culture when an older savior dies. We couldn't possibly introduce two self-deluded Gautama Buddhas into one culture simultaneously. Oh! what dissension that would cause! But, in event of one John the Baptist, for instance, we could, at the same time, accommodate one Caesar, one Pontius Pilate, one Matthew, one Mark, one Luke, one John, along with him. You see?"

"I think so."

"When you put one Mohammed into juxtaposition with one pseudo-contemporary of ancient times, history repeats itself. All the drama of ancient times is being re-enacted here on these planetoids. Everybody's happy, insanity is banished, drama lives."

"Sounds faintly blasphemous."

"Hardly. They're happy, normal, to themselves. See that planet, there? Somewhere on it is a Joan of Arc listening for angel voices. Over there, see! A Mecca waits for a Mohammed to appear so they may finish out their acts."

"It's frightening."

"Somewhat." The captain walked off, away. Lisabeth watched him go.

Asteroid Number 36 swung up and under the ship!

Other planetoids whirled by. Lisabeth watched them from her cell. They moved on the deep ocean blackness, full of some hidden drama and tragedy she could not fathom.

"There's Othello's planet!" cried John. "I read about that one."

"Oh." Alice was drinking steadily. She sat in a rubberoid chair, her eyes glazed. "Oh. Well, well. Isn't that nice, isn't it?"

"Othello and Desdemona and Iago! Warriors and banners and trumpets. Gosh, what it must be like down there."

More planetoids, more, more, Lisabeth counted them with her simple, moving, pink lips. Moving, moving. More. There, and there!

"Down there somewhere is a man who thinks he's Shakespeare!"

"Good for him, good," murmured Alice, putting down her drink, lazily.

"Stratford on Avon's down there, and strolling minstrels. All you do is bring some crazy fellow from Maine who thinks he's Shakespeare up here and there's the culture waiting for him, to really make him into Shakespeare! And do you know, 

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