Ilon grasped his father's arm for an instant, saying nothing. Mental gratitude flowed from his being into old Nyo's. His father shook him off impatiently.
"The girl!" he spoke again hurriedly. "No time to waste."
"Then you'll take me to her!"
"More than that, son! I'll break all the laws of the Galax. I'll bring her here to you."
"But I can't allow that!" cried Ilon, aghast. "I can't allow you—"
But to disobey the order in the older man's eyes was impossible. Again he manipulated the machine deftly. Again the pulsation of light swam from the depths, and the silver sphere emerged, swinging upward. Again he found the city, the room—and again the beautiful savage moved in its depths, humming a song on corraline lips that made Ilon's head swim. Even to look at her made his heart thump and race madly.
Nyo looked, noting the symmetrical trim of a supple body, the barbarian grace of her. He nodded in reluctant approval.
"They'll be back, Ilon," he said. "You'll have to stand them off while I work. Think you can do it?"
Ilon nodded grimly. Nyo had withdrawn from his robe a tiny cylindrical object that was like a rod of sheer light. He held the filament before him. Now he looked directly at the girl's image, distant across star-worlds, and his eyes narrowed to mere slits. The muscles of his body knotted with exertion. Lambent light leaped from the white sliver in his hand, darted like lightning to his temple, splayed out again toward the distant barbarian world.