Guyard knew that a fight with the powerful creatures from the Land of Darkness would mean annihilation for the Earthians. But there was no other apparent way.
He turned again to the steel giant, his eyes misty. "Had Zurk not failed us," he said, "I should have built a hundred more like him. Insulated against the shock of the voltage guns, a hundred men of steel could have marched into the Land of Darkness and crushed our captors—wiped them out!"
Marene, too, had turned to look at the giant. She went forward now, raised one of the huge hands and let it fall with a metallic, squeaking "z-zzurk." Long ago, as a small child, she had done that same thing, and because of the sound had named the giant "Zurk."
She stood looking up into the expressionless eyes. When she spoke, her voice was like that of a small girl talking to a disobedient doll. "You must not fail us now, Zurk. We need you. You must help us!"
Guyard went to her and put an arm about her shoulders. "It's no use," he said. "I've tried day after day. He makes no move."
"But I'm certain he understands you," insisted the girl. "Sometimes I am certain I have caught a glow in his eyes. A glow of understanding."
"He does understand me!" Guyard was staring into the eyes again, tense with emotion. "His brain is a part of my very own! I have nurtured that brain with my own thoughts. I have trained it."
Then he shook his head slowly. "But it's no use. It is too late. One of him would not be enough. There is no time to build more."
Guyard was so busy with his own thoughts that he did not hear the scaly sound of feet upon the ladder leading up into the laboratory. He did not see the bone-crested head that came slowly up above the level of the floor behind him.
His first indication of danger was a green-smeared arm that whipped about Marene and jerked her roughly away from him.