At last the sickness passed, and my mind quieted. I struggled into wakefulness. As I opened my eyes, the face of the old Jivro gaped with its noseless, bulging eyes not a foot away, the thin, wide lips and mouth hanging open like a trap, the ridges across the mouth like a fish, white and horrible.
I retched at the repellent sight, and the mouth moved, the words came out so strangely, like a mechanical voice:
"Tell me, earthman, how is the weapon with which you shot my men on the roof made? What are the details of its construction, and the formula for its explosive?"
I almost laughed.
"You are ridiculous, old insect! Such things are known only to technicians in factories, not to mining men like myself."
Again the blinding light struck at me, the sickening shaking of the vibrance welled through me. I sank and was raised again to consciousness.
Still the same foolish old insect face, the same bulging ignorant eyes. The words:
"Tell, then, how this Croen and the forces of Prince Genner may be overcome? Speak, earthman."
The compulsion moved me, and I answered:
"There is no way you can overcome them, Jivro. You are doomed, and there is no hope for your tyranny over the Schrees to continue. They have tired of the Jivros, and you deserve what you are going to get."