almost unnoticed cavelike
formation was a red-eyed Griff, its teeth gnashing angrily.

Quickly Drawers formed the rope into a lasso. He gave it a few quick
turns around his head and let fly at the Griff. The noose settled
around the charging animal's neck. With a flick of his wrist Drawers
tightened the noose, then, utilizing all of his strength, pulled
the rope with a jerk to the right. The Griff choked and stumbled
momentarily. In a twinkling of an eye Drawers was drowning the beast
with the blossoms from the flowers he was carrying. The animal began
to cough. It made an attempt to rise, and then settled back. It was
panting now. Now its eyelids were closing and its breathing becoming
harder and harder.

Drawers kicked the creature in the ribs. It did not respond.

Drawers removed the blossoms from the animal's nostrils. Then he took
his rope and securely tied up its great jaws. With the happy whistle of
a boy released from school, he made his way back to the city of Saeve,
dragging the great beast behind him.

He almost laughed aloud as he saw the perplexity of the guards at the
gate of the wall. They seemed uncertain whether to run as fast as they
could or maintain their posts in shivering fright. At all costs they
refused to allow Drawers to drag the beast into the city.

After some persuasion Drawers got them to contact Persum and arrange to
have a wagon delivered outside the city.

During the interim the Griff began to revive. Finally it staggered
weakly to its feet, a sick look in its eyes. At the sight of Drawers it
bristled menacingly.

Drawers nonchalantly gave the animal a powerful kick in the ribs that
sent it crashing to the ground.

It gained its feet again, and fumed with rage at its inability to use
its well-tied jaws.

But Drawers did not let this bit of temperament deter him. He whacked
the creature across the back with his fist. It sank to the ground
again. A look of fear began to enter its eyes.

Within the next fifteen minutes Michel Drawers gave the animal the
beating of his life. When he was through he untied the fastenings from
around the creature's jaws, and waited, his fist held menacingly. The
golden guards watching from the gate were stricken by the tenseness
of the situation. For a moment the Griff looked at Drawers--_then it
cringed before him!_

During the next week, thousands crammed the streets to watch a
fierce-looking Griff, generation-old enemy of their race, proceeding
docilely along the streets of the city, pulling enormous quantities of
stone and other supplies with no sign of rebellion. Its once terrible
teeth had been blunted and replaced by flat-headed golden caps. A
little golden man sat unafraid upon its back directing it with deft
prods of his feet. Man had again displayed his superiority over other
forms of life.

Everywhere Michel Drawers went he was hailed with enthusiasm by the
golden people. They gave elaborate balls in his honor--and watched with
fascination as he disposed of helping after helping of the multiple
types of tasty vegetables and exotic-flavored fruits which formed the
bulk of their diet.

But in all truth Michel Drawers paid much more attention to the
fascinating little golden woman who seemed perpetually at his side.
"Trajores," she said was her name. And he escorted her proudly to the
numerous balls and dinners; performed her every whim with celerity.

He remembered the look of joy on her face when he presented her with a
simple bracelet, inset with colorful crystals that he had shaped for
her with his own hands out of the malleable gold that could be found in
such abundance.

He remembered, too, how all the other women crowded about her,
examining the new creation, the first of its type in the city of Saeve,
and how the next day, hammers rang merrily as self-appointed goldsmiths
catered to the whims of the eternal feminine and its desire to emulate
any new style or fashion.

Thus, unwittingly, Drawers had made Trajores the first stylist in the
world of the golden people. And it pleased him to watch her thrill with
pride as she watched the other women, and even some of the men, imitate
the first necklace he had made for her, out of a few colored crystals
and a wirelike string of gold.

He took advantage of every opportunity to be near her, accompanying
her on long walks through the forest when the sun was high in the sky;
satisfying her curiosity as to the manners and ways of life on Earth.

He enjoyed those hours in her presence and was thankful for the
opportunity--but his long unfamiliarity with women often caused him to
ask Persum to accompany him, and the three would stride merrily through
the forest, exchanging views on various subjects.

To his astonishment, Michel Drawers awoke one day to find that a
faint but undeniable glow came from his body. The strange gas in the
atmosphere was beginning to affect the radiations of his body, too!
Other unusual incidents lately had been the sudden regrowth of teeth
long since pulled, the disappearance of several warts from his fingers.
The gas, whatever it was, had beneficial effects.

