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of the trivial and placid, the glorification of mediocrity?”
    “Perhaps,” I said.
    “Will our blood have been shed,” he asked, “to bring about so miniscule an achievement, the contentment of the herd browsing among the dunes of boredom?”
    “They will have their petty concerns,” I said, “which will seem important to them.”
    He looked down, angrily.
    “And they will have their entertainments and their stimulations. There will be industries which will attempt to assuage their boredom.”
    “But will nothing truly matter?” he asked.
    “Perhaps men must sleep before they wake,” I said.
    “I do not understand,” he said.
    “There are the stars,” I said.
    “The Kurii stand between us and the stars,” said Samos.
    “Perhaps we labor,” said I, “to open the gates to the stars.”
    “Men will never seek them,” said Samos.
    “Some men will,” I said.
    “But the others will not help them, and the adventure will fall,” said Samos.
    “Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.” I looked at him. “Much depends on what men are,” I said.
    “His measure has not yet been taken,” said Samos.
    “And perhaps it will never be taken,” I said, “and cannot he taken. Every bound you set him will show him a place beyond which he can place his foot or hand.”
    “Perhaps,” smiled Samos.
    “I have hunted, and I have been hunted,” I said.
    “Why do you say this?” he asked.
    “And in hunting, and in being hunted,” I said, “I have been alive.”
    “Yes,” said Samos. “But why are you saying this?”
    “Do you not see?” I asked him. ‘The conflict, the struggle, even if it should issue in the triumph of the leveled herd, each smiling and trying to be the same as the other, will yet have been ours, and cannot be taken from us.”
    “Yes,” said Samos.
    “Ours will have been the war,” I said.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “It is our hand that will have grasped the hilt of the sword. It is we, not they, who will have met the enemy. Let them weep that they were not there.”
    “Yes,” said Samos, “I would not be other than I am, and I would not be other than where I am.”
    “The meaning of history,” I said, “lies not in the future. It is like a range of mountains with many summits. Great deeds are the meaning of history. There are many meanings and many summits. One may climb different mountains at different times, but each mountain glows in the same sun.”
    “The Kurii must be met!” said Samos.
    “Perhaps we will choose to do so,” I said.
    “You are a monster, Captain,” he laughed.
    “I am of the warriors,” I said.
    “I know your sort,” he said. “It is the fight you relish. What a wicked sort you are, and yet how useful!”
    I shrugged.
    “You see a fight you want, you take it,” he said. “You see a woman you like, you take her.”
    “Perhaps if she pleased me,” I said.
    “You would do as you wished,” he said.
    “Of course,” I said.
    “Warrior!” said he.
    “Yes, Warrior,” I said.
    “The eyes will be painted, and the ship will be launched at dawn,” he said.
    I rose to my feet. “Let us not be precipitate,” I said.
    He looked at me, startled.
    “Supplies must be laid in,” I said. “Too, a crew must be recruited. Too, there must be an acceptable preliminary voyage, to test the handling of the ship, and its seaworthiness.”
    “Time is crucial!” he said. “I can give you supplies, men.”
    “I must think of these things,” I said. “And if I am to sail with men I must pick them myself, for our lives would depend upon one another.”
    “Half-Ear waits at the world’s end!” cried Samos.
    “Let him wait,” I said.
    Samos looked at me, irritated.
    “If he is truly waiting,” I said, “there is no great hurry.” I looked at Samos. “Besides,” said I, “it may take months to reach the world’s end, if it can be reached at all.”
    “That is true,” said Samos.
    “Besides,” I said, “it is En’Kara.”
    “So?”