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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Divinity, by William Morrison
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Divinity
+
+Author: William Morrison
+
+Illustrator: Freas
+
+Release Date: September 16, 2007 [EBook #22623]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVINITY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                DIVINITY
+
+                          BY WILLIAM MORRISON
+
+                          ILLUSTRATED BY FREAS
+
+
+           Bradley had one fear in his life. He had to escape
+           regeneration. To do that, he was willing to take
+           any chance, coward though he was--even if it meant
+           that he had to become a god!
+
+
+Bradley seemed to have escaped regeneration. Now he had only death to
+worry about.
+
+Ten minutes before, he had been tumbling through the air head over
+heels, helpless and despairing. And before that--
+
+He remembered how his heart had been in his mouth as he had crept down
+the corridor of the speeding ship. He could hear Malevski's voice coming
+faintly through one of the walls, and had been tempted to run back,
+fearful of being shot down on the spot if he were caught. He had fought
+back the temptation and kept on. No one had seen him as he crept into
+the lifeboat.
+
+"This is your one chance," he told himself. "You have to take it. If
+they get you back to port, you're finished."
+
+Luck had been with him. They were broadcasting the results of the
+Mars-Earth matches at the time, and most of the crew were grouped around
+the visors. He had picked the moment when news came of a sensational
+upset, and for a minute or two after the lifeboat blasted off, no one
+realized what had happened. When the truth did penetrate, they had a
+hard time swinging the ship around, and by then the lifeboat was out of
+radar range. He was free.
+
+He had exulted wildly for a moment, until it struck him that freedom in
+space might be a doubtful gift. He would have to get to some civilized
+port, convince the port authorities that he had been shipwrecked and
+somehow separated from the other crew members, and then lose himself
+quickly in the crowd of people that he hoped would fill the place. There
+would be risks, but he would take them. It would be better than running
+out of air and food in space.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+It had been the best possible plan, and it had gone wrong, all wrong. He
+had been caught, before he knew it, in the gravity of a planet he had
+overlooked. The lifeboat had torn apart under the combined stresses of
+its forward momentum and its side rockets blasting full force, and he
+had been hurled free in his space suit, falling slowly at first, then
+faster, faster, faster--
+
+The automatic parachutes had suddenly sprung into operation when he
+reached a critical speed, and he had slowed down and stopped tumbling.
+He fell more gently, feet first, and when he landed it was with a shock
+that jarred but did no real damage.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Slowly he picked himself up and fumbled at the air valve. Something in
+the intake tubes had jammed under the shock of landing, and the air was
+no longer circulating properly. Filled with the moisture of his own
+breath, it felt hot and clammy, and clouded the viewplates.
+
+If he had kept all his wits about him he would have tried to remember,
+before he took a chance, whether the planet had an oxygen atmosphere,
+and whether the oxygen was of sufficient concentration to support human
+life. Not that he had any real choice, but it would have been good to
+know. As it was, he turned the air valve automatically, and listened
+nervously as the stale air hissed out and the fresh air hissed in.
+
+He took a deep breath. It didn't kill him. Instead, it sent his blood
+racing around with new energy. Slowly the moisture evaporated from his
+viewplates. Slowly he began to see.
+
+He perceived that he was not alone. A group of people stood in front of
+him, respectful, their own eyes full of fear and wonder. Some one
+uttered a hoarse cry and pointed at his helmet. The unclouding of the
+viewplates must have stricken them with awe.
+
+The air was wonderful to breathe. He would have liked to remove his
+helmet and fill his lungs with it unhampered, expose his face to its
+soft caress, expand his chest with the constriction of the suit. But
+these people--
+
+They must have seen him tumble down from the sky and land unhurt. They
+carried food and flowers, and now they were kneeling down to him as to
+a--Suddenly he realized. To them he was a god.
