Snap was in his seat when I arrived. He eyed me down the length of the table.
“Good morning, Gregg. We missed you at breakfast. Not pressure-sick, I hope?”
There were three passengers already seated at our table––all men. Snap, in a gay mood, introduced me.
“This is our third officer, Gregg Haljan. Big, handsome fellow, isn’t he? And as pleasant as he is good-looking. Gregg, this is Sero Ob Hahn.”
I met the keen, dark-eyed somber gaze of a Venus man of middle age. A small, slim, graceful man, with sleek black hair. His pointed face, accentuated by the pointed beard, was pallid. He wore a white and purple robe; upon his breast was a huge platinum ornament, a device like a star and cross entwined.
“I am happy to meet you, sir.” His voice was soft and sleek.
“Ob Hahn,” I repeated. “I should have heard of you, no doubt. But––”
A smile plucked at his thin, gray lips. “That is the error of mine, not yours. My mission is that all the universe shall hear of me.”
“He’s preaching the religion of the Venus Mystics,” Snap explained.