Semanticate

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@@ -27,7 +27,7 @@
 			</section>
 			<section id="adaptation-1" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
 				<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">I</h3>
-				<p>The Coordinator said, “I suppose I’m an incurable romantic. You see, I hate to see you go.” Academician Amschel Mayer was a man in early middle years; <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Leonid Plekhanov, his contemporary. They offset one another; Mayer thin and high-pitched, his colleague heavy, slow and dour. Now they both showed their puzzlement.</p>
+				<p>The Coordinator said, “I suppose I’m an incurable romantic. You see, I hate to see you go.” Academician Amschel Mayer was a man in early middle years; <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Leonid Plekhanov, his contemporary. They offset one another; Mayer thin and high-pitched, his colleague heavy, slow and dour. Now they both showed their puzzlement.</p>
 				<p>The Coordinator added, “Without me.”</p>
 				<p>Plekhanov kept his massive face blank. It wasn’t for him to be impatient with his superior. Nevertheless, the ship was waiting, stocked and crewed.</p>
 				<p>Amschel Mayer said, “Certainly a last minute chat can’t harm.” Inwardly he realized the other man’s position. Here was a dream coming true, and Mayer and his fellows were the last thread that held the Coordinator’s control over the dream. When they left, half a century would pass before he could again check developments.</p>

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@@ -232,7 +232,7 @@
 			<p>Ilya Simonov looked blankly at Catherina and whispered, “Why, what he’s reading is as much an attack on the West as it is on us.”</p>
 			<p>She looked at him and whispered back, “Well, why not? This gathering is to discuss freedom of the press.”</p>
 			<p>He said blankly, “But as an agent of the West⁠—”</p>
-			<p>She frowned at him. “<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Dickson isn’t an agent of the West. He’s an American journalist.”</p>
+			<p>She frowned at him. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Dickson isn’t an agent of the West. He’s an American journalist.”</p>
 			<p>“Surely you can’t believe he has no connections with the imperialist governments.”</p>
 			<p>“Certainly, he hasn’t. What sort of meeting do you think this is? We’re not interested in Western propaganda. We’re a group of intellectuals searching for freedom of ideas.”</p>
 			<p>Ilya Simonov was taken back once again.</p>

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@@ -36,10 +36,10 @@
 			<p>Click of heels and a salute that once greeted the Caesars, and later the pseudo-Aryan of the 20th Century, and, but yesterday, he who was now known as <em>the last of the dictators</em>. “Farewell, Number One!”</p>
 			<p>“Farewell,” he answered emotionlessly.</p>
 			<hr/>
-			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith, a black dot on the dazzling white sand, watched the lifeboat disappear up into the blue, finally into the haze of the upper atmosphere of Venus. That eternal haze that would always be there to mock his failure and his bitter solitude.</p>
+			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith, a black dot on the dazzling white sand, watched the lifeboat disappear up into the blue, finally into the haze of the upper atmosphere of Venus. That eternal haze that would always be there to mock his failure and his bitter solitude.</p>
 			<p>The slow days snarled by, and the sun shone dimly, and the marigee screamed in the early dawn and all day and at sunset, and sometimes there were the six-legged <i>baroons</i>, monkey-like in the trees, that gibbered at him. And the rains came and went away again.</p>
 			<p>At nights there were drums in the distance. Not the martial roll of marching, nor yet a threatening note of savage hate. Just drums, many miles away, throbbing rhythm for native dances or exorcising, perhaps, the forest-night demons. He assumed these Venusians had their superstitions, all other races had. There was no threat, for him, in that throbbing that was like the beating of the jungle’s heart.</p>
-			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith knew that, for although his choice of destinations had been a hasty choice, yet there had been time for him to read the available reports. The natives were harmless and friendly. A Terran missionary had lived among them some time ago⁠—before the outbreak of the war. They were a simple, weak race. They seldom went far from their villages; the space-radar operator who had once occupied the shack reported that he had never seen one of them.</p>
+			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith knew that, for although his choice of destinations had been a hasty choice, yet there had been time for him to read the available reports. The natives were harmless and friendly. A Terran missionary had lived among them some time ago⁠—before the outbreak of the war. They were a simple, weak race. They seldom went far from their villages; the space-radar operator who had once occupied the shack reported that he had never seen one of them.</p>
 			<p>So, there would be no difficulty in avoiding the natives, nor danger if he did encounter them.</p>
 			<p>Nothing to worry about, except the bitterness.</p>
 			<p>Not the bitterness of regret, but of defeat. Defeat at the hands of the defeated. The damned Martians who came back after he had driven them halfway across their damned arid planet. The Jupiter Satellite Confederation landing endlessly on the home planet, sending their vast armadas of spacecraft daily and nightly to turn his mighty cities into dust. In spite of everything; in spite of his score of ultra-vicious secret weapons and the last desperate efforts of his weakened armies, most of whose men were under twenty or over forty.</p>
@@ -68,7 +68,7 @@
 			<p>But always there were as many left. Never did their number seem to diminish in the slightest. Like the Martians⁠—but unlike the Martians, they did not fight back.</p>
