“Follow the crowd!” said Drake. “Do you feel just full of pep and ginger, by the way?”
“I am aware of the most extraordinary vigor,” I answered.
“Some weird joint,” he mused, looking about him. “Wonder if they have any windows? This whole place looked solid to me—what I could see of it. Wonder if we'll get up against it for air? These Things don't need it, that's sure. Wonder—”
He broke off staring fascinatedly at the pillar behind us.
“Look here, Goodwin!” There was a tremor in his voice. “What do you make of THIS?”
I followed his pointing finger; looked at him inquiringly.
“The eyes!” he said impatiently. “Don't you see them? The eyes in the column!”
And now I saw them. The pillar was a pale metallic blue, in color a trifle darker than the Metal Folk. All within it were the myriads of tiny crystalline points that we had grown to know were the receptors of some strange sense of sight. But they did not sparkle as did those others; they were dull, lifeless. I touched the surface. It was smooth, cool—with none of that subtle, warm vitality that pulsed through all the Things with which I had come in contact. I shook my head, realizing as I did so what a shock the incredible possibility he had suggested had given me.
“No,” I said. “There is a resemblance, yes. But there is no force about this—stuff; no life. Besides, such a thing is utterly incredible.”
“They might be—dormant,” he suggested stubbornly. “Can you see any mark of their joining—if they ARE the cubes?”