Once more he fired into the sea, and once more the steam pillars rose. "I am the God of Fire. I fly in the hands of flame. I walk on the air. I burn the land and the sea. I am Merssu!"

The priest's face lost its tolerant amusement. His mouth twisted in scorn.

"Walk on the air, do you? In a Mark XI Antigrav belt, yes. Burn sea and land, eh? With a sungun, certainly. Fly in hands of flame? If you wish to be picturesque about it, yes—but so does every drunken fool of a spaceman."

"I tell you, I am Merssu!" Merssu screamed. "Bow down and worship!"

"Silence!" The priest's voice was dangerous, "You will come with us to the temple. There you'll see how we worship imposters!"

"I'll kill you!" Merssu shouted, raising his gun.

The priest motioned with his hand. The man with him blew Merssu's head off.

"Blasphemer!" the priest spat disdainfully, his voice filled with disgust. He and his retainer turned back to the car, leaving the body to be carted away later.

Every evening at sunset, the priests of Merssu stand over their altars and intone the words.

"He will return. Merssu the Firegod—Merssu, the immortal Bringer of Fire—will return."

And the people of Merssu's world intone in reply, "He will return." Throughout the galaxies of hyperspace, wherever the men of Merssu's world may wander, there are other priests, and other races that respond, but the ritual is always the same.

"He will return."

And the city waits. The planet waits, and the other planets about the other stars through all the galaxies of hyperspace wait.

They always will.

 Prev. P 5/5