The man's tone was different. Gone was the suaveness, the customary polite mockery; it was frank, open, genuinely pleasant.
"Is it true, Dr. Ku, that your coordinated brains will die, if left in their case?"
"Yes, they will die if left there."
"Within what time, to save them, must the operations to transplant them into human bodies be started?"
"Within twenty-five, perhaps thirty, minutes at the most."
"Can all five brains be given the initial steps for transplantation into the heads of your four white assistants and the coolie prisoner within one hour—the remaining half of the two hours the brains said they would retain the necessary vitality?"
Dr. Ku smiled at him. There was no malice in the thunderbolt that he unleashed then. He simply told what he knew to be the truth.
"By fast work they could be, and so saved, although the subsequent operations will take weeks. But the brains cannot be transplanted into the heads of my four white assistants."
"What?" Both the Hawk and Leithgow cried the word out together. "They cannot?"