 			<p>Theirs was the passive resistance of a vast productivity that bred kifs ceaselessly, overwhelmingly, billions to replace millions. Individual kifs could be killed, and he took savage satisfaction in their killing, but he knew his methods were useless save for the pleasure and the purpose they gave him. Sometimes the pleasure would pall in the shadow of its futility, and he would dream of mechanized means of killing them.</p>
 			<p>He read carefully what little material there was in his tiny library about the kif. They were astonishingly like the ants of Terra. So much that there had been speculation about their relationship⁠—that didn’t interest him. How could they be killed, en masse? Once a year, for a brief period, they took on the characteristics of the army ants of Terra. They came from their holes in endless numbers and swept everything before them in their devouring march. He wet his lips when he read that. Perhaps the opportunity would come then to destroy, to destroy, <em>and destroy</em>.</p>
-			<p>Almost, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith forgot people and the solar system and what had been. Here in this new world, there was only he and the kifs. The baroons and the marigee didn’t count. They had no order and no system. The kifs⁠—</p>
+			<p>Almost, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith forgot people and the solar system and what had been. Here in this new world, there was only he and the kifs. The baroons and the marigee didn’t count. They had no order and no system. The kifs⁠—</p>
 			<p>In the intensity of his hatred there slowly filtered through a grudging admiration. The kifs were true totalitarians. They practiced what he had preached to a mightier race, practiced it with a thoroughness beyond the kind of man to comprehend.</p>
 			<p>Theirs the complete submergence of the individual to the state, theirs the complete ruthlessness of the true conqueror, the perfect selfless bravery of the true soldier.</p>
 			<p>But they got into his bed, into his clothes, into his food.</p>
@@ -91,7 +91,7 @@
 			<p>And another sound⁠—one that he had never heard before⁠—faint, also, but seeming to come from his right and quite near.</p>
 			<p>He looked that way, and there was a patch of opening in the trees above. The grass was waving strangely in that area of moonlight. It moved, although there was no breeze to move it. And there was an almost sudden <em>edge</em>, beyond which the blades thinned out quickly to barrenness.</p>
 			<p>And the sound⁠—it was like the sound of the surf, but it was continuous. It was more like the rustle of dry leaves, but there were no dry leaves to rustle.</p>
-			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith took a step toward the sound and looked down. More grass bent, and fell, and vanished, even as he looked. Beyond the moving edge of devastation was a brown floor of the moving bodies of kifs.</p>
+			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith took a step toward the sound and looked down. More grass bent, and fell, and vanished, even as he looked. Beyond the moving edge of devastation was a brown floor of the moving bodies of kifs.</p>
 			<p>Row after row, orderly rank after orderly rank, marching resistlessly onward. Billions of kifs, an army of kifs, eating their way across the night.</p>
 			<p>Fascinated, he stared down at them. There was no danger, for their progress was slow. He retreated a step to keep beyond their front rank. The sound, then, was the sound of chewing.</p>
 			<p>He could see one edge of the column, and it was a neat, orderly edge. And there was discipline, for the ones on the outside were larger than those in the center.</p>
@@ -109,16 +109,16 @@
 			<p>He stood there, swaying, and the incredulous eyes of the natives widened as they saw the condition of his body, and the blankness of his eyes.</p>
 			<p>When he made no hostile move, they came closer again, formed a wondering, chattering circle about him, these Venusian humanoids. Some ran to bring the chief and the chief’s son, who knew everything.</p>
 			<p>The mad, naked human opened his lips as though he were going to speak, but instead, he fell. He fell, as a dead man falls. But when they turned him over in the dust, they saw that his chest still rose and fell in labored breathing.</p>
-			<p>And then came Alwa, the aged chieftain, and Nrana, his son. Alwa gave quick, excited orders. Two of the men carried <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith into the chief’s hut, and the wives of the chief and the chief’s son took over the Earthling’s care, and rubbed him with a soothing and healing salve.</p>
+			<p>And then came Alwa, the aged chieftain, and Nrana, his son. Alwa gave quick, excited orders. Two of the men carried <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith into the chief’s hut, and the wives of the chief and the chief’s son took over the Earthling’s care, and rubbed him with a soothing and healing salve.</p>
 			<p>But for days and nights he lay without moving and without speaking or opening his eyes, and they did not know whether he would live or die.</p>
 			<p>Then, at last, he opened his eyes. And he talked, although they could make out nothing of the things he said.</p>
 			<p>Nrana came and listened, for Nrana of all of them spoke and understood best the Earthling’s language, for he had been the special protégé of the Terran missionary who had lived with them for a while.</p>
 			<p>Nrana listened, but he shook his head. “The words,” he said, “the words are of the Terran tongue, but I make nothing of them. His mind is not well.”</p>
 			<p>The aged Alwa said, “Aie. Stay beside him. Perhaps as his body heals, his words will be beautiful words as were the words of the Father-of-Us who, in the Terran tongue, taught us of the gods and their good.”</p>
