How had they gotten out here, all the way to Star System Ninety? That was beyond conjecture. How come the first brute he had contacted, old Ynohp the phony Martian, spoke a kind of messed-up Shakespearian lingo? God only knew.
Now he'd discovered them, anyway, and they wanted to go back to Earth. If they got hold of the Elephant's Child, they might do it. He couldn't let them succeed ... but then the crew was going to blow up the ship in two hours.
Two hours!
Pinkham's mind beat wildly at the prison of lethargy and dimmed consciousness. How long had he lain here? Where was he lying? Did the giants, the djinn, have him? And Circe?
Circe. Making the most intense and painful effort of his life, Pink dragged his eyes open and tried to sit up. He had to find Circe.
He saw nothing, and there was a weight on him that held him flat on his back. Either his lamp was broken, or he was blind.
Sensibly, though it cost him untold hell to be sensible, Pink lay quietly until he felt all his faculties under control. Then he made an abrupt and violent attempt to sit up. Whatever it was that was holding him down rolled off. He managed to get to his knees, one hand on the rock beneath him, and then arms were thrown around him and a body pressed against his.
The horror of absolute blackness and the unknown predicament he was in proved just a little too much for him. Captain Pinkham gave a loud, long scream of fear.