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Updated: June 24, 2025
Let them build aircars to be used by the Gens of Prull and of Klaser, as transportation to Mars whenever you are ready for them to go!" Sarka smiled boyishly, happily. "Yes, O my father; and is there anything else?" "Yes! Take Jaska as your mate! Do you not see that she is waiting for you to speak?"
Side by side sat Sarka and Jaska, their eager eyes peering through the forward end of the flashing aircar toward the Earth, growing minute by minute larger. They were able, after some hours, to make out the outlines of what had once been continents, to see the shadows in valleys which had once held the oceans of Earth....
"Release them and send them to the lowest level where, guarded by the cubes, they will be set to constructing fireballs like those in which they arrived for the use of Earth if Dalis, or the Martians, ever attack again! And, son...." "Yes, O my father?" said Sarka softly. "I have another suggestion for the employment of the cubes!
But it was not of the threatened attack by Martians that Sarka the Second spoke. He made no statement. He merely asked a question: "Was Lunar very beautiful, and just a bit unearthly in appearance?" Sarka started. "Yes. Beautiful! Wondrously, fearfully beautiful: but I had the feeling that she had no heart or soul, no conscience: that she was somehow well, bestial!"
All his pity vanished, though he still believed he had done right in sparing Dalis' life. Suddenly there came an ominous humming in the Beryl, and simultaneously signals from the vari-colored lights on the table. Sarka whirled to the lights, noting their color, and mentally repeating the names of the Spokesmen who signalled him.
It was much to ask, for if one single one of these fire-balls could wreak such havoc with the people of Earth, what would be the destruction by the countless other unexploded fireballs of the Martians? Still, the Spokesmen themselves must discover a way to hold their own, to win against the Martians. For Sarka there was greater work to do.
Sarka scarcely knew why he had spoken the last sentence. It was as though something deep within him had risen up, commanded him to speak, and deeper yet, far back in his consciousness, was a mental picture of the devastation he had witnessed on his flight above the area that had once housed the Gens of Dalis.
"God!" cried Sarka, his voice so tense that both his father and Jaska heard it above the roaring which shook and rocked the world. "Do you see? The Moon-cubes are destroying the dwelling of our people, and the Martians are to destroy the people who have fled!" "There must be a way," said Sarka the Second quietly, "to circumvent the cubes! But what?
Sarka raced back to the room of the Master Beryl as a strident humming came through to him. The Spokesmen of the Gens whose borders touched those of the devasted Dalis area, were reporting again, and their voices were high pitched with fear that threatened to break the bounds of sanity. "The ferment in the devasted area," was the gist of their report, "is assuming myriads of shapes!
I sat down at the piano and busied myself with the manuscript, while Cressida dashed off necessary notes and wrote checks in a large square checkbook, six to a page. I supposed her immersed in sumptuary preoccupations when she suddenly looked over her shoulder and said, "Yes, that legend, Sarka, is the most interesting. Run it through a few times and I'll try it over with you."
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