+
+The thought of it made him weak. To Malevski and the ship's crew he was
+a criminal, a cheap chiseler and pickpocket, almost a murderer, escaping
+credit for _that_ crime only by grace of his own good luck and his
+victim's thick skull. They had felt such contempt for him that they
+hadn't even bothered to guard him too carefully. They had thought him a
+complete coward, without the courage to risk an escape, without the
+intelligence to find the opportunities that might be offered to him.
+
+They hadn't realized how terrified he was of the thing with which they
+threatened him. Regeneration, the giving up of his old identity? Not for
+him. They hadn't realized that he preferred the risks of a dangerous
+escape to the certainty of _that_.
+
+And here he was a god.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He lifted his hand without thinking, to wipe away the perspiration that
+covered his forehead. But before the hand touched his helmet he realized
+what he was doing, and let the hand drop again.
+
+To the people watching him the gesture must have seemed one of double
+significance. It was at once a sign of acceptance of their food and
+flowers, and their offer of good-will, and at the same time an order to
+withdraw. They bowed, and moved backwards away from him. Behind him they
+left their gifts.
+
+They seemed human, human enough for the features on the men's faces to
+impress him as strong and resourceful, for him to recognize that the
+women were attractive. And if they were human, the food must be fit for
+human beings. Whether it was or wasn't, however, again he had no choice.
+
+He waited until they were out of sight, and then, stiffly, he removed
+his helmet and ate. The food tasted good. And with his helmet off, with
+the wind on his face, and the woods around him whispering in his ears,
+it was a meal fit for the being they thought him to be.
+
+He was a god. Possibly it was the space suit which made him one,
+especially the goggle-eyed helmet. He could take no chance of becoming
+an ordinary mortal, and that would mean that he would have to wear the
+space suit continually. Or at least the helmet. That, he decided, was
+what he would do. That would leave his body reasonably free, and at the
+same time impress them with the fact that he was different from them.
+
+By manipulating the air valve he would be able to make the viewplates
+cloud and uncloud at will, thus giving dramatic expression to his
+feelings. It would be a pleasant game to play until he had learned
+something of their language. It would be safer than trying to make
+things clear to them with speech and gestures that they could not
+understand anyway.
+
+He wondered how long it would be before Malevski would find the
+shattered lifeboat drifting in space, and then trace its course and
+decide where he had landed. That would be the end of his divinity.
+Meanwhile, until then--
+
+Until then he was a god. Unregenerated. Permanently unregenerated.
+Holding his helmet, he threw back his head and laughed loud and long,
+and wondered what his mother would have thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For awhile he was being left alone. They were afraid of him, of course,
+fearful of intruding with their merely mortal affairs upon the
+meditations of so divine a being. Later, however, curiosity and perhaps
+a desire to show him off to newcomers might draw them back. In the
+interval, it would be well to find out what sort of place this was in
+which he had landed.
+
+He looked around him. There were trees, with sharp green branches, sharp
+green twigs, sharp red leaves. He shuddered as he thought of what would
+have happened to him if he had fallen on the point of a branch. The
+trees seemed rigid and unbending in the wind that caressed his face.
+There were no birds that he could see. Small black objects bounded from
+one branch to another as if engaged in complicated games of tag. He
+wondered if the games were as serious as the one he had been playing
+with Malevski, with himself as It.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were no ground animals in sight. If any showed up later, they
+couldn't be too dangerous, not with the natives living here in such
+apparent peace and contentment. There probably wouldn't be anything that
+his pocket gun, which he had taken the precaution to remove from the
+lifeboat before that shattered, wouldn't be able to handle.
+
+Near him was a strange spring, or little river, or whatever you might
+call it. It broke from the ground, ran along the hard rocky surface for
+a dozen feet, and then plunged underground again. There were other
+springs of a similar nature scattered here and there, and now he
+realized that their combined murmuring was the noise he had mistaken, on
+first removing his helmet, for the rustle of the wind in the woods.
+
+He would have enough to drink. The natives would bring him food. What
+else could any reasonable man want?
