"Now, it looks to me," Olinski said to Henry, as we gathered closer around him, "as though your contention that all things were created alike in the universe, would also apply to the creative works of men. This rocket, if constructed on Mars—and I certainly believe it was—proves that the minds of human beings, whether they're inhabitants of the earth, or Mars, or any other planet in our universe, run in the same channel, or along similar lines."
"But why should they drive their screws in backwards?" I asked. "I can't understand it. It's so much easier the way we do it here, on earth. It sounds screwy."
Olinski smiled, but could give no explanation. "Now, this rocket," he went on, "is constructed of aluminum, and its cone-shaped nose contains a tiny bulbous chamber, in which the liquid fuel, which appears to be a mixture of highly volatile gasoline and liquid oxygen, burns to form the propulsion gases which shoot downward, like the gases from gunpowder in the ordinary fire-works rocket.
"It may be that this fuel is something we know nothing about," he went on. "Interplanetary travel involves the production of a substance that will produce more energy per pound than is required to lift that pound out of the earth's gravitational pull. We haven't been able as yet to produce such a fuel. Looks like the Martian scientists have put one over on us.
"There, you see," as he spoke, he pointed, and we all looked, "at the sides of this cone are two parallel tubes, which serve a double purpose. They are the fuel containers, and are also the standards on which are mounted the fins, or control tail, which apparently keeps the rocket on its course."
"I see it has asbestos insulation," Henry put in.
"Yes; and a circulating system that beats anything I've ever seen," Olinski said. "This creature you rescued from this rocket, practically sailed to earth in a vacuum, with the air inside trying to get out, while the oxygen he took out of the air was replenished by tanks. There they are! See?"
Henry nodded. "It's all perfectly understandable to me," he said, "and all marvelous, beyond measure."
"I'm afraid it doesn't seem perfectly all right to me, Mr. Olinski," I interposed. "You and Henry are both acting in great sincerity, but you are asking us to accept explanations that cannot be verified."
Henry turned to me, and said brusquely: "All facts so far advanced conflict in no way with the truth."