For the next earth week the Prophet, his legs crossed like a yogi, floated above the deck in front of a microbook screen.
"The planet called Aphrodite, which will be called Houri from henceforth, is my choice," he said at last.
Jan went into his stateroom and heaved a sigh of relief. Then he busied himself with the complications of setting a course for Houri nee Aphrodite.
The rest of the voyage was uneventful. They made a successful landing on the large north pole island. For several hours they waited for the molten glass of the blasted beach to cool before venturing to open the hatch. Both Mohcans and crew were sick with the pangs of restored gravity. The Mohcans attempted hymns of deliverance but broke them off breathlessly before they were finished.
Jan hoped to unload his unwanted passengers and then blast off for the nearest planet with a human colony. Quietly he had passed the word to all the crew except Jimpson the convert.
He had reckoned without taking into consideration the cunning of the Prophet. When Jan gave the word to open the hatch, each crewman found himself covered by a pair of blasters.
"Leave the ship," the Prophet ordered.
They marched slowly, heavily, in the unfamiliar gravity across the beach to the forest. The trees were filled with the bird-like dominant race. One of the Mohcans lifted a blaster.
"I don't think I would do it," Jan said. "No one knows just what these creatures can do. It might be the last act of our lives."
"Don't shoot," said the African. "Halt! Wait for the Prophet."