They stripped him of his clothing and clamped him upright in the framework table of metal rods. Then they did the same to the two women. Niamh endured their touch stoically and without protest, and, in fact, they handled her as casually and impersonally as a veterinarian might handle a domesticated animal. But Arjala protested vehemently.
“My Divine cousins, is it possible you do not recognize one of your own kind? ‘Tis I—Arjala, Incarnate Goddess in Ardha. Take your hands off me, you—you—”
Then one of the black-skinned men touched her with the electric rod and she screamed deafeningly. They stripped away her gorgeous raiment, gems crunching underfoot as they pinned her against the metal framework and clamped her writhing limbs into place. Janchan, still groggy from his taste of the rod but scarlet with outrage and fury, struggled against his bonds but could not free himself in order to spring to her assistance.
Two of the beautiful black men stood apart from this scene, viewing it dispassionately.
“Odd, is it not, Kalistus, how the brutes jabber and squeal—almost as if they were capable of speech?” said one amusedly.
The other nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, Ralidux, but I am more interested in the instinct by which the male seeks to defend the female; a crude presentiment of the civilized ethic of chivalry. And then, there is the curious use of rags and scraps of vegetable matter, a sort of anticipation of the habit of clothing the body. It never fails to interest me how closely the animals come to imitating true humans such as ourselves.”
“Well, there is nothing in it to mystify the true scientist.” Ralidux shrugged. “There are creatures in The World Below which gather together nuts and stones and bits of bright feathers or leaves, like a rich man accumulating a hoard of treasure; and insects capable of building hanging nests or even bridges between the tree-branches, that employ some of the higher principles of stress-architecture. And, of course, as everyone knows, there are forms of insectoid life which possess an instinct for certain forms of rudimentary social order, even a caste system. The instinctive mimicry by which the four-limbed mammals, such as these, imitate civilized humanity are but another manifestation of Nature’s sense of humor.”
“Of course you are right; but it never fails to intrigue me,” Kalistus said indifferently. “Well, let us get on with it.
The four were now stripped and spread-eagled upon the framework of metal rods. Now, as Kalistus gave the command, the huge ground-glass screens were wheeled into place and strangely brilliant beams of colorless light probed at the bodies of the four subjects. Peering through goggles with heavy lenses at the glowing screens, Ralidux and Kalistus could scrutinize the muscles, bones, glands, and organs of the four subjects, visible to their eyes due to the peculiar penetrative power of the light rays.
“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.