“Swell!”
“Wait a minute. Come over here.” The older man led the way to a tripod-projector, found a cylindrical black object, and slipped it into place. “Look at this.”
Peering through the eyepieces, Garth recognized the great cavern with the dais at one end. The scene shifted, showing the gigantic twelve-foot robot sitting on its throne, a solid block of black metal.
“Watch,” Willard said.
A voice spoke in Garth’s mind, in the Ancient Tongue. “It was necessary to impress the superstitious Zarno. Thus we created this robot god and placed it on its throne. Its radio-atomic brain can be controlled telepathically by means of a transmitter concealed within the throne.”
The scene changed, showing the back of the ebony block. A hand, inhuman, six-fingered, came into view—the hand of an Ancient. It touched a concealed spring, and the throne’s back slid open, revealing a compartment easily large enough to hold a man.
“Here is the transmitter. It is placed on the head and the will focused on issuing telepathic commands to the robot god on the throne.”
There was more, but now Garth watched with only half his mind. He scarcely saw the details of the ritual ceremony with which the Ancients had impressed the Zarno. When the vision vanished, he swung about, a new light in his eyes.
“That’s it, Doc! That robot god’s going to come to life!”
Willard frowned. “Um‑m. The gadget isn’t difficult to operate—I’ve learned that much from the recordings. You just think hard, that’s all. But—”
“The god will come to life and summon the Zarno—all of them. The rest of you can escape while I’m keeping ’em busy.”
“Hold on!” the doctor snapped. “Why you? It’s my job, if it’s anybody’s.”
“Sorry,” Garth said. “It doesn’t work out that way. You’re the only guy who can cure the Silver Plague. Unless you get out safely, it’s the end of Earth.”
Willard didn’t answer. Garth went on swiftly.
“You could reach the hangar if it weren’t for the Zarno. Well, I’ll get inside that throne and start the ruckus. That’ll give you time.” His voice was emotionless.
“How do you know you could reach that temple-cave? The city’s full of Zarno.”
Garth shrugged. “It’s a chance we’ve got to take. The only one.”
Willard chewed his lip. “Why the devil do you have to be the one?”
“Because I know the Ancient Tongue. The robot can talk, can’t it? Well! It’s between you and me, Doc, and you’re the boy who can cure the Silver Plague. You can’t get away from that.”
“I—I suppose so. But—”
“You know the way out. Give me time to reach the temple and begin the ceremony. Then lead the others out. They’ll obey you; they’re in the Noctoli trance. Get ’em to the hangar and light out for Oretown. Be sure to take the recording of the power-source with you.”
“You crazy fool,” Willard said through stiff lips. “What about Moira?”
Garth’s face went gray. “Moira died years ago,” he said carefully. “It was the Silver Plague.”
Doc didn’t reply. But he nodded as though he had unexpectedly learned the answer to a problem that had been puzzling him.
“Okay,” Garth said. “You know what to do. Give me time enough to make it. Then get out of here with the others, fast.”
Willard’s hand gripped Garth’s. “Ed—”
“Forget it.”
He moved toward the tunnel-mouth. Paula, he saw, was lying near by, her red-gold hair cascading about her pale, lovely face.
Garth stood looking down at her for a long moment. Then he went on, into the tunnel that waited for him. He did not look back.
Cautiously he stepped through the black curtain, ready to retreat at sight of any Zarno. But the cavern was empty.
If he could make it—!
Noiselessly he stole up the passage. Once he froze against the wall at the sound of distant footsteps. But they faded and were gone.
He came out at last into a corridor he recognized. Far away, he saw the flashing gleam of the Zarno’s silicate skins. They were approaching, but apparently had not seen him yet.
He raced for the archway that led into the temple-cavern. If there were any Zarno there, it would be fatal. But luck favored him. The immense room was empty. At the far end the huge robot sat on its jet throne.
Garth sprinted across the floor. He could hear voices growing louder in the distance, and the thumping of the Zarnos’ footsteps, but he dared not risk a glance behind. Could he make it?
He jerked to a halt, springing behind the throne, its bulk temporarily hiding him. The Zarno were in the temple-cave now; he could tell that by their voices. Hastily he sought the secret spring.
A panel opened in the ebon block. It was exactly as he had seen it on the tripod-recording machine, a fair-sized cubicle with light coming faintly through a vision-slit in one wall. Garth wedged himself in and slid the panel shut behind him, gasping with relief. Peering through the slit, he found he could see the entire cavern. Three Zarno were approaching.
The robot, seated on the throne above him, was, of course, invisible. Garth stared around, trying to remember the details of the Ancients’ recording. A helmet transmitter … there it was, attached by wires to the low ceiling. Warily Garth slipped it upon his head.
What now?
A flat black plate, like a diaphragm, was set in the wall slightly above his head as he crouched. This hiding-place, he realized, had been built for the larger bodies of the Ancients.
Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate. Doc Willard had said the helmet-transmitters worked that way. Telepathy—willpower—
“Stand up!” he commanded silently to the unseen robot above him. “Stand up!”
There was a stir of movement. Garth, peering through the slit, saw the three Zarno jerk to a halt.
One of them cried, “The gods return! Kra-enlarnov! The gods!”
Garth put his mouth close to the diaphragm. His words, amplified, rolled out through the cavern in the Ancient Tongue.
“Yes—the gods return! Summon the Zarno! Let none fail to obey the summons!”
Shouts went up. The Zarno whirled and
