But that being metal, they had moved consciously, thoughtfully, deliberately.
They were metal things with—MINDS!
That—that was the incredible, the terrifying thing. That—and their power.
Thor compressed within Hop-o'-my-thumb—and thinking. The lightnings incarnate in metal minacules—and thinking.
The inert, the immobile, given volition, movement, cognoscence—thinking.
Metal with a brain!
CHAPTER V. THE SMITING THING
Silently we looked at each other, and silently we passed out of the courtyard. The dread was heavy upon me. The twilight was stealing upon the close-clustered peaks. Another hour, and their amethyst-and-purple mantles would drop upon them; snowfields and glaciers sparkle out in irised beauty; nightfall.
As I gazed upon them I wondered to what secret place within their brooding immensities the little metal mysteries had fled. And to what myriads, it might be, of their kind? And these hidden hordes—of what shapes were they? Of what powers? Small like these, or—or—