"I'm afraid," said Sandra seriously, "he intends to do just what he said—and in just as offhand a manner as that in which he mentioned it. To probe our brains for race memories, then dissect us for biological knowledge."
"But why?" demanded Larry. "For Lord's sake, why? We're human beings, the same as he. He couldn't kill us in cold blood, just to—"
"To him," said Sandra, "we are nothing but a pair of savages. He is not being deliberately cruel, no more so than a Twentieth Century scientist who practices vivisection to add to his knowledge. He is proud of us as an acquisition. May even like us in some cold, inhuman fashion, as we like cats and dogs. But we represent a scientific problem to be solved—and there is no thought in his mind of mercy."
"Then," said Larry forcefully, "we've got to pull our freight. Get out of here. But how? That's the rub."
"We're helpless against him," mused the girl, "on all save one point. That is the subject he wanted to avoid. Hearing. Larry—Harg can't hear! Not as we understand the word. His ears have atrophied. Or, perhaps—" A sudden light shone in her eyes. "I have it! His ears are—"
"Wait a minute!" broke in Larry excitedly. "For once I beat you to the draw. I guessed it in the museum. These jaspers of the 260th Century are not only unable to hear, they're afraid to hear! They wear those leather headgears because they have to. Because something had made them extremely sensitive to percussion."
"And I know," chimed in the girl positively, "what caused it. It was the change!"
"Change?"
"Yes. You've noticed the sky, haven't you? Didn't you see something strange about it?"
Larry thought for a moment. Then, "The sun! There isn't any sun."