A vehicle moves off from the buildings, heading in our direction. I switch off my rockets, a prey to an increasingly feverish excitement What a story I shall have to tell my fellow humans! Perhaps they won’t believe me at first, but I have proof. I have Nova, I have my son.
The vehicle approaches. It is a truck and a fairly old-fashioned model: four wheels and a combustion engine. I automatically register these details. I should have thought such vehicles had been relegated to museums long ago.
I also expected a somewhat more official reception. There are very few people here to greet me. Only two men, as far as I can see. But how stupid I am—of course they cannot know. But when they do know . . .!
Yes, there are two of them. I cannot see them distinctly because of the setting sun reflected on the windshield, an extremely dirty windshield. Just the driver and one passenger. The latter wears a uniform. He is an officer; I can see the glitter of his badges of rank. The commander of the airport, probably. The others will follow.
The truck stops fifty yards from us. I pick my son up in my arms and leave the launch. Nova follows us after a moment’s hesitation. She looks frightened but she will soon get over it.
The driver gets out of the vehicle. He has his back turned to me. He is half concealed by the long grass growing in the space between us. He opens the door for the passenger to alight I was not mistaken, he is an officer; a senior officer, as I now see from his badges of rank. He jumps down. He takes a few steps toward us, emerges from the grass, and at last appears in full view. Nova utters a scream, snatches my son from me, and rushes back with him to the launch, while I remain rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle or utter a sound. He is a gorilla.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Phyllis and Jinn raised their heads from the manuscript over which they had been bending together and looked at each other for some time without saying a word.
“A likely story,” said Jinn at last, forcing a smile to his lips.
Phyllis remained wrapped in thought. Certain parts of the story had moved her and seemed to contain a germ of truth. She said so to her companion.
“It just shows there are poets everywhere, in every corner of the cosmos, and practical jokers, too.”
She pondered over this, but was not so easily convinced as he was. However, she reluctantly agreed.
“You’re right, Jinn. That’s what I think. . . . Rational men? Men endowed with a mind? Men inspired by intelligence? No, that’s not possible; there the author has gone too far. But it’s a pity!”
“I quite agree,” said Jinn. “Now it’s time we started back.”
He let out the sail, exposing it to the combined rays of the three suns. Then he began to manipulate the driving levers, using his four agile hands, while Phyllis, after dismissing a last shred of doubt with an energetic shake of her velvety ears, took out her compact and, in view of their return to port, touched up her dear little chimpanzee muzzle.
THE END