-			<p>So they cared for him well, and his wounds healed, and the day came when he opened his eyes and saw the handsome blue-complexioned face of Nrana sitting there beside him, and Nrana said softly, “Good day, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Man of Earth. You feel better, no?”</p>
+			<p>So they cared for him well, and his wounds healed, and the day came when he opened his eyes and saw the handsome blue-complexioned face of Nrana sitting there beside him, and Nrana said softly, “Good day, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Man of Earth. You feel better, no?”</p>
 			<p>There was no answer, and the deep-sunken eyes of the man on the sleeping mat stared, glared at him. Nrana could see that those eyes were not yet sane, but he saw, too, that the madness in them was not the same that it had been. Nrana did not know the words for delirium and paranoia, but he could distinguish between them.</p>
 			<p>No longer was the Earthling a raving maniac, and Nrana made a very common error, an error more civilized beings than he have often made. He thought the paranoia was an improvement over the wider madness. He talked on, hoping the Earthling would talk too, and he did not recognize the danger of his silence.</p>
-			<p>“We welcome you, Earthling,” he said, “and hope that you will live among us, as did the Father-of-Us, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gerhardt. He taught us to worship the true gods of the high heavens. Jehovah, and Jesus and their prophets the men from the skies. He taught us to pray and to love our enemies.”</p>
+			<p>“We welcome you, Earthling,” he said, “and hope that you will live among us, as did the Father-of-Us, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gerhardt. He taught us to worship the true gods of the high heavens. Jehovah, and Jesus and their prophets the men from the skies. He taught us to pray and to love our enemies.”</p>
 			<p>And Nrana shook his head sadly, “But many of our tribe have gone back to the older gods, the cruel gods. They say there has been great strife among the outsiders, and no more remain upon all of Venus. My father, Alwa, and I are glad another one has come. You will be able to help those of us who have gone back. You can teach us love and kindliness.”</p>
 			<p>The eyes of the dictator closed. Nrana did not know whether or not he slept, but Nrana stood up quietly to leave the hut. In the doorway, he turned and said, “We pray for you.”</p>
 			<p>And then, joyously, he ran out of the village to seek the others, who were gathering bela-berries for the feast of the fourth event.</p>
@@ -128,16 +128,16 @@
 			<p>“Perhaps he had a ship-of-the-sky there at the beach,” Nrana said worriedly. “All Earthlings come from the sky. The Father-of-Us told us that.”</p>
 			<p>“Perhaps he will come back to us,” said Alwa. His old eyes misted.</p>
 			<hr/>
-			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith was coming back all right, and sooner than they had dared to hope. As soon in fact, as he could make the trip to the shack and return. He came back dressed in clothing very different from the garb the other white man had worn. Shining leather boots and the uniform of the Galactic Guard, and a wide leather belt with a holster for his needle gun.</p>
+			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith was coming back all right, and sooner than they had dared to hope. As soon in fact, as he could make the trip to the shack and return. He came back dressed in clothing very different from the garb the other white man had worn. Shining leather boots and the uniform of the Galactic Guard, and a wide leather belt with a holster for his needle gun.</p>
 			<p>But the gun was in his hand when, at dusk, he strode into the compound.</p>
 			<p>He said, “I am Number One, the Lord of all the Solar System, and your ruler. Who was chief among you?”</p>
 			<p>Alwa had been in his hut, but he heard the words and came out. He understood the words, but not their meaning. He said, “Earthling, we welcome you back. I am the chief.”</p>
 			<p>“You were the chief. Now you will serve me. I am the chief.”</p>
 			<p>Alwa’s old eyes were bewildered at the strangeness of this. He said, “I will serve you, yes. All of us. But it is not fitting that an Earthling should be chief among⁠—”</p>
 			<p>The whisper of the needle gun. Alwa’s wrinkled hands went to his scrawny neck where, just off the center, was a sudden tiny pin prick of a hole. A faint trickle of red coursed over the dark blue of his skin. The old man’s knees gave way under him as the rage of the poisoned needle dart struck him, and he fell. Others started toward him.</p>
-			<p>“Back,” said <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith. “Let him die slowly that you may all see what happens to⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“Back,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith. “Let him die slowly that you may all see what happens to⁠—”</p>
 			<p>But one of the chief’s wives, one who did not understand the speech of Earth, was already lifting Alwa’s head. The needle gun whispered again, and she fell forward across him.</p>
-			<p>“I am Number One,” said <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Smith, “and Lord of all the planets. All who oppose me, die by⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“I am Number One,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Smith, “and Lord of all the planets. All who oppose me, die by⁠—”</p>
 			<p>And then, suddenly all of them were running toward him. His finger pressed the trigger and four of them died before the avalanche of their bodies bore him down and overwhelmed him. Nrana had been first in that rush, and Nrana died.</p>
 			<p>The others tied the Earthling up and threw him into one of the huts. And then, while the women began wailing for the dead, the men made council.</p>
 			<p>They elected Kallana chief and he stood before them and said, “The Father-of-Us, the Mister Gerhardt, deceived us.” There was fear and worry in his voice and apprehension on his blue face. “If this be indeed the Lord of whom he told us⁠—”</p>