+
+It wasn't the kind of life he had dreamed of. No Martian whiskey, no
+drugs, no night spots, no bigtime gamblers slapping him on the back and
+calling him "pal," no brassy blondes giving him the eye. Still, it was
+better than the life he had actually lived, much better. It would do, it
+would have to do.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From what he had seen of the natives, he liked them--and feared them.
+For all their mistaken faith in him, they seemed to be no fools. How
+many times before had men from some supposedly superior civilization
+dropped in upon the people of a new world and made that first impression
+of divinity, only to have the original attitude of worship by the
+natives give way to disillusion and contempt? Who was that fellow they
+told about in the history books he had read as a kid? Cortez, way back
+on Earth, when that planet itself had offered unexplored territory. And
+later on it had happened on one of the moons of Jupiter, and on several
+planets outside the System. The explorers had been gods, until they had
+been found out. Then they had been savage murderers, plunderers, devils.
+
+It would be too bad if he were found out. He was one against them all,
+he would never be able to fight off so many enemies. More than that, he
+was a stranger here, he needed friends. No, he mustn't be found out.
+
+"Better put on your helmet, dope," he told himself savagely. "They'll be
+coming back soon, and if they find you without it--" He put on his
+helmet, still muttering to himself. It wouldn't make any difference if
+he were overheard. They didn't know Earth language and would take his
+words for oracular utterances. He could talk to himself all he wanted,
+and from the looks of things, there would be no one to understand him.
+He hoped he didn't grow crazy and eccentric, like those hermits who had
+been lost alone in space for too many years.
+
+The helmet was the first nuisance. There would be others too. He
+couldn't even talk in what had become his natural manner, with a whine
+in every word, a whine that came from being treated with contempt by
+police and fellow-criminals alike. A god had to speak with slow gravity,
+with dignity. A god had to walk like a god. A god had endless
+responsibilities here, it seemed.
+
+He thought again of his mother. Ever since he could remember, it had
+been, "Georgie, wipe your nose!" and, "Georgie, keep your fingers out of
+the cake!" and Georgie do this and _don't_ do that. A fine way to speak
+to a god. Even after he had grown up, his mother had continued to treat
+him like a baby. She had never got over examining his face and his ears
+and his fingernails to make sure that he had cleaned them properly. He
+couldn't so much as comb his hair to suit her; all through his abortive
+attempt at college, and later at a job, she had done it for him.
+
+But she had been a lioness in his defense later on, when he had given
+way to that first irresistible impulse to dip his fingers in the till
+and get away with what he thought would be unnoticed petty cash. It had
+been her fault that the thing had happened, of course. She could have
+given him a decent amount of spending money, instead of doling it out to
+him from his own wages as if she were giving money for candy to a
+schoolboy. She could have treated him more like the man he was supposed
+to be.
+
+Still, he couldn't complain. She had stuck to him all the way through,
+whatever the charges against him. When that lug of a traveling salesman
+had accused her Georgie of picking his pockets, and that female refugee
+from a TV studio had charged poor harmless Georgie with slugging her, it
+was his mother who had stood up in court and denounced them, and
+solemnly told judge and jury what a sweet, kind, helplessly innocent
+lamb her Georgie was. It wasn't her fault if no one had quite believed
+her.
+
+Now he was on his own, without any possibility of help from her. And in
+what the ads called a "responsible position" that she had never so much
+as dreamed he could fill.
+
+Unfortunately, now that he had reached so exalted a level, there seemed
+to be few possibilities of promotion. There appeared only the chance, on
+the one hand, that the natives would find him out and slaughter him, and
+on the other that Malevski would track him down and bring him back to
+Earth for the punishment he dreaded.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a good thing he had put on his helmet. Not far away, a group of
+the natives was approaching, laden with more food and flowers. It was
+larger than the previous group. Evidently, as he had anticipated, they
+were showing him off to newcomers.
+
+He came to a stately halt and waited for them to approach. He could see
+the surprise on their faces as they noted his change of costume, and he
+watched nervously as they stopped to whisper among themselves. It would
+be too bad for him if they didn't like it.
