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contrast to Krolgul’s, stood Incent, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, for he was not able to find or maintain a satisfactory public pose. Krolgul saw me, as I intended. In this crowd of heavy, slow people, there were three who stood out: me, basic Canopean, but here seen as ‘Volyen,’ as anything alien has to be; Incent, so slight and lithe and nervous; and Krolgul, though he does everything to look Volyenadnan.
    You may remember Krolgul as a large, not to say fleshy, easygoing, affable goodfellow, all eagerness to please: his adaptation on this planet is quite a triumph of self-discipline, for he has created a dedicated, brooding, heroic
personal
known to live in a bare room on less than a worker’s wage, he has a smile so rare that it has inspired ballads.
    â€¦ Volyen’s minions fired.
Our dead lay on the ground.
Krolgul frowned.
‘We shall march,’ we cried,
In accents stern and wild.
And Krolgul smiled.
    The trouble here is that these people are so slow to move, and Krolgul has been given little occasion for smiling. What he wants them to do is ‘rise all at once, once and for all’ and take over everything.
    What is preventing this is the basic common sense of the Volyenadnans, who know from the bitterest experience that the Volyen armies are efficient and ruthless.
    So Krolgul started to build up a head of hate, at first directed towards ‘all Volyen,’ and then, this proving too general a target to be effective, at Lord Grice, the Volyen Governor, whose name has acquired, like additional titles,epithets such as Greasy, Gross, Greatfat, Greenguts. To such a point that a citizen may be heard saying something like ‘Lord Grice Greatfat visited so-and-so yesterday,’ but so much a matter of habit has this become that he himself might not be aware of it. And even Lord Grice, so the rumour has it, was once heard to introduce himself on a ceremonial visit to a local governor, ‘I’m Grice the Greasy, don’t you know……’
    As a matter of fact, he is a tall, dry, rather weedy fellow, of a natural melancholy much enhanced by the rigours of this planet, and full of doubts as to his role as Governor.
    This genuine representative of Volyen was at a window of the Residency that stands on the square, listening to Krolgul and making no attempt at all to conceal himself.
    He was a threat to Krolgul’s oratory, because the people in the square had only to turn their heads to see this criminal …
    â€˜And what are we to say about that arch-charlatan Grice the Greedy! In one person we see embodied the whole villainy of the Volyen tyranny! Sucking the blood of the …’ And so on.
    The crowd had begun to growl and stir. These lethargic, stolid people were at last showing signs of action.
    Krolgul, however, did not want them actually to storm the Residency. He intended to use Grice as a means for a good while yet. Therefore, he skilfully swung them into song. We will march, We will march, We will overthrow … and the mass roared into song.
    A few youths at the back of the crowd, longing for action, turned towards the Residency, saw in a window on the first floor a solitary figure, swarmed up onto the balcony, and confronted this observer with shouts of ‘We’ve come to get him! Don’t try to hide him. Where’s Grice the Guts?’
    â€˜Here,’ said Grice, coming forward with modest alacrity.
    At which the louts spat at him, aimed a kick or two in his direction, and told him to warn Grice-Guts they were‘coming to do him.’ They then jumped back into the crowd and joined in the singing.
    The singing was less fervent, however, than Krolgul wanted. The faces I looked at, while entranced by the singing, were still patient, even thoughtful.
    I went into a little eating place on the square and watched the crowds disperse.
    Down from the plinth came Krolgul, smiling and acknowledging homage (comradely