Helplessly we looked at each other. Then called forth perhaps by what she saw in Drake’s eyes, perhaps by another thought, Ruth’s cheeks crimsoned, her head drooped; the web of her hair hid the warm rose of her face, the frozen pallor of Ventnor’s.

Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. “Walter! Dick! Something’s happening to Martin!”

Before she had ceased we were beside her; bending over Ventnor. His mouth was opening, slowly, slowly — with an effort agonizing to watch. Then his voice came through lips that scarcely moved; faint, faint as though it floated from infinite distances, a ghost of a voice whispering with phantom breath out of a dead throat.

“Hard — hard! So hard!” the whispering complained. “Don’t know how long I can keep connection — with voice.

“Was fool to shoot. Sorry — might have gotten you in worse trouble — but crazy with fear for Ruth — thought, too, might be worth chance. Sorry — not my usual line —”

The thin thread of sound ceased. I felt my eyes fill with tears; it was like Ventnor to flay himself like this for what he thought stupidity, like him to make this effort to admit his supposed fault and crave forgiveness — as like him as that mad attack upon the flaming Disk in its own temple, surrounded by its ministers, had been so bafflingly unlike his usual cool, collected self.

“Martin,” I called, bending closer, “it’s nothing, old friend. No one blames you. Try to rouse yourself.”

“Dear,” it was Ruth, passionately tender, “it’s me. Can you hear me?”

“Only speck of consciousness and motionless in the void,” the whisper began again. “Terribly alive, terribly alone. Seem outside space yet — still in body. Can’t see, hear, feel — short-circuited from every sense — but in some strange way realize you — Ruth, Walter, Drake.

“See without seeing — here floating in darkness that is also light — black light — indescribable. In touch, too, with these —”

Again the voice trailed into silence; returned, word and phrase pouring forth disconnected, with a curious and turbulent rhythm, like rushing wave crests linked by half-seen threads of the spindrift, vocal fragments of thought swiftly assembled by some subtle faculty of the mind as they fell into a coherent, incredible message.

“Group consciousness — gigantic — operating within our sphere — operating also in spheres of vibration, energy, force — above, below one to which humanity reacts — perception, command forces known to us — but in greater degree — cognizant, manipulate unknown energies — senses known to us — unknown — can’t realize them fully — impossible cover, only impinge on contact points akin to our senses, forces — even these profoundly modified by additional ones — metallic, crystalline, magnetic, electric — inorganic with every power of organic — consciousness basically same as ours — profoundly changed by differences in mechanism through which it finds expression — difference our bodies — theirs.

“Conscious, mobile — inexorable, invulnerable. Getting clearer — see more clearly — see —” the voice shrilled out in a shuddering, thin lash of despair —“No! No — oh, God — no!”

Then clearly and solemnly:

“And God said: let us make men in our image, after our likeness, and let them have dominion over all the earth, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.”

A silence; we bent closer, listening; the still, small voice took up the thread once more — but clearly further on. Something we had missed between that text from Genesis and what we were now hearing; something that even as he had warned us, he had not been able to articulate. The whisper broke through clearly in the middle of a sentence.

“Nor is Jehovah the God of myriads of millions who through those same ............