“Some of his works are good,” I told her. “The money he makes permits him to maintain this wonderful establishment where he constantly carries on countless experiments. Many of his operations are beneficent. Yesterday a warrior was brought in whose arm was crushed beyond repair. Ras Thavas gave him a new arm. A demented child was brought. Ras Thavas gave her a new brain. The arm and the brain were taken from two who had met violent deaths. Through Ras Thavas they were permitted, after death, to give life and happiness to others.”
She thought for a moment. “I am content,” she said. “I only hope that you will always be the observer.”
Presently Ras Thavas came and examined her. “A good subject,” he said. He looked at the chart where I had made a very brief record following the other entries relative to the history of Case No. 4296-E-2631-H. Of course this is, naturally, a rather free translation of this particular identification number. The Barsoomians have no alphabet such as ours and their numbering system is quite different. The thirteen characters above were represented by four Toonolian characters, yet the meaning was quite the same—they represented, in contracted form, the case number, the room, the table and the building.
“The subject will be quartered near you where you may regularly observe it,” continued Ras Thavas. “There is a chamber adjoining yours. I will see that it is unlocked. Take the subject there. When not under your observation, lock it in.” It was only another case to him.
I took the girl, if I may so call her, to her quarters. On the way I asked her her name, for it seemed to me an unnecessary discourtesy always to address her and refer to her as 4296-E-2631-H, and this I explained to her.
“It is considerate of you to think of that,” she said, “but really that is all that I am here—just another subject for vivisection.”
“You are more than that to me,” I told her. “You are friendless and helpless. I want to be of service to you—to make your lot easier if I can.”
“Thank you again,” she said. “My name is Valla Dia, and yours?”
“Ras Thavas calls me Vad Varo,” I told her.
“But that is not your name?”