The captain put a finger in his book to mark his place, which was, he knew with a kind of supernal detachment, rather foolish, because there was no prospect of there ever being lights to read by again. "Put him in irons, if you can find him," he ordered. "And tell the men to prepare themselves gracefully for a lingering death." Iversen could hear a faint creak as the first officer drew himself to attention in the darkness. "The men of the _Herringbone_, sir," he said, stiffly, "are always prepared for calamity." "Ay, that we are," agreed various voices. So they were all there, were they? Well, it was too much to expect that they would leave him in death any more than they had in life. "It is well," Iversen said. "It is well," he repeated, unable to think of anything more fitting. Suddenly the lights went on again and the ship gave a leap. From his sprawling position on the floor, amid his recumbent officers, Iversen could hear the hum of motors galvanized into life. "But if the fuel tanks are empty," he asked of no one in particular, "where did the power come from?" "I am the power," said a vast, deep voice that filled the ship from hold to hold. "And the glory," said the radio operator reverently. "Don't forget the glory." "No," the voice replied and it was the voice of Bridey, resonant with all the amplitude of the immense chest cavity he had acquired. "Not the glory, merely the power. I have reached a higher plane of existence. I am a spaceship." "Praise be to the Ultimate Nothingness!" Harkaway cried. "Ultimate Nothingness, nothing!" Bridey said impatiently. "I achieved it all myself." "Then that's how the Flimbotzi spaceships were powered!" Iversen exclaimed. "By themselves--the Flimbotzik themselves, I mean--" "Even so," Bridey replied grandly. "And this lofty form of life happens to be one which we poor humans cannot reach unassisted. Someone has to build the shell for us to occupy, which is the reason humans dwell together in fellowship and harmony--" "You purposely got Harkaway to take you aboard the _Herringbone_," Iversen interrupted wrathfully. "You--you stowaway!" Bridey's laugh rang through the ship, setting the loose parts quivering. "Of course. When first I set eyes upon this vessel of yours, I saw before me the epitome of all dreams. Never had any of our kind so splendid an encasement. And, upon determining that the vessel was, as yet, a soulless thing, I got myself aboard; I was born, I died, and was reborn again with the greatest swiftness consonant with comfort, so that I could awaken in this magnificent form. Oh, joy, joy, joy!" "You know," Iversen said, "now that I hear one of you talk at length, I really can't blame Harkaway for his typically imbecilic mistake." "We are a wordy species," Bridey conceded. "You had no right to do what you did," Iversen told him, "no right to take over--"