The centipede moved close, and its ocelli gazed at Ward fixedly. Its many legs quivered. Its fangs reached out and brushed lightly over Ward’s shrinking body.
“Where is the mercenary cage?” the voice asked again.
Ward said weakly, “I don’t know.” He thought of a nice home-loving girl back in Midcity who could cook wonderfully and who liked babies and whose name was Ann, before he said, “Tell the damn centipede to get it over with.”
The centipede struck, but in the middle of its darting move a crackling explosion hit it. Its chitinous shell curled, crackled, and the centipede knotted up into a tight burned lump.
A scream of hate and fear rang through the colossal cavern beneath the Martian deserts. Ward turned, his eyes dimmed. It was Red. Somewhere he had gotten hold of an electronic blaster and had paused, blasted the centipede, and was now running on across the cavern. He held the levitated cage easily in one hand.
He waved the gun at Ward and his thin face smiled. He stopped half way between Ward and the towering translucent bowl that housed the Queen Mother of the Mo-Sanshon. But the normal pulsing of the giant breeding brain was visibly agitated now. It shivered in pounding undulations. Waves of frantic force emanated from its throbbing bulk.
Ward saw the woman-creature beside him lean forward, her hands trembling. Her voice was a bit higher, that was all. “You! You live, Molakh! You were dead!”
Red laughed as he unfastened the cage door. It was a drawn taut laugh, without mirth. Ward yelled, “Red! I understand now! Don’t open it! Suicide if you—”