+
+But they didn't seem to mind. One of them, a very impressive old man
+with green hair flecked with red, stepped in front of the others and
+made a speech, a melodious speech full of liquid sounds that were
+neither quite vowels nor consonants. He didn't have the slightest idea
+of what the individual words meant. But the significance of the speech
+as a whole was clear enough. As it came to an end, they presented him
+with more food and flowers.
+
+Bradley cleared his throat. And then, with as deep and impressive a
+voice as he could manage, he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me
+great pleasure to accept your nomination. I promise you that if elected
+I shall keep none of my promises."
+
+It was his first speech to them, and he enjoyed making it so much that
+every time he saw them during the next few days--they settled down to
+coming twice a day, morning and night--he made it again, with
+variations, listing the wonderful things he would do for them if elected
+to the office.
+
+After awhile, as he began to enjoy the ceremony for its own sake, he
+didn't mind at all putting the helmet on for two short periods every
+day. Having so little contact with them, he could learn their language
+only very slowly. He could distinguish the word for flowers from that
+for food, although he himself could pronounce neither. He knew the names
+of a few plants, a few parts of the body. And he learned a few names of
+people. The red-green haired old man was, as close as he could make the
+sounds, Yanyoo. He took the trouble to notice that the prettiest girl
+was Aoooya.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At first everything had been exceedingly peaceful. But about a week
+after his arrival--he couldn't be sure exactly how many days had passed,
+because he hadn't kept count--he learned of some of the dangers they
+faced.
+
+It was while they were holding the morning ceremony that the thing came
+out of the forest. At first he thought that a tree had moved. It was
+green, with reddish blotches like clusters of needle leaves, and it
+seemed to ooze forward toward them from among the trees. Aoooya noticed
+it first, and pointed and screamed. It was the size of a tiger, thought
+Bradley, and might be even more dangerous. He had difficulty keeping
+his eyes on the rapidly moving creature through the goggles of his
+helmet. He was aware of gleaming eyes, of two rows of dull green teeth,
+and of muscles that rippled under the green fur.
+
+Several of the men had little blowpipes, through which they released a
+shower of darts. But the darts bounced off the fur, and the thing came
+on. Bradley fumbled for his gun, and almost dropped it in his
+excitement. When he finally brought it up into aiming position, his hand
+was trembling, and his finger could hardly catch the trigger.
+
+The thing leaped into the air at the old man, Yanyoo, just as the gun
+went off. The body vaporized first, leaving for a fraction of a second
+the fierce head and the powerful legs apparently supporting themselves
+in the air. Then part of the head went, and the rest fell to the ground.
+But sheer momentum carried the green smoky vapor on, so that it
+surrounded first the old man, then several of the girls, and after them,
+Bradley himself. They were all yelling, all but Bradley, who put away
+his gun and muttered to himself in relief, and then the wind began to
+dissipate the vapor, and on the ground there was left only part of a
+head and six torn legs.
+
+They were bowing to him and raising their voices high in thanks. It was
+easy, thought Bradley. Really, it was a cinch to be a god. The beasts
+that were such great dangers to them were mere trifles to him. To him,
+with a gun loaded with a thousand thermal charges each of which was
+capable of blasting armor plate. The thing wouldn't even have come close
+if he himself hadn't been such a timid, cowardly fool. Put Malevski in
+his place, and the detective would have got the creature as it came out
+of the trees. He wasn't Malevski.
+
+It was a good thing for him that they couldn't know that. Now his
+position was completely secure. Now he could relax and enjoy his divine
+life.
+
+He didn't realize that a much greater danger was yet to come. He found
+that out after the evening ceremony.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The group that came to see him this time was bigger than ever.
+Evidently, to honor him they had dropped all other work. Yanyoo seemed
+to have constituted himself Bradley's priest. He made a tremendously
+long and rhapsodic-sounding speech, but at the end there was no donation
+of the usual food and flowers. Instead, Yanyoo backed away, all the
+others doing the same, and looking at Bradley as if expecting him to
+follow them.
