“You actually expect to make a second Moon?” Tony’s voice held skepticism. But the priest was not offended.
“Yes. Such a thing was done once before. The machine that made the Moon was built in Atlantis, and we have built a duplicate here. It took centuries, but at last it is finished. In the heart of the pyramid it lies—and already it is in operation.”
“In operation?” Involuntarily Tony glanced around. “I don’t—”
“You feel nothing here and now, of course. Later you may, though we are safe in Alu. The machine sets up vibration and molecular disruption in certain strata under Europe, and gradually the intensity of the vibration will be increased—until Europe shakes itself literally to pieces. In a week or even less the final cataclysm will take place. Europe will vanish, leaving an abyss into which the waters of the Atlantic will pour. And Atlantis will rise again!”
“That,” said Tony, “will be Old Home Week, eh?”
Thotmes didn’t answer. He turned to the others and gestured. One of them slid open the barred grating, and the group filed out. The door slammed.
Beyond it, Thotmes smiled at his captive. “Your companions will join you soon. We shall not trouble to search for them. They will walk into our midst soon enough, and then you will have company.”
“Look out you don’t get your head blown off by one of them,” Tony remarked.
Thotmes lost his smile. He tugged at his spade beard and said, “Few men jest in Alu. There is always a need for new gods—and you would look well with a jackal’s head on your shoulders.”
“You’d look lovely with a rat’s,” Tony agreed, “only you already have one.”