Dreyer shook his head. "No, I think not, unless it pleases them. Should I ever recommend destruction of the alien, I would have to work through you. And that would take much convincing, would it not?" "Plenty," said Underwood. "Are you recommending that now?" "Not yet. No, not yet." Slowly, Dreyer moved away toward the massive bath that housed the alien, Demarzule, Hetrarra of Sirenia, the Great One. * * * * * Underwood watching the beetle-back of the semanticist felt deflated by the encounter. Dreyer seemed always so nerve-rackingly calm. Underwood wondered if it were possible to acquire such immunity to turmoil. He turned back to Terry, who had stood in silent agreement with Dreyer. "How are you and Phyfe coming along?" "It's a slow business, even with the help of the key in the repository. That was apparently pure Stroid III, but we have two other languages or dialects that are quite different and we seem to have more specimens of those than we do of Stroid III. Phyfe thinks he's on the way to cracking both Stroid I and II, though. Personally, I'd like to get back out to the asteroids, if it weren't for Demarzule. I wasn't meant to be a scholar." "Stick with it. I'm hoping that we can have some kind of idea what the Stroid civilization was like by the time Demarzule revives." "How is it coming?" "Cell formation is taking place, but how organs will ever develop is more than I can see. We're just waiting and observing. Four motion picture cameras are constantly at work, some through electron microscopes. At the end of six months we'll at least have a record of what occurred, regardless of what it is." The mass of life grew and multiplied its millions of cells. Meanwhile, another growth, less tangible but no less real, was swiftly rising and spreading through the Earth. The mind of each man it encompassed was one of its cells, and they were multiplying no less rapidly than those of the growth within the marble museum building. The leadership of men by men had proven false beyond all hope of ever restoring the dream of a mortal man who could raise his fellows to the heights of the stars. But the Great One was something else again. Utterly beyond all Earthly build and untainted with the flaws of Earthmen, he was the gift of the gods to man--he _was_ a god who would lift man to the eternal heights of which he had dreamed. The flame spread and leaped the oceans of Earth. It swept up all creeds and races and colors. Delmar Underwood looked up from his desk in annoyance as a pompous, red-faced man of short, stout build was ushered in by his secretary. The man halted halfway between the door and the desk and bowed slightly. He said, "I address the Prophet Underwood by special commission of the Disciples." "What the devil--?" Underwood frowned and extended a hand toward a button. But he didn't ring. The visitor extended an envelope. "And by special authorization of Director Boarder of the Institute!"