"Brothers of Magog, lay down your arms! About our city are entrenched our Gogean foes. Above our citadel hovers a vessel which, if we do not surrender, will blast us all to atoms. Your guns, as you have learned, are useless. The foe has overthrown our might. Surrender!"
The vision plate went dead. Throughout the whole of the Palace Royal a murmuring arose. Men lifted from concealment, and doors once barred were opened as a race trained to obedience followed the instructions of a superior. The battle of Magog was ended.
Days before, hours before, even short minutes ago, Gary Lane had hated this little man who stood beside him. Had wished nothing more than an opportunity to meet him face to face, and crush the life from his treacherous little body. But a victor can afford to be magnanimous. And now, in this moment of triumph, Gary found it in his heart to feel commiseration for one who, though he fought to distorted ends, had seen his empire fall before a braver, cleverer force.
He turned to Borisu, and in a quiet voice he said, "Well done, Borisu. You have my pledge, with that of Dr. Kang, that you shall not regret this move. There shall be no vindictiveness in the peace terms we offer. Only justice and equality for all. No more warring between our worlds."
And Borisu said quietly, "Yes, it is over. It is done. It is finished ... and I have lost. I will not say I am not sorry, but we must bow to the inevitable. And now, Dr. Kang, my bonds? I am free to—"
Kang said simply, "Yes, Borisu, you are free." And he moved closely to the little man to cut the strips of cloth which bound his wrists. A knife flashed briefly, and then:
"Father!" screamed Penny. "Father, look out! He—"
Her words were drowned in a roar of rage as Gary, stirring belatedly, was witness to the last mad vengeance of the erstwhile kraedar Borisu. The instant his bonds had been stricken the little man's hands danced like serpents, turning the knife in Kang's hand and thrusting forward with all his strength.
Kang grunted once heavily, then slumped forward, hands clutching futilely at a blade which clung half buried in his side. From between his clawing fingers surged ugly rivulets of crimson.