“The first thing”, Newton was saying, “is to get in touch with the Vulcanians and find out what they know about Carlin.”
Grag stood, his metal head swivelling as he stared around the ruins. “No sign of them here. But those primitives always are shy.”
“We’ll look around first for some trace of Carlin here then”, Newton decided.
The quartet started through the ruins — the man and the mighty clanking robot, the lithe android and the gliding Brain.
Newton felt more strongly the oppressive somberness of this place of vanished glory, as he looked up at the inscriptions in the old language that were carved deep into the great stones. He could read that ancient writing and as he read those proud legends of triumphs long sunken into oblivion he felt the crushing sadness of that greatest of galactic tragedies, the fall of the Old Empire.
Simon’s sharp, metallic voice roused him from his preoccupation. “Curtis! Look here!”
Captain Future instantly strode to where the Brain hovered beside one of the towering monoliths.
“Did you find some trace, Simon?”
“Look at that inscription! It’s in the old language — but it’s newly carved!”
Newton’s eyes widened. It was true. On that monolith, a few feet above the ground, was a chiseled legend in the language that had not been used for ages. Yet the characters were raw, new, only faintly weathered.