<font:Arial:16>      I felt curious after Omroth’s departure.  He did indeed hold some sway with the others, but his words had taught me that he had grown too close to the whole affair.  When I discovered my powers, I vowed never to use them for the greater good, never to apply them to crises on a galactic level: staying out of politics was always safer.
      “You!” was the shout that shook me out of my contemplation.  “Why do you not prostrate yourself before me!  You cannot hide from the inevitable….Deacon Vries!”
      Vries was a laughing-stock of the community after he had invented a machine to triple his strength.  After inadvertently tripling his size, he had blundered around Bandossi X7 shrieking, “Now I am your new god!” until a helpful scientist assisted the Bandossi military in reducing him back to normal, and trapping him in a containment field for three years.
      “What kind of Omphr are you, that you do not recognize my puissance?” crowed Vries.
      “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again after that time with the wormhole and the balcony,” I mused.
      “It was structurally unsound!  I have since eviscerated the workmen.  You cannot trust these outworlders even with the simplest of menial labours.  But enough of this!  I am recovering from a long voyage from my summer residence on the Outer Rim and require attention.  Bring me a few of those rocks and build some kind of rudimentary shelter.”
      Stabbing him through the face was too good.