The two men traveled on. The Venusian dawn came swiftly.
"You see, Mac," Arlen went on, "we're not human beings to Renzu, but part of an experiment. Science has overshadowed Renzu's sense of values. Perhaps he murdered Jimmy Brooks; we know he would have murdered us to perfect an experiment. Renzu was creating life, and he would kill to do it. He wanted to be the god of a world that started with a complex organism instead of a simple microbe."
"The only trouble is that the life lacked instincts that it took terrestrial animals millions of years to acquire," McFerson added.
"That's what creation may be, Mac," said Arlen. "We did more in a few minutes than Renzu did with all his scientific knowledge. Gheal learned the meaning of gratitude. I treated him kindly, and he repaid me by helping us escape."
They reached the ship. The sea was boiling over the sands. Here and there, along the water's edge as the dawn broke over Venus, they saw globose formations of inanimate Venusian protoplasm, seemingly awaiting the spark that would turn them into living organisms.
Venus was in an azoic age, but life was beginning to appear. It was life created by a human god, who also was a human devil, a monster. Future generations of Venusians might worship Harry Renzu, unknowing that it was the lowly Gheal that brought the first worthwhile instinct to their race.
Somewhere, far behind in the canyon, were four hideous monsters and a beast that resembled a serpent. This stampede of protoplasmic creation was led by its mad god, driven onward by the lust of this insane demiurge for the bones of his fellow deities.
"Okay!" said Arlen, priming the rockets.
"Okay!" shouted McFerson.
The Traveler was ready to rocket home.