"But obviously, I couldn't remain in the Temple forever, so ... I had to find an exit." (Wonder if the paralysis ray works on a Felirene!)
"Continue, please," Fermin's voice was a smooth purr.
"The atomic vortex drew my attention and I found beneath it what I sought. Then, when I came in here and saw you absorbed in those records ... why, I hesitated...."
"As simple as that." A world of irony lay in Fermin's pellucid tones. The smile of ancient Medusa, would have been mild compared with the change that came over the Arch-Mutant's face. "No doubt, it is also a mere detail that the Atomic-vortex—which represents, incidentally, the Absolute—is absolutely fatal! That secret exit beneath the altar is known only to five other persons besides myself. And, that the slightest miscalculation in manipulating the secondary controls of the last door that leads to this chamber, releases an electronic current sufficient in itself to incinerate a squadron! Remarkable!" Fermin's eyes were flashing molten silver. "And casually strolled through!" The hooded eyes were shadowed with death now. "However," the unhurried voice continued, "we expected you, Julian Varon."
"Yes, I am Varon," Julian answered with a sort of sardonic calm he reserved for moments when death loomed very near. "I am too near the flame to have dispensed with your attention. The point is, Fermin, I thought you a gentleman, while you seem to consider me a knave. I'm afraid we are both mistaken!" His generous mouth curved in a contemptuous smile, as the taunt struck home. Death was something the members of the Dekka had to learn to accept in advance.
Fermin chuckled, if anything as vulgar as a chuckle might be said to issue from those chiselled, aristocratic lips, but his face was ashen as his hand grasped the neutralized hilt of his Power-rapier.
"My rank is higher than a Prince, Dekkan—I don't have to be a gentleman! My mistake lay in thinking that you might be interested in an offer I was about to make. After all, you're a sterile Mutant now."
The savage Felirene licked its golden muzzle and gave a muffled roar as if tired of waiting, its prodigious musculature rippled under the metallic sheen of its priceless fur. Fermin stroked it caressingly.
"See, even Sappho has lost patience. I regret I must subject you to the Psycho-graph—that is, unless you prefer to tell me the reason for your visit of your own accord." The mellifluous accents were a study in modulation—clear, precise—sardonic.