I. A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT IN THE AIR

The flying ship of Professor Lucifer sang through the skies like
a silver arrow; the bleak white steel of it, gleaming in the
bleak blue emptiness of the evening. That it was far above the
earth was no expression for it; to the two men in it, it seemed
to be far above the stars. The professor had himself invented
the flying machine, and had also invented nearly everything in
it. Every sort of tool or apparatus had, in consequence, to the
full, that fantastic and distorted look which belongs to the
miracles of science. For the world of science and evolution is
far more nameless and elusive and like a dream than the world of
poetry and religion; since in the latter images and ideas remain
themselves eternally, while it is the whole idea of evolution
that identities melt into each other as they do in a nightmare.

All the tools of Professor Lucifer were the ancient human tools
gone mad, grown into unrecognizable shapes, forgetful of their
origin, forgetful of their names. That thing which looked like an
enormous key with three wheels was really a patent and very
deadly revolver. That object which seemed to be created by the
entanglement of two corkscrews was really the key. The thing
which might have been mistaken for a tricycle turned upside-down
was the inexpressibly important instrument to which the corkscrew
was the key. All these things, as I say, the professor had
invented; he had invented everything in the flying ship, with the
exception, perhaps, of himself. This he had been born too late
actually to inaugurate, but he believed at least, that he had
considerably improved it.