The bow of the boat dipped; it sank beneath the surface. Jim had no idea then of the mechanisms, but he knew the boat was under water. One of the great heads was busily adjusting a mechanism to purify the air they were breathing. Another was seated at what seemed a mirror; gazing ahead through the water, steering the boat with his fingers on a row of buttons which governed the controls.
Another hour. Jim and Ren whispered occasionally. The boat was speeding uninterruptedly beneath the surface. At last Jim called,
“Talon?”
“Yes. What is it?” the head of Talon answered him.
“Come here. You can talk better now, can’t you?”
Talon evidently was amused at the imperative tone. “Yes. I can talk better now.”
He came hitching forward; his great face was broken by a grotesque grin. “What is it?”
“Who are you?” Jim demanded. “What do you want of us? Where are you taking us?”
Talon was willing to talk. He sat, his fingers toying with the metal ornament, his head resting against the side of the boat for support. He and his fellows were of a race which he called the Intellect. They came from a distant world in the sky, a dark planet, satellite of one of the remote suns up there.
Five thousand or more of them, adventurous Intelligences like himself, had built a great ship and come to this foreign world. They had landed in mountains, a wild, desolate country. Their ship had been destroyed, irreparably broken in landing. They could not get back.