"What—!" he finally quavered. But his voice was only a shrill whistle. The machine moved closer and the arm-like metal rods shot out, adjusted a small dial upon his drum. And he could speak....
"What are you!" cried Rod. His voice was like the machine's.
"I am 83, Capek," said the thing. "But you do not comprehend. I have a brain, set within my shell as I fixed yours."
"You did this?" Rod's mind lunged hotly at the machine, but he could not move. He stayed where he was, helpless.
"Yes, I did it. I took your brain from the frozen body before it could deteriorate, placed it in this more substantial form.
"Where am I?" demanded Rod.
"These are my compartments, in the shop of Detroy. I found you encased in an iceberg, floating in the sea. By your dress you must have been there, perfectly preserved, for well over five thousand years—this is 6984. The last of your form, except those we use, were destroyed during the reign of A3, in the Great Conquest of the 40th century A.D. Your body was badly broken but the brain, fortunately, remained intact. I needed you, smuggled materials here and set your brain in a shell."
Lord, Rod thought. Prisoned in this thing forever! The shock of understanding was like a blow. He only wanted to die....
"Why am I needed?" Rod asked listlessly.