monumental.
“But you must realize,” said Zarkov with a confidential air, “that evolution and biology are outside my fields of specialty.”
“Of course.”
By this time they had resumed their journey; they walked down dark corridors with high ceilings. Thankfully, the prisoners had traveled a different route. The décor consisted of pillars, portraits of evil and mysterious men, vases containing plants that swayed with music of their own making or plants that swiped at insects. The uniforms of the soldiers behind them jangled and clinked with the heavy rhythm of their footsteps. Otherwise, the soldiers were totally silent; unless the mechanical sounds of their interior were some kind of a strange language, they uttered not a whisper among themselves.
The captives entered a corridor leading to the large doors of a circular entrance. Dale gripped Flash’s arm. They knew, as if by instinct, that beyond those doors they would come face to face with Ming.
The guards abruptly halted. The captives did likewise, not knowing what else to do.
A buzzing reverberated throughout the corridor. Dale held her hands over her ears and Zarkov tensed, but Flash, used to the deafening roar of the crowd, took it in stride. A huge panel raised open in the center of a wall, and through it flew a shiny golden globe topped with two antennae. The panel closed, the buzzing ceased. The globe hovered before the captives. An impersonal, sexless voice emanated from a tiny grill: “Prisoners—march!”
“Let’s not argue with it,” said Flash, thinking to himself, not yet.
The space travelers followed the globe, slowly walking toward the circular entrance, looming ever larger like a portent of doom. Suffering, wailing demons were carved from the dark, green-tinged wood bordering the doorway. A huge grinning face—fanged, red-eyed, with pointed ears and a single tuft of hair atop an otherwise bald dome—was carved above the center.
“We’re being taken just where we want, all right,” said Zarkov nervously.
“Would you say that again?” asked Flash.
“We’re being taken to the ruler,” said Zarkov, slightly annoyed that Flash had not instantly understood what he had meant. “Through subtle deductive means, by picking up scraps of information and extrapolating with a rigid sort of logic which is too complex to go into now, I’ve become certain that this Ming character is responsible for the attack on Earth.”
“I believe you,” said Dale, her eyes fixed on the huge malevolent face. Her next remark was forever silenced by the sharp slapping noise of a Lizard Man’s bare feet pounding the hallway behind them. Dale held her fingers tightly about Flash’s arm as the fleeing Lizard Man emerged from a corridor and halted in shock ten yards before the orb. The creature’s eyes widened and bulged, nearly touching the fangs at the top of its head.
“Halt, Lizard Man,” came the voice from the orb. “Escape is impossible.”
An electrical current shot from the orb in a jagged path. Seeming to singe the very air, it encircled the Lizard Man in a painful aura. For an infinite second Dale stared at the terrifying tableau of the paralyzed creature attempting to break free of the electrical snare.
Then, instantly, the Lizard Man was turned to dust.
Dale looked at Zarkov. “Doctor, my faith in reasoning is diminishing rather rapidly.”
Zarkov whispered, “Don’t worry. If reasoning fails, I’ve still got the gun in my pocket. I’ll make it plain I’m acting on my own. You’ll be all right.”
“That’s plain suicide,” said Flash between his teeth.
“No. A rational transaction. One life for billions.”
Without thinking, Zarkov patted his jacket pocket. Whirring like a stricken banshee, the globe darted toward Zarkov and hovered at his side. It promptly disintegrated the revolver, leaving the pocket intact.
Once again, Zarkov shrugged helplessly. “Reason’s the only way.”
6
The Judgment of Ming
T HE
“But you must realize,” said Zarkov with a confidential air, “that evolution and biology are outside my fields of specialty.”
“Of course.”
By this time they had resumed their journey; they walked down dark corridors with high ceilings. Thankfully, the prisoners had traveled a different route. The décor consisted of pillars, portraits of evil and mysterious men, vases containing plants that swayed with music of their own making or plants that swiped at insects. The uniforms of the soldiers behind them jangled and clinked with the heavy rhythm of their footsteps. Otherwise, the soldiers were totally silent; unless the mechanical sounds of their interior were some kind of a strange language, they uttered not a whisper among themselves.
The captives entered a corridor leading to the large doors of a circular entrance. Dale gripped Flash’s arm. They knew, as if by instinct, that beyond those doors they would come face to face with Ming.
The guards abruptly halted. The captives did likewise, not knowing what else to do.
A buzzing reverberated throughout the corridor. Dale held her hands over her ears and Zarkov tensed, but Flash, used to the deafening roar of the crowd, took it in stride. A huge panel raised open in the center of a wall, and through it flew a shiny golden globe topped with two antennae. The panel closed, the buzzing ceased. The globe hovered before the captives. An impersonal, sexless voice emanated from a tiny grill: “Prisoners—march!”
“Let’s not argue with it,” said Flash, thinking to himself, not yet.
The space travelers followed the globe, slowly walking toward the circular entrance, looming ever larger like a portent of doom. Suffering, wailing demons were carved from the dark, green-tinged wood bordering the doorway. A huge grinning face—fanged, red-eyed, with pointed ears and a single tuft of hair atop an otherwise bald dome—was carved above the center.
“We’re being taken just where we want, all right,” said Zarkov nervously.
“Would you say that again?” asked Flash.
“We’re being taken to the ruler,” said Zarkov, slightly annoyed that Flash had not instantly understood what he had meant. “Through subtle deductive means, by picking up scraps of information and extrapolating with a rigid sort of logic which is too complex to go into now, I’ve become certain that this Ming character is responsible for the attack on Earth.”
“I believe you,” said Dale, her eyes fixed on the huge malevolent face. Her next remark was forever silenced by the sharp slapping noise of a Lizard Man’s bare feet pounding the hallway behind them. Dale held her fingers tightly about Flash’s arm as the fleeing Lizard Man emerged from a corridor and halted in shock ten yards before the orb. The creature’s eyes widened and bulged, nearly touching the fangs at the top of its head.
“Halt, Lizard Man,” came the voice from the orb. “Escape is impossible.”
An electrical current shot from the orb in a jagged path. Seeming to singe the very air, it encircled the Lizard Man in a painful aura. For an infinite second Dale stared at the terrifying tableau of the paralyzed creature attempting to break free of the electrical snare.
Then, instantly, the Lizard Man was turned to dust.
Dale looked at Zarkov. “Doctor, my faith in reasoning is diminishing rather rapidly.”
Zarkov whispered, “Don’t worry. If reasoning fails, I’ve still got the gun in my pocket. I’ll make it plain I’m acting on my own. You’ll be all right.”
“That’s plain suicide,” said Flash between his teeth.
“No. A rational transaction. One life for billions.”
Without thinking, Zarkov patted his jacket pocket. Whirring like a stricken banshee, the globe darted toward Zarkov and hovered at his side. It promptly disintegrated the revolver, leaving the pocket intact.
Once again, Zarkov shrugged helplessly. “Reason’s the only way.”
6
The Judgment of Ming
T HE
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