"Eh?" Nydron seemed to swim up from a great weariness, and became tense, alert. "You mean, we'll project the Dispersal Beam into the depths and systematically bomb mile after mile of sea with radiant bombs?" His eyes were awed. "It might take years!"
"Precisely," Nardon nodded with superlative calm. "Even if it takes a century, until not a single Energast remains to pollute Saturn!" He smiled coldly, and his long, narrow hands evoked a melodious ripple from the keys.
"Among my studies in correlation, are the appraisal of the methods of the Ancients, from immemorial times. There was one Nation, in reality a city, which was periled by the rivalry of another great metropolis. And in their war of extinction, one city—Rome, evolved a ghastly slogan which guided its treatment of its enemy, the slogan was: 'Delenda est Cartago!' And if it takes a century, we shall be able to say, 'Delenda est Cinnabar!' He fell silent, and in the momentary hush, his hands began to weave a mesh of beauty as they hovered over the piano keys. It was a magical undulation of the B Flat tonality ... a divine lullaby to a wonderful child—a girl utterly beloved.