"Who are you, Kohonnes?" he cried out in space patois.
"Eh? What's that? Who's out there?... It isn't—can't be! Grim Thorssen?"
Grim laughed. He knew that voice anywhere.
"You old spacedog! What're you trying to do—ruin the Unions Council?"
"The Council? What have I to do with them?"
"The force this machine applies escapes into space. It bends the Caravans and the Fleet cruisers. It smashes them—sends them flying on into the void like so many wrecked planets. They'll go on and on—until they find a planet to crash on or make an orbit around."
There was a pause. Althaya cried out harshly; whirled and fled toward the mouthlike door where light filtered in in grey beams.
The machine stopped humming. A door opened in it. A man with white hair and a smooth, shaven face stepped onto the floor of the temple. He grinned at the Viking, threw both arms high into the air.
Grim said, "Jasper Jones! I knew you'd gone into retirement—but I never thought you'd set yourself up as a god."
The old man laughed, keen blue eyes dancing. "I was always interested in sound, Grim. I had some theories, theories that my colleagues said were crazy, impractical. So when I retired I came to this little planet that I'd discovered a long time ago—and set myself up in comfort.