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.“Splendid subjects for the L-sequence experimentation,” Ralidux observed.“The females, in particular, are superb specimens.Look at the endocrine glands of the juvenile female, and the frontal lobes of the older.And the musculature of the male, in particular.Admirable!”“I agree,” Kalistus murmured.“But the fourth specimen is something new to my experience.An unknown species, I am certain of it.I must inquire of the learned Clyon if he has record of a winged proto-humanoid having ever been examined before.Observe that the wings are obviously functional.Notice the porous nature of the larger bones, and that ribs and minor bones seem to be hollow, to lessen the weight.The musculature of the wing-systems is particularly ingenious.This specimen we must surely not waste on idle L-sequence experimentation.Mark the winged one specimen ‘X-1’ and set it aside for the dissection chamber, will you?”Zarqa found himself able to understand the speech of the Skymen, as, indeed, did Janchan, to his amazement.It was an antique variant of their own language, one which stressed certain vowels in a peculiar manner, and slurred certain consonants—but not to the extent that the words could not be hazily followed.“Gods and Demigods,” said Janchan hoarsely, “can’t you understand that we are men like you, and not animals? It was Zarqa’s kind that built this Flying City of yours in the first place, you black-skinned maniacs! Dissection—Zarqa! They can’t mean it—”Kalistus and Ralidux, bent over the glowing screens, busily directing the penetrative rays to this organ and that, paid precisely the same attention to the mouthings of the experimental subjects that a Terrene scientist would to the squealing or grunting of the guinea pigs he was examining.Which is to say, not the slightest.I fear they do mean it, friend Janchan, Zarqa answered solemnly.Be of good cheer; it would seem we are now to be parted, but we may yet meet again.Farewell!“Zarqa!” Janchan shouted.But the Kalood, still strapped erect to the standing frame, was wheeled out of the room at the directive of Kalistus, who followed the attendants from the chamber, leaving Ralidux behind to switch off the penetrative lamps.“You—damnable—unfeeling—snakes!” Janchan panted, glaring at the indifferent black-skinned Skyman.For a moment their eyes met, and the young prince glared furiously into the cool, indifferent, quicksilver gaze of the black man.At something in the eyes of Janchan, Ralidux shivered involuntarily.It was almost as if he had discovered a spark of intelligence in the blank gaze of a beast.Shuddering involuntarily, he hastily averted his eyes.It was only later that he wondered why he had done so; after all, however manlike in form the brute might seem, he was still only a brute.“Remove them,” he said to the attendants, “and return them to their quarters.Oh, and return to them their rags; I have noticed they are quieter and more tractable when permitted to clutch their scraps of cloth about themselves.”The three were taken down—Janchan grim-faced and glowering, Niamh pale but frigid with disdain.As for Arjala, the Goddess was sobbing in uncontrollable hysteria at being so casually handled—stripped, coldly examined, and subjected to that frightful lash of electric pain—and by the Gods she believed to be her own cousins.It was an unthinkable humiliation, and all the way back to the great domed room where they were penned up with the others, she was scarlet with embarrassment, shaken, and in tears.Niamh sought to sooth her.“Dear Arjala, it is as we have been trying to tell you, they are not gods at all, but merely a divergent branch of our own race, gone mad with pride and folly!”Arjala snatched herself away from the girl’s soothing touch, and once they had been returned to the great domed chamber where Nimbalim anxiously awaited them, she drew apart and flung herself down in a corner to weep in vexation until her eyes were red and puffy, her throat raw, and her brain so exhausted that she was able to fall into a nervous, uneasy slumber, shot through and through with haunted nightmarish dreams.Her world was destroyed, her most cherished beliefs proven to be unfounded myths.Is it any wonder she was distraught?Most horrible of all—they had taken away her amphashand to be cut up alive, under the cold scrutiny of the inhuman black monsters with eyes like gelid pools of mercury.Arjala could delude herself only so far; she was far too intelligent to live a lie forever.And she, like Janchan and Zarqa, had recognized the tenor of converse between the two black Skymen.She knew what “dissection” meant.She knew the horrid agony that awaited the helpless Kalood beneath the bright lights and the sterile knives—and her mind winced and shuddered and recoiled in loathing at the knowledge.Her gods were not gods but monsters of inhuman cruelty.Not supermen, but cold-blooded, torturing maniacs.It was intolerable, unendurable! But it was the truth, and she must face it.She had been completely wrong, in her spoiled pride and vanity and stubborn blindness.And the others… they had been right all along.Let us leave her to her lonely agony of self-knowledge, as there in the sunlit hall, among the vapid, listless, wandering captives, the Goddess discovered herself to be nothing more than a woman, and a proud, foolish, overweening one, at that.Chapter 14Beast or Human?Following the examination of the beast-creatures, Ralidux returned to his quarters to make entries concerning the newly acquired test-subjects in his log of experiments.He felt obscurely troubled, almost uneasy, but the cause of these perturbations was too elusive to be given a name.Concluding his note-taking, the ebon savant drank a goblet of an effervescent beverage, supped lightly on herbcakes, and strolled into his garden thinking to relieve his mind by meditating on the beauties of cultivated foliage.But the peace of mind he sought continued to elude him.The garden of Ralidux was a fairyland of immense, hybrid blossoms, some of which glowed luminously against the gloom, while others shed on the evening air exquisite perfumes.Narrow paths strewn with radiant crystal dust meandered between banks of mysterious flowers.Artificial fountains tinkled in the murmurous silence, and small bridges arched over wandering rivulets.The Flying City generally floated at a height of six or seven miles above the surface of the planet, at a level some miles above the tops of even the tallest trees.The air was thin and cold, but breathable even at this extreme height, as the leafage of the giant trees, transmuting carbon monoxide into oxygen by the process of photosynthesis, released copious supplies of the gas into the upper layers of the atmosphere [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]