+
+He followed. In this manner, with his worshippers walking respectfully
+backwards, they arrived at what seemed to Bradley to be an ordinary
+small hut. Outside the hut was what he took for a curiously shaped log
+of wood. The inside of the hut was in shadow, but as his eyes became
+accustomed to the dimness, he saw something in one corner. It was a
+weird-looking head, also of wood.
+
+It struck him then. The log of wood had been the old god, good enough to
+worship until he had come along and shown them what a god could really
+do. Now it had been contemptuously deposed and decapitated. The hut was
+a shrine. It was all his.
+
+He _had_ been promoted after all. The thought didn't please him in the
+least. Suppose _he_ failed them too--and that was very possible, for he
+had no idea of what miracles they expected of him. Then he would be
+deposed and--he gagged at the thought, but he knew that he had to finish
+it--decapitated.
+
+But for the moment there was no thought of deposing him. The gifts they
+offered were more lavish than ever. And in addition to the food and
+flowers, there was something new. A jug, filled with a warm,
+sweetish-smelling liquid. He could get the odor faintly through the
+intake valve of his helmet. Later on, when his worshippers were gone and
+he had his helmet off, he realized that it smelled up the entire hut.
+
+It couldn't be harmful. Nothing that they had offered him so far was
+harmful. He took a sip--and sighed with content. This was one of the few
+things he had been lacking. There was alcohol, and there were flavors
+and essences that reminded him of the drinks he had encountered on a
+dozen planets. But this was first class stuff, not diluted or
+adulterated with the thousand and one synthetics that were put in to
+stretch a good thing as far as it could go.
+
+Without realizing the danger, he downed the entire contents of the jug.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He felt good. He hadn't felt so good in years, not since his mother had
+made him a special cake for his birthday when he was--let me see now,
+was it eight or nine? No matter, it had been many years ago, and the
+occasion had been notable for the fact that she had let him drink some
+of the older people's punch, made with a tiny bit of some alcoholic
+drink. He felt _very_ good. He picked up his helmet and put it on his
+head, and stuck the stem of a green flower rakishly through the exit
+valve of the helmet, so that the flower seemed to dance every time he
+exhaled, and staggered out of his hut.
+
+He was fortunate that it was dark. "I'm drunk," he told himself. "Never
+been so drunk in my life. Never felt so good. Mother never felt so good.
+Malevski never felt so good."
+
+He passed a shadowy figure in the dark and said, "Hiya, friend and
+worshipper. Ever see a god drunk before?"
+
+The figure bowed, and kept its head lowered until he had moved on.
+
+"Drunk or sober, I'm shtill divine," he said proudly. And he began to
+sing, loudly and impressively, his voice orchestral in his own ears
+within the confines of the helmet. "Ould Lang Shyne, she ain't what she
+ushed to be, ain't what she ushed to be--" The words came easily, and as
+it seemed, naturally to his lips.
+
+After awhile, however, he tired of them. After awhile he found that his
+legs had tired of them. He sat down with a thump under a spiky tree and
+said solemnly, "Never felt so good in my life. Never felt so happy--it's
+a lie. I don't feel good."
+
+He didn't, not any more. He felt sick to his stomach. A touch of sober
+thought had corroded the happiness of his intoxication, and he was sick
+and afraid. Today their god was a hero, today they would forgive him
+everything. But did they actually _prefer_ a drunken god? No.
+Drunkenness made a god human, all too human. A drunken god was a weak
+god, and his hold on his worshippers was their belief in his strength.
+As he valued his life, he must get drunk no more.
+
+"Ain't gonna get drunk no more, no more," he sang sadly and solemnly to
+himself, and finally he fell asleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He awoke with a hangover and a memory. He was not one of those men who
+when sober forget all they have done when drunk. He remembered
+everything. And he knew that he must put drunkenness away from him.
+
+That morning they brought him only food and flowers. But at the evening
+ceremony they presented him once more with a jug of liquor as an
+additional reward for his destruction of the deadly beast. For the first
+time, Bradley took an active part in the ceremony. He held up the jug
+and said in grave tones, "In the name of Carrie Nation, I renounce thee
+and all thy works."