But he did not comprehend the full effect of his change until one day
while walking with Persum and Trajores he sensed Trajores thinking.
"Were there any other girls that you left on Earth before you came
here?"

"No," he replied. "I'm afraid that I never was very popular with the
ladies."

A look of amazement crossed Trajores' features.

"_You read my thoughts!_" she accused. "I had not directed the question
mentally toward you!"

Then she turned and ran back toward the city.

Michel Drawers gazed after her in perplexity, then turned with a
puzzled frown to Persum.

Persum shook his head in the manner of a man who thinks, "Well, here's
something else that's got to be attended to."

"It is against our custom to attempt to read the thoughts of another
person," he explained. "If we did, no one would have any privacy. But
I will explain to Trajores your ignorance of our laws and extend an
apology by proxy. I'm sure she will forgive you. She was momentarily
embarrassed. Her thoughts were of a somewhat personal nature."

But Michel Drawers hardly listened. It was incredible but true that
in some manner the golden emanations that now radiated from his body
enabled his mind to read thoughts!

As the days progressed, Michel Drawers became more and more impressed
by the utopian way in which this society of golden people was
maintained. No man was assigned any work. It was up to the individual
to make himself as useful as he possibly could whenever his services
were required. His leisure time was left to himself.

Drawers had seen how these golden people had volunteered for heavy
physical labor even before his introduction of the labor-saving pulley
wheel, wagon and beast of burden, and the manner in which they had
performed, without complaining, this toilsome labor. He had seen how
other men were willing to spend hours over hot forges shaping trinkets
for the gratification of any women who happened to ask for them.

These people seemed to sense when their services were required and were
always willing to do what was desired.

The women seemed willing to perform almost any of the regular household
duties of cooking, sweeping, remodeling and washing at any time. It
seemed to make little difference if they had to assume the extra burden
of cooking and washing and cleaning for any of the golden men who
were still unmarried or were so unfortunate as to have suffered the
loss of their mates. They performed these tasks cheerfully, as their
contribution to the welfare of the community.

All essentials were provided free, as were available luxuries. All
worked under an eminently successful cooperative plan that did away
with all of the ills of complicated economic systems.

The Raciv was really nothing more than a coordinator of the various
scientists and constructors, helping to lay out the plans for the
proper performance of their experiments and buildings, coping with any
problem that might arise.

This race had many bewildering aspects. Drawers had listened, only
half comprehending, to their learned men outline a gigantic theory of
the universe and its reason for being, a theory that seemed flawlessly
logical to his untrained mind. He had watched the golden men take
over the manufacture of wheels, wagons, pulleys and trinkets he had
introduced and improve upon them at a great rate. He had seen daring
members of this delicate golden race emulate his action in capturing
a Griff with astounding preciseness. Their adaptability, their gift
of learning and improving upon new ideas seemed infinite. But their
inability to grasp and utilize the simplest ideas on their own
initiative was confounding. There was some quality lacking in their
make-up that seemed to prohibit this. Why this was so he did not know.
Perhaps it was the result of thousands of centuries of living easily
in the forests, working and creating in the mind alone, that, through
the ages had made the creative urge in them dormant. It was the only
logical explanation to be found.

But once set upon the proper path that long dead ability might, by
degrees, begin to restore itself, and then there would be no limit to
the greatness this simple civilization might attain.

He had gotten probably his greatest kick in introducing amusements for
the children. For two weeks he had labored, with several of the golden
men assigned to him, in one of the larger working rooms in the city. By
the end of that time he had constructed the very first Merry-Go-Round
this world had ever known!

It was crude compared to what the amusement parks now had on Earth, but
to these people it was an object of fabulous wonder.

He had simply constructed a large wheel, attached a few hand supports
to it and mounted it on one of the wagons. The Merry-Go-Round was
turned by a crude but effective crank, and this unique, whirling,
breathless motion proved a source of infinite delight to the children
of the city. The Merry-Go-Round was constantly on the go, and dozens of
golden men crowded about, examining its manufacture, and returning home
and plotting their own.

The most unusual aspect of this innovation was that the older people
took to it as well as did the youngsters. The Merry-Go-Round and later
the swing became a regular household addition.

