“And is there nothing, sir, that we can do?” asked Kincaide, my second officer, in an awed whisper.
“That is the purpose of this conclave: to determine what may be done. We have our bombs and our rays, it is true, but what is the power of this one ship against the people of half a world? And such a people!” I shuddered, despite myself, at the memory of that grinning creature in the cell far below the floor of the council chamber. “This city, and its thousands, we might save, it is true—but not the whole half of this world. And that is the task the Council and its Master have set before us.”
“Would it be possible to frighten them?” asked Croy. “I gather that they are not an advanced race. Perhaps a show of power—the rays—the atomic pistol—bombs— Call it strategy, sir, or just plain bluff. It seems the only chance.”
“You have heard the suggestion, gentlemen,” I said. “Has anyone a better?”
“How does Mr. Croy plan to frighten these people of the darkness?” asked Kincaide, who was always practical.
“By going to their country, in this ship, and then letting events take their course,” replied Croy promptly. “Details will have to be settled on the spot, as I see it.”
“I believe Mr. Croy is right,” I decided. “The messenger of these people must be returned to his own kind; the sooner the better. He has given me a mental map of his country; I believe that it will be possible for me to locate the principal city, in which his ruler lives. We will take him there, and then—may God aid us gentlemen.”
“Amen,” nodded Croy, and the echo of the word ran from lip to lip like the prayer it was. “When do we start?”
I hesitated for just an instant.