+
+Then he poured out the liquor and smashed the jug on the ground.
+
+After that, the smashing of the jug was part of the ceremony of
+worshipping him. It left him unhappy at first, but sober. After awhile,
+the unhappiness disappeared, but the soberness remained. From now on, he
+would act as a god should act.
+
+The natives were not stupid, he saw that very clearly. The first jugs
+they had offered him had been beautiful objects, of excellent
+workmanship. But when they perceived that the only use he had for them
+was to break them, the quality deteriorated rapidly. Now the jugs they
+brought him were crude things indeed, made for the sole purpose of being
+smashed. He wondered how many other tribes had tricked their gods
+similarly.
+
+No, they were not at all stupid. It struck him that with such advantages
+of civilization as he himself had enjoyed, they would have gone much
+further than he did. Two weeks or so after he had come down from the sky
+to be their god, he saw that they had learned from him. One of the young
+men appeared during the day wearing a wooden helmet. It was a helmet
+obviously patterned after his own, although it had no glass or plastic,
+and the openings in front of the eyes were left blank. The mythical
+Earth-hero, Prometheus, had brought fire down from the skies. He had
+brought the Helmet. He was Bradley, the Helmet-Bringer.
+
+Even at that he had underestimated his worshippers. He had thought at
+first that the helmets were meant merely for ornament and decoration. He
+learned better one day when a swarm of creatures like flying lizards
+swept down out of a group of trees in a fierce attack. He had not known
+that such creatures existed here, and now that he saw them, he realized
+how fortunate it was that they were not more numerous. They had sharp
+teeth and sharper claws, and they tore at his head with a ferocity that
+struck fear into his heart. His gun was of less use than usual against
+them. He could catch one or two, but the others moved too swiftly for
+him to aim.
+
+By this time, others of the natives wore wooden helmets, and he could
+see how the sharp claws ripped splinter after splinter from them. But
+the birds or lizards, or whatever they were, didn't go unscathed. From a
+sort of skin bellows, several of the natives blew a gray mist at them,
+and where the mist made contact with the leather skin, the flying
+creatures seemed to be paralyzed in mid-flight, and they fell to the
+ground, where they were easily crushed to death. By the time they had
+given up the fight and fled, half a dozen of them were lying dead.
+
+They were evidently useless for food because of the poison they
+contained. He was surprised to see, however, that the natives still had
+a use for them. They dragged the dead creatures into a field of growing
+crops, and left them there to rot into fertilizer.
+
+But such incidents as this, he found, were to be rare. For the most
+part, the life here was peaceful, and he found himself liking it more
+and more. Now, without laughter, he wondered again what his mother would
+have thought of him.
+
+She would have been proud. He realized now that she had done her best
+for him. And when every one else had given up hope for him, she had not.
+Perhaps she had protected him too much--but she had early learned the
+need for protection. He could look at her now in a new light. Her own
+father had died early in life, and then her husband soon after her son
+had been born. She had faced a tough fight, and had thought to spare him
+what she herself had gone through. Too bad she hadn't realized exactly
+what she was doing. She was bringing him up with the ability, as the old
+epigram had it, to resist everything but temptation.
+
+The temptation to steal that petty cash, to put his hands into a drunk's
+pocket and lift the man's wallet, to lie to a pretty girl, to slug a
+helpless victim--he had resisted none of them. He had resisted nothing
+until that day he had poured the jugful of liquor on the ground and
+smashed the jug itself.
+
+But could he blame his mother for all that? It had all been his own
+fault.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And it would be his own fault if he failed to resist the new temptation
+that now reared its pretty head--Aoooya. She had taken to coming to his
+hut-shrine for a private little ceremony of her own. You might almost
+have thought that she had fallen in love with him as an individual. He
+wondered whether she had been impressed by his helmet. Did she take that
+to be his actual head? No, of course not. They had made helmets for
+themselves, therefore they knew that the thing he wore was also a
+helmet. Perhaps they knew more about him than he thought.
