“Foolish one, of course I am not a god. But your question is reasonable, nevertheless. You suppose that only human beings can talk, which is correct as far as it applies to inhabitants of this planet. My parents came from the planet you know as Venus about one hundred of your years ago, and I myself was born here, in this cavern!”
AT this amazing statement I must have registered a very ludicrous astonishment, for my invisible captor gave a deep, throaty laugh and continued: “It is too bad you cannot see yourself now, Mister Stan-lee Murduck (that is about the way he pronounced it). You, too, would laugh. You see, we are not without a sense of humor. I know your head is seething with a conflicting tumult of thoughts. How did I know your name? From the notebook you had in your shirt pocket. You would no doubt be interested in my name. It is Oomlag-Tharnar-Illnag, or Oomlag for short. You may call me that. I am sorry that I cannot let you see my face just now, but we prepare all our involuntary visitors with a little talk in the dark first, so that our intentions will be made clear and they can better stand the shock of seeing us and our work.”
“Do you mean to tell me that other people have been brought here, too?” I shuddered at the thought. “What do you want with us—with me—and what becomes of us—‘involuntary visitors’?”
Again came the gurgling laugh.
“Oh, we have a certain very definite purpose with you. We would not trouble to bring you here, unless we could make good use of your services. We have only invited a very few visitors, but they are all people of much more than ordinary intelligence, such as yourself, and peculiarly fitted to aid us in our—ah, purpose.”
I realized fully my terrible position—talking in black darkness with a madman who claimed that his parents came from Venus, that others were associated with him in some sinister undertaking here in the cavern, and that several other people had also been made prisoners, for what unholy purposes I could not guess. The darkness and the strength of my unwelcome host were against me. In despair, I was now certain that my only hope was to draw him out in “a little talk,” and perhaps thereby gain information to help me escape, or, by pretending to be very eager to help him, to insinuate myself into his good graces and catch him unaware at a favorable moment.
“YOU tell me,” I said, as casually as possible, “that your visitors are allowed to see your work, but that before that event you prepare them by a little explanatory lecture here in the dark to better withstand the ‘shock.’ Would it be presumptuous of me to ask why it should be a shock to see you and your work?”
“Not at all,” came the voice of Oomlag. “But before I do that, you should be enlightened further as to why you are here. In a way, you are our slave, in the sense at least, that you will be compelled by us to spend the next few years underground. However, if you cooperate with us as I believe you will, you will be well treated and allowed to roam around as you please. If, after things have been fully explained to you, you do not prove agreeable and refuse to help, I can only say that you will very soon change your mind.