"And in terms of our world," said Laloi, spinning sadly over the ground, "they may be far too late ..." "No!" In his excitement, Buos forgot himself and entwined with the flowing form of the she-creature, and the result was a rending of the air that cracked like heat lightning over the field. "No," he repeated again. "They must not be too late. They must learn. They must build from the very ground, and then they must fly. And then their eyes must be lifted to the stars, and desire must extend them to all the universe ..." "It seems so hopeless--" "It cannot be! Our destiny is not extinction. They must come to us, in fleets of silver, and replant our soil, and send towers of green shooting into our sky, breathing out air." "Yes, yes!" Laloi cried pitifully. "It will be that way, Buos. It will be that way! That man-creature, we will begin with him ..." Buos floated earthward disconsolately. "He is a dreamer," he said cheerlessly. "His mind is good; he thinks of tomorrow; he is one of the knowing ones. But he cannot be moved, Laloi. His thoughts may fester and die in the prison of his brain ..." "No, they will not! We have watched him. He understands much. He will help us!" "I have seen his like before," said Buos hopelessly. "He thinks and he works, and his conclusions will die stillborn, for lack of a moving force ..." "Then let us provide it, Buos. Let us move him!" "With what?" said the other disdainfully. "Arms of nothing? Hands of vacuum? A breeze against his cheek? A rustle of leaves? A meaningless whistle in his ear?" "Let us try. Let us try! This empty watchfulness is destroying us. Let us move him, Buos. Come!" Faster than the sky-sweeping clouds they flew, over the gently swelling hills, over the yearning branches of the trees, over the calm blue waters of the lakes. Swifter than the flight of birds they came, searching for a thinking mind ... They found him at last. "He knows, he knows," said Laloi. "Only now to say 'this is so because' and 'this must happen when'! Only to think--to understand--" They hovered over his head, in a pandemonium of helplessness. They whirled, and tumbled, and shrilly circled. And then to Laloi the inspiration came. The apple, caught by a sudden gust of wind, twisted from the tenuous hold of the tree and fell to the ground. The man, startled, picked it up. He gazed at it, deep in thought. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ January 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.