+
+But they continued to worship him, that was the main thing. And Aoooya
+brought him, every day, little presents, special flowers and food
+delicacies, that argued a personal affection.
+
+This was a danger that he recognized from the beginning. Perhaps a god
+_might_ fall in love with a mortal without losing his godliness.
+Perhaps. It had happened before. But, however the rest of the tribe
+might react to the idea, Bradley had noticed one young man who liked to
+stay near the girl, and he knew that this rival wouldn't take kindly to
+it at all. He might resent the god's behavior. And what happened when
+these people didn't like the way a god behaved? Why, they struck his
+head off.
+
+The god might act first, of course. The young man wouldn't stand a
+chance against him if he used his gun. In fact, Bradley could blast the
+other man unobserved, make him disappear into vapor, without leaving any
+traces of how he died. That was murder, but if a god couldn't get away
+with murder, what sort of god was he? A pretty poor, cheap sort indeed.
+Yes, he could make his own rules.
+
+And he could go on, maintaining his godhood by little murders of that
+sort, and other deadly miracles, until they hated him more than they
+loved him. That would follow inevitably. And then, when they all hated
+him, not even his gun would save him. Then--
+
+"You're a liar," he told himself fiercely. "That isn't the thing you're
+afraid of. Your weakness is that you don't have a murderous nature. You
+could kill one or two of them and get away with it, and you'd be able to
+control yourself and kill no more. That time you hit the man over the
+head, you didn't intend to kill him either. You were more frightened, at
+first, anyway, by the thought that you might have killed him, than by
+the danger of being caught. You were overjoyed when he lived.
+
+"You hate to kill, that's your trouble. You've had a sense of
+responsibility all along, but it never had a chance to develop. Now it's
+developed. You feel responsible for these people, for Aoooya and for the
+rest of them. That's why you can't take advantage of them. You've been
+posing as a rebel all your life, and you're just a respectable,
+law-abiding citizen at heart."
+
+He winced at the thought. His own society had never accepted him at his
+own valuation. This one took him for a much greater being than he took
+himself, and there seemed to be nothing to do but to live up to what he
+was expected to be.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All the same, Aoooya continued to be a tempting morsel, and sooner or
+later, he feared, he would not be able to resist her. And then the
+planet itself provided a diversion.
+
+They had never seen such a thing and had no idea of what it presaged,
+but he knew. He had heard of it on Earth and on Venus, and he had seen
+it on other planets where the rock formations had not yet settled down.
+A little hollow appeared first in the ground, and then the hollow was
+pushed out and suddenly blown into the air. Steam whistled through the
+newly made vent, a shower of steam and hot dust and red hot fragments of
+rock. Slowly the vent grew, until the cloud from the terrifying geyser
+darkened the sky and spread panic through the tribe.
+
+He knew what would happen next. They were running around in terror, but
+not for one moment was he himself in doubt. He donned his complete space
+suit, in order to impress them the more, then stalked into the middle of
+them, and said, "Pick up all your possessions and follow me."
+
+They stared at him, and he showed them what he meant by picking up the
+belongings of one household in his gloved hands, and handing them to a
+waiting woman. Then, when they had grasped the idea and were gathering
+all they owned, he led them toward the safety of the trees. Five minutes
+after they had set off, the lava began to flow from the new-born
+volcano, scorching the ground for a hundred yards around, sparks smoking
+and smoldering in the treetops.
+
+The head start he had given them was enough to help them escape the
+resultant forest fire. All that day they traveled, until finally they
+came to a forest which couldn't burn, and here they rested. And here
+they settled down to build their lives anew.
+
+It must have been a comfort to know that a god had led them to safety
+and was helping them make the new start. Bradley helped them with his
+gun, which blasted dangerous beasts, and even more with his slightly
+superior knowledge. He showed them how to fashion tools from stone and
+how to use these to build better huts. He taught them how to make swords
+and other weapons, so that henceforth they wouldn't be forced to rely
+for defense on poison alone. He was the most industrious god since
+Vulcan. And in helping them he found that he had no time for Aoooya.
