The scene changed, showing the back of the ebony block. A hand, inhuman, six-fingered, came into view—the hand of an Ancient. It touched a concealed spring, and the throne's back slid open, revealing a compartment easily large enough to hold a man.
"Here is the transmitter. It is placed on the head and the will focused on issuing telepathic commands to the robot god on the throne."
There was more, but now Garth watched with only half his mind. He scarcely saw the details of the ritual ceremony with which the Ancients had impressed the Zarno. When the vision vanished, he swung about, a new light in his eyes.
"That's it, Doc! That robot god's going to come to life!"
Willard frowned. "Um-m. The gadget isn't difficult to operate—I've learned that much from the recordings. You just think hard, that's all. But—"
"The god will come to life and summon the Zarno—all of them. The rest of you can escape while I'm keeping 'em busy."
"Hold on!" the doctor snapped. "Why you? It's my job, if it's anybody's."
"Sorry," Garth said. "It doesn't work out that way. You're the only guy who can cure the Silver Plague. Unless you get out safely, it's the end of Earth."
Willard didn't answer. Garth went on swiftly.