"Well, my friend?" he asked. Dirk smiled grimly. "Very!" he replied. "It has been a day Graed Garroway will long remember ... if I give him a chance to do so." "Your plans were successful?" "Perfectly. I assisted one of my erstwhile comrades in the destruction of a vital munitions storehouse, robbed a tax collector of his monies and the Emperor's own daughter of her jewels, and distributed these where they were needed most ... amongst the poverty-ridden families of the capital." Morris chuckled. "There will be more surprised faces tomorrow when those poor devils wake to find themselves richer by a king's ransom than when they sought their pallets." "Still," said Slador thoughtfully, "you have really accomplished little. It would take a thousand men as many years to redistribute the tribute Garroway's army has exacted from the people of your homeland--" "That is true. But this is only a beginning; a few, minor incidents created to strike fear and awe into Garroway's hirelings. Later, I will strike at more vital spots. And as for men ... there will be not thousands, but millions, to rally when Garroway's force begins to weaken." Slador nodded. "Yes, that I believe. It is the history of mankind. Ever there have been millions to arise when oppression grows unbearable." A remembered question stirred in Dirk's mind; something which had vaguely puzzled him in his previous conversations with the Nadronian. He asked, "How is it, Ptan Slador, you know so much about the history of Earthmen? And how, even more strangely, does it come about that you of Nadron and we of Earth are identical in physical structure? Man's space-vessels have flamed to the farthermost planets of our sun, but nowhere else was ever found a life-form similar to that on our own Earth. "The Venusians resemble us, but are taller by many feet, heavier, slower of wit. The Plutonians again look like us ... save for the fact that their skins are green. Yet you, not only removed from our Solar Galaxy, but from our very ken of knowledge, might be a brother of my own." The Ptan smiled slowly. "And so, in fact, I am, Dirk Morris." "What?" "A brother many times and many centuries removed. Tell me ... have you never heard of the land of Aztlan?" "Azt--?" Dirk pondered, shook his head. "No. I'm afraid I have not, Slador. Where was it ... or is it?" "It was," answered the older man, "an island in the ocean you Earthmen now call the 'Atlantic' The very ocean takes its name from our once-great nation--" "Aztlan!" ejaculated Morris. "Atlantis! Of course! Now I remember. It is a myth ... a fable ... of an island which sank beneath the waves countless centuries ago! But surely, sir, you don't mean--?" * * * * * "I mean," Slador assured him gravely, "that legend is no fable, but veritable truth. Yes, my son, there _was_ such an island ... and we of Nadron were once the rulers of that island, and of your world.