+
+Came the day when the new village settled down to its changed routine of
+life. The morning ceremony before his new shrine had just been
+completed, but Bradley was not satisfied. Something was wrong. Yanyoo's
+demeanor, Aoooya's--
+
+With a shock, Bradley realized what it was. From old Yanyoo down the
+line, none of the natives seemed to have their original fear of him.
+There was respect, there was affection, certainly, but the respect and
+affection were those due an older brother rather than a god.
+
+And he was not displeased. Being a god had been a wearying business.
+Being a friend might be a great deal more pleasant. Yes, the change was
+something to be happy about.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But he had little time to be happy. For that same morning, there came
+what he had so long dreaded. Out of a clear, shipless sky, Malevski
+appeared, strolling toward him as casually as if he had been there all
+along, and said, "Nice little ceremony you have here."
+
+"Hello, Malevski. Don't give me the credit. They thought it up."
+
+"Ingenious. Almost as ingenious as the way they've used the help you
+gave them. We had this tribe listed long ago as a very capable one, far
+behind the rest of its System in development, it's true, but only
+because it had started late up the evolutionary ladder. It had been
+doing very nicely on its own, and we didn't want to interfere unless we
+could give it some real help.
+
+"I'll admit that I had a few qualms at first, when we traced you here
+and learned that you had landed among them. But we've been observing you
+for the past day and a half--our space ship landed beyond that burned
+out stretch of ground, not too close to that volcano--and I'll have to
+admit that, judging from your past record, I didn't think you had it in
+you."
+
+"I suppose that's over with now," said Bradley.
+
+"Yes, you're finished with being a god. We don't believe in kidding the
+natives, Bradley!"
+
+Bradley nodded ruefully. "They don't seem to believe in it, either. I
+guess they found out I wasn't a god before I did. But it didn't seem to
+matter to them." He sighed, and turned toward the new village. "Do you
+mind, if I sort of--well, hold a farewell ceremony before we go? They
+won't understand, but they'll feel better than if I just go off...."
+
+Malevski shook his head firmly. "No, no time for that. I'll have to get
+out a full report, and we're in a hurry to get off. Any word you'd like
+to have sent out to your mother, Bradley, before we blast?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bradley looked back again, and his shoulders came up more firmly. He'd
+taught his people here, and led them; but he'd learned a few things
+himself--he'd found he could take what was necessary. He'd found that
+the easiest way wasn't always the best, that getting drunk was no way
+out, and that real friendship and respect meant more than the words of
+big-shots. Maybe he'd learned enough to be able to take regeneration....
+
+He managed to grin, a little lopsidedly, at Malevski. "Yeah. You might
+send her a message. Tell her I'm fine, and that I've learned to wipe my
+own nose. I think she'll be glad to hear that."
+
+"She will," Malevski told him. "When she hears that you're Provisional
+Governor of this planet, she'll even believe it."
+
+"Provisional Governor?" Bradley stood with his mouth open, staring. He
+shook his head. "But what about regeneration...?"
+
+Malevski laughed. "You're appointed, on the basis of my first report
+about what you're doing here, Bradley," he answered. "As to regeneration
+... well, you think about it, while we bring in the supplies we're
+supposed to leave for you, before we blast out of here."
+
+He went off, chuckling, towards his ship, leaving Bradley to puzzle over
+it.
+
+Then, just as Malevski disappeared, he understood. Damn it, they'd
+tricked him! They'd left him here where he had to be a god and assume
+the responsibilities of a god. And through that, he'd been
+regenerated--completely, thoroughly regenerated!
+
+Suddenly, he was chuckling as hard as Malevski as he swung around and
+went back to face his former worshippers. And they were coming forward
+to meet him, their friendly smiles matching his own.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+This etext was produced from _Space Science Fiction_ 1953. Extensive
+research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this
+publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have
+been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Divinity, by William Morrison
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