“He is a Grade 2 defective,” he whispered. “You don’t take Grade 2 from the parents. He is Grade 2—the doctors said so—” He repeated this over and over, standing with hands clasped and staring eyes.
“I say he is a moron!” Sanson shouted. “The doctors are fools. He is a brach. Look at that index and that angle! Look at the cranium, asymmetrical here—and here! The fingers flex too far apart, a proof of deficiency. The ears project at different angles, my eighth stigma of degeneracy. He is a moron of the third grade, and must go to the Vivi—”
With an unhuman scream the father leaped at Sanson and flung him to the ground, snatched up the boy in his arms and began running toward the door. From his throne the priest looked on impassively; it was no business of his. The guard appeared.
But before the man reached the guard at the door Sanson had leaped to his feet and pulled a Ray rod from his tunic. He pointed it. I heard the catch click. A stream of blinding, purple-white light flashed forth. I heard the carpet rip as if a sword had slashed it. A chip of wood flew high into the air. On the floor lay two charred, unrecognizable bodies.
I confess my only impulse then was of fear. How could I confront that devil, or Lembken, in his hell, when for Esther’s sake I must be cautious and wise? I plunged toward the farther door. The priest caught at me, but I shook him off and flung him, stunned, to the floor. I opened the door and rushed through.
I was amazed to find myself upon a long, slender bridge that spanned the central court of the vast structure. I stopped, bewildered, not knowing where to turn, and the whole scene burned itself upon my brain in an instant.
The immense mass was divided into four separate buildings. The Council Hall, from which I had emerged, was on the southern side, and, looking beyond it, I saw the Thames, winding like a silver riband into the distance. Facing me was the north wing, by which I had entered, containing the Vivisection Bureau and other halls of nameless horrors, with Sanson’s quarters. On my left hand the Temple towered high over me. Above my head I saw the outlines of the noble dome, and the palm trees behind their crystal walls. A blood-red creeper trailed down through a chink in the wall.
Upon my right was a massive fortress that I had not hitherto perceived, floating above which was a whole fleet of airships, evidently the same that I had seen when I flew into London. There must have been more than a hundred of them, ranging from tiny scoutplanes to huge monsters with glow shields about them, projecting conical machines like those that studded the top of the enclosing wall, but smaller. On their prows were great jaws of steel, in some cases closed, in others distended, fifteen feet of projecting jaw and mandible, capable, as it looked, of crushing steel plate like eggshells.
The bridge on which I stood ran from the Council Hall to the wing where Sanson dwelled. A bridge from the Temple building ran straight to the fortress of the airships at right angles to this, the two thus crossing, forming a little enclosed space in the center. At various spots, bridges from the enclosing fortress crossed the court and entered the pile of buildings. And the whole concept was so beautiful that even then I stopped to gaze.
But I did not know whither to turn. In front of me, where the bridge entered Sanson’s wing, a guard stood watching me. As I approached the central place where the two bridges met he raised his Ray rod with a threatening gesture.