These simple pleasure devices became the national amusements. It was
becoming a common thing to have an open square one day, and the next
find it clogged with a vast array of swings and Merry-Go-Rounds, with
the golden people, young and old, partaking wholeheartedly in this new
pleasure.

If it had been left to the children to judge, these new amusements were
the finest things he had introduced so far; and Michel Drawers could
not help realizing how limited these people's pleasures had been in the
past.

It was a great day, too, when he escorted the Raciv and several of the
more important men of state back to the "Star-Struck." They entered the
ship and the lock closed behind them. Then with a blast of rockets the
ship had rifled its way through the clouds.

The Raciv and his officials had gazed in wonder through the ports as
the ship rose thousands of feet into the air. Strangely enough they
displayed no visible signs of fear (possibly the fact that there
was little danger in falling on this world obviated that fear) but
nevertheless the novelty of the experience did not escape them.

One of the little men directed his course. They were riding a wave of
telepathic radiations, as spaceships follow a radio beam into port.
And the occasion was destined to be a memorable one--one of great
consequence. _For the first time in centuries the peoples of two cities
were to meet one another!_

Contact between the cities had always been maintained thanks to the
development of long range telepathy. Thus they were similar in culture,
development and habits, but inter-city relations had been impossible
due to the long distance between cities and the dread danger of being
devoured by Griffs en route.

It was soul-inspiring to witness the embraces, the thoughts of tearful
thankfulness, as the golden people saw their first opportunity in
hundreds of years to be reunited in fact as well as spirit.

The second city's greatest sculptor, the finest the city of Malopa
had ever known, fashioned a golden image of Michel Drawers, which was
placed in one of the largest squares. The ensuing weeks were ones of
great celebration.

Drawers would never forget the looks on the faces of the returning
party as they rocketed back to Saeve. He knew they would never forget
what he had done for them; that they envisaged a greater world of
tomorrow, where the seven cities were united in a common bond of
understanding and continued progress.

Even the original object of his voyage, the obtaining of Roxite, was
consummated. One morning, accompanied by many of the nation's leading
scientists, he strode to his star-ship, patted it affectionately and
then withdrew the great atom blaster. A few minutes of calculating with
the Roxitometer and he located the exact position of the deposit of
Roxite.

The little people watched in awe as he held the powerful blast firmly
in his two capable hands and guided its probings down into the bowels
of the planet. After many hours of prodigious labor he had drawn enough
Roxite from the cavity to sustain him comfortably for the rest of his
natural life back on Earth.

He thought often of Earth now. For though this planet was very
beautiful, a peculiar sort of a homesickness plagued him, and he longed
more and more to return and view again the world of his birth.

He was strolling through one of the gorgeous forest paths with Trajores
one day when the urge to confide in her finally beat down his barrier
of timidity. He stopped her with a touch of his hand and told her.

"I have been very happy here with your people."

"I am so glad," she replied mentally.

That made what he wanted to say extremely difficult. His throat
suddenly congested, though he knew that it was only a nervous muscular
reaction.

"Trajores," he said, gruffly, sadly, "I've been thinking of returning
to my own planet, Earth. I have enough Roxite to insure a reasonable
status of existence. I wish I might stay longer...."

Trajores stood immobile. She seemed to be thinking. Strangely enough
a queer battle of emotions mirrored itself in her delicate features.
Drawers felt vaguely uncomfortable alone with her. He wondered where
Persum had wandered to. He had started out, as usual, with them, but
somehow had drifted away, leaving him alone with Trajores.

"Michel Drawers," came an urgent thought.

Drawers riveted his attention upon the radiant woman.

"I wish you would stay here with me always. I know you would be very
happy. I, I," two great golden tears rolled down her well-molded
cheeks, and impulsively she flung herself into his big arms, and for
the first time since his arrival he heard one of these little people
give vent to a sound. It was a sob--and it came from Trajores.

Drawers stood puzzled. Instinctively he scratched his rough skull.

"Why. Why?" seemed all he could say.

"Why, you fool," came a probing voice, "don't you realize she loves
you!"

Persum was standing a few feet away, his features rigid in stern
sincerity.

"Love, me? Me, Michel Drawers? Why, I am not handsome. I am ugly. I am
not beautiful like your race. I am big and rough and hairy. How can she
love a man like me? I could not even communicate by mental telepathy
before I came here. I am just a man from another civilization, away
because there was no place for me. How can she love me?"

