Then suddenly there sprang into sight on the pedestal a transparent dome the size of a small goldfish bowl. It was lighted by ultra-violet from the bottom. In the center of the dome a small golden ball hung by a platinum wire, and on the ball was a tiny butterfly—Netse the Jovian. Netse's wings moved slowly as he walked around the ball, and the violet light brought out the delicate green luminous tracery in his wings. Grant involuntarily stepped back.
There were whistling words and Grant was aware that they came through a speaker and amplification system. He knew the dome that protected the Jovian was almost indestructible. "You wished to see me?" The wings moved slowly back and forth. Each one had a purple spot in the center like an eye.
Grant gulped. "Yes. I—I have something to show you. I need your help." He wondered if the purple spots actually were eyes.
"Most people do," said Netse dryly.
Grant, inordinately ill at ease, fumbled in his watch-pocket. It was incredible that this tiny butterfly that would hardly outweigh a cigarette paper should have the brain to conduct a ramified business such as this one, and it was even more incredible that men and everything else—except perhaps Relegar—would yield to its will. Will, of course, was the key factor. Will was dominant and men obeyed.
rant held out the echindul stone. "This is one of a pair," he said. "I found the other one too."
"You have just come back from the Red Lava Range," said the whistling voice. "How many pairs did you find?"
Grant stared at the butterfly. Some thought the Jovians could read minds. Grant wondered. Then he decided to be honest. "Sixteen."