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them?”
    “Remind them of history,” replied Matthews. “Tell them that we’re explorers, and ask
     them not to forget that once upon a time
someone
had to discover Ireland!” He gave Dirk a glance as if to say: “Here it comes.”
    “Imagine that it’s five centuries ago, Sir Michael, and that my name’s Christopher
     Columbus. You want to know why I’m anxious to sail westward across the Atlantic, and
     I’ve tried to give you my reasons. I don’t know whether they’ve convinced you: you
     may not be particularly interested in opening up a new route to the Indies. But this
     is the important point—neither of us can imagine just how much this voyage is going
     to mean to the world.
Tell your friends, Sir Michael, to think what a difference it would have made to Ireland
     if America had never been discovered
. The Moon’s a bigger place than North and South America combined—and it’s only the
     first and smallest of the worlds we’re going to reach.”
    The great reception hall was almost deserted when they said good-bye to Sir Michael.
     He still seemed a trifle dazed when they shook hands and parted.
    “I hope that settles the Irish question for a while,” said Matthews as they walked
     out of the building into the shadow of the Victoria Tower. “What did you think of
     the old boy?”
    “He seemed a grand character. I’d give a lot to hear him explaining your ideas to
     his constituents.”
    “Yes,” Matthews replied, “that should be rather entertaining.”
    They walked on for a couple of yards, past the main entrance and toward the bridge.
     Then Matthews said abruptly:
    “What do
you
think of it all, anyway?”
    Dirk hedged.
    “I think I agree with you—logically,” he said. “But somehow I can’t feel about it
     the way you seem to do. Later, perhaps, I may—I just can’t tell.”
    He looked at the great city around him, throbbing with life and commerce. It seemed
     as ageless and eternal as the hills: whatever the future brought, surely this could
     never pass away! Yet Matthews had been right, and he of all people should recognize
     it. Civilization could never stand still. Over the very ground on which he was walking,
     the mammoths had once come trampling through the rushes at the river’s edge. They,
     and not the ape-men watching from their caves, had been the masters of this land.
     But the day of the ape had dawned at last: the forests and swamps had given way before
     the might of his machines. Dirk knew now that the story was merely beginning. Even
     at this moment, on far worlds beneath strange suns, Time and the Gods were preparing
     for Man the sites of cities yet to be.

Eight
    Sir Robert Derwent, M.A., F.R.S. , Director-General of Interplanetary, was a rather tough-looking character who invariably
     reminded people of the late Winston Churchill. The resemblance was somewhat spoiled
     by his addiction to pipes, of which, according to rumor, he possessed two varieties—“Normal”
     and “Emergency.” The “Emergency” model was always kept fully fuelled so that it could
     be brought into action at once when unwelcome visitors arrived. The secret mixture
     used for this purpose was believed to consist largely of sulphureted tea leaves.
    Sir Robert was such a striking personality that a host of legends had grown up around
     him. Many of these had been concocted by his assistants, who would have gone through
     Hell for their chief—and frequently did, since his command of language was not that
     normally expected of an ex-Astronomer Royal. He was no respecter of persons or proprieties,
     and some of his retorts to famous but not excessively intelligent questioners had
     become historic. Even Royalty had been glad to disengage itself from his fire on one
     celebrated occasion. Yet despite all this façade, he was at heart a kindly and sensitive
     person. A good many people suspected this, but very few had ever been able to prove
     it to their satisfaction.
    At the