Wo!' The denial crashed like an angry thunderbolt upon us. Again the image of unimaginable space and of thousands of points of light — of swirling nebulae, of solar systems, mighty double suns and island universes.
'He means the universe,' said Scott.
'Certainly they came from our universe,' I replied. 'The universe is everything, isn't it — all existing things?'
Again the negative of the Creator burned its way into our brains.
'You are mistaken, Earthman. Your knowledge here counts as nothing. You are mere infants. But come; I will show you what your universe consists of.'
OUR UNIVERSE?
Streamers of light writhed down from the cone toward us. As we shrank back they coiled about our waists and gently lifted us. Soothing thoughts flowed over us, instructions to commit ourselves unreservedly to the care of the Creator, to fear no harm. Under this reassurance, my fears quieted. I felt that I was under the protection of a benevolent being, that his great power and compassion would shield me in this strange world. A Creator, in very truth!
The Creator glided across the floor to set us on our feet on the top of a huge table, which stood about seven feet above the floor level.
On the tabletop, directly before me, I saw a thin oval receptacle, made of a substance resembling glass. It was about a foot across its greatest length and perhaps a little more than half as wide and about four inches deep. The receptacle was filled with a sort of grayish substance, a mass of puttylike material. To me it suggested nothing more than a mass of brain substance.
'There,' said the Creator, pointing a light-streamer finger at the disgusting mass, 'is your universe.'