He was lost in recollection for a time; the girl beside him reached over to touch his hand.
“Those within—the red ones—escaped,” he went on. “They poured forth when they found that catastrophe had overwhelmed us. And we, the handful that were left, were forced to take shelter here. We have lived here since, waiting for the day when the Master of Destinies shall give us freedom and a world in which to live.”
“You speak,” suggested the scientist, “as if this had happened to you. Surely you refer to your ancestors; you are the descendants of those who were saved.”
“We are the people,” said the other. “We lived then; we live now; we shall live for a future of endless years.
“Have you not searched for the means to control the life principle—you people of Earth?” he asked. “We have it here. You see”—and he waved a hand toward the standing throng—“we are young to your eyes and the others who greeted you were the same.”
McGuire and the scientist exchanged glances of corroboration.
“But your age,” asked Sykes, “measured in years?”
“We hardly measure life in years.”
Professor Sykes nodded slowly; his mind found difficulty in accepting so astounding a fact. “But our language?” he queried. “How is it that you can speak our tongue?”