Suddenly his face contorted; his arm shook as he pounded his fist on his chair. "I shall not tolerate it. They are all to die. Nor in the city of Shan itself will I have rebellion. I am a man of peace--there shall be no strife. And each year, from Earth, more of my men will come to mate with the Venus women. The new race. The new Empire of Curtmann. Is it not a wonderful future, Venta? I shall make you Empress." "Yes," she murmured. "Race of the Gods," he said. "And I--Karl Curtmann--" He checked himself. There was a little sound of beating wings here in the dim starlit room. I turned as through the door a tiny shape came like a fluttering bird through the air. A footlong bronze man-shape. One of the Midge! Again my mind leaped back to that little figure in the Adirondac forest. It had had wings, though then I had not noticed them. This one came and poised on the arm of Curtmann's chair. "What is it, Rahn?" he said. The Midge's voice was tiny, but clear. "The flight-master has asked that you come now to check his calculations of our course." The English words, taught to this Midge, were quaintly intoned. The voice was gentle, humble. Curtmann stood up. "All right. I shall go." He waved an arm at the burly Frantz who was standing silently to one side. "Our captives can remain here, Frantz." He turned, smiled gently at Venta, and strode from the room. * * * * * As the days passed we were allowed a fair freedom of movement. A freedom to plan--what? I must confess that Jim and I had no conception of what we might do in circumstances like these. Once Venta had whispered to me, "We shall escape from here--it can be done." Escape from this Curtmann, join Venta's grandfather--old Prytan--out there in the Venus Forest City.... Certainly it was all that Jim and I could hope for. And then came that night when the misty lead-grey ball of Venus had grown to a monstrous disc beneath us, with the cone of its shadow blotting out the Sun as we dropped down into the heavy Venus atmosphere. There came a moment when Venta, Jim and I were alone, and from the dim corridor with a little beat of wings, Rhan, the Midge, came to join us. He was carrying an oxohydro heat-torch. Amazing little man-shape. The alumite torch was as big as himself, and heavier. His diaphanous, dragonfly wings struggled with it. Like a giant flying ant, with an ant's monstrous strength in proportion to its size. Panting, he fluttered heavily and laid it at my feet. "You, the Great God," he said. "I serve you. Here it is." He stood now by the torch he had brought. The muscles on his broad chest heaved under the sleek bronzed skin with his panting breath. "For you," he added. "No one saw me. I got it for you. I did well, Seyla Venta?"