There was mute appeal in Drawers' voice. He didn't know that he was
crying like a child. He didn't know that he had unconsciously fallen
to his knees. He didn't know anything except that Persum had said that
this beautiful, adorable, heavenly little creature loved him. Him,
Michel Drawers, a big, clumsy oaf, without even a proper knowledge of
manners or psychology.

And as from the distance--clear as a bell--lovely as the strummings of
a harpsichord it came to him.

"Michel Drawers, I love you for what you are. For your innate goodness
of soul. For your humble deserving modesty. For your mighty strength.
I love you for your bigness, for your naturalness and for something
else--some indefinable spark that has made our lives as one, that has
caused you to search me out across the inconceivable immensity of a
thousand universes. That is all I know, and one other thing. I can
never leave you. If you go, I go with you."

If you can imagine the emotions of a man unjustly sentenced and finally
released from prison after six years of hell; if you can imagine what
it would mean to have each of your faults become instead an additional
virtue. If you can imagine the joy of having all of your fondest dreams
come true--then, and only then, may you comprehend for one fleeting
instant, the pounding chaos, the indescribable joy, the interminable
relief that permeated Michel Drawers' being at that moment.

Those two hairy arms that had pounded the most savage and horrible
beasts this world had ever known into bleeding pulp slipped tenderly,
reverently about the exquisite form of Trajores. And as Persum slipped
discreetly away, lips closed upon lips in the manner of lovers
immemorial. And the gods of fate laughed at the importance two nothings
in the mighty scheme of things attached to an equally undefinable
nothing called love.

Now Michel Drawers lived in perpetual delirium. A delirium of
unreasoning delight. He readied his "Star-Struck" for a voyage into
space and a renewal of his search to find the way back--the way back
with everything worthwhile to take with him.

And he barely acknowledged the farewells of a fine people, so intense
was his desire to leave.

There was a sort of solemn rigidity in their farewell attitude. A
brooding, soft, strange sorrow, and they seemed to wonder, too, to wish
as well, thoughts they dared not express. To see their great dream for
the reuniting of the cities come crashing down; to view their momentary
gains as a hollow mockery in the years to come.

All this Michel Drawers did not notice. He waved one big arm and with
the other pulled back the starting lever. His great frame pressed back
in agony at the terrible acceleration of the takeoff. And then he was
free--free again of binding gravitation; free to search the space-ways
with the woman he loved beside him; free to return to a world that had
discarded him, to be again a respected citizen.

And then he saw Trajores, her lovely form inert, a trickle of golden
blood issuing from her mouth, and he was overcome with remorse at his
own thoughtlessness. With fear and trepidation he raised her head and
pressed a vial of revivifying liquid to her lips. She sighed softly and
mustered a feeble smile.

"It is all right," she appeared to murmur. "Go on."

Michel Drawers stepped back to the controls. There was an air of
resolute determination about him. His enormous fingers manipulated the
proper switches with unbelievable skill and speed. The petite little
"Star-Struck" swerved on her course and turned in a semicircle that
encompassed millions of miles.

Michel Drawers' mind was comprehending things he had never fully
realized before. Trajores must never be taken to Earth. She must be
returned to her own world with its kinder gravitation and its lovable
golden people. To take her to Earth would be to doom her to a life of
indescribable suffering.

And, too, what would he be on Earth? They would grant him permission
to marry, to settle down and live his life a useless cog in society,
simply because he had been fortunate enough to return with a large
supply of the precious Roxite, not because of what he, himself, was or
had been.

But with the golden people he was not simply a useless hulk of a man.
He was Michel Drawers, the man who had introduced the most startling
innovations the golden people had known in thousands of years! A man
who could hold his head high and look another person squarely in the
face. The only man who might rid the planet of the dread Griffs and
restore a beleaguered people to their rightful heritage.

Back in the golden city of Saeve no thought of his mental inferiority
was entertained. All treated him with respect. It was a world where for
the first time in his life he had found some measure of happiness, and
possibly there might also be contentment.

The shimmering world began to take form beneath them.

Trajores moved and thought, "Michel, that is not the way back."

And Michel Drawers smiled within himself and answered joyously.

"Yes, Trajores, that _is_ the way back--the only way for you and me."

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64818 ***