After he had gone, Garth took advantage of the silence to say, "I'll tell you what's been going on, and then I'm going to sleep. I'll go to sleep anyway, unless I talk fast. I'm dead beat." Sampson squinted at the door. "Tough customers. Shoot, Garth. I've got a hunch we're in a bad spot." "We are. Listen--" Briefly Garth explained what had happened. There were questions and counter-questions. "You can speak their lingo, eh?" "That won't help, Brown." "They can't be invulnerable." "They are--to our weapons. Silicate life!" "When will they--sacrifice us?" Paula asked, a little shaken, though she tried not to show it. Garth shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I can talk 'em out of it. God knows. They worship the gods--the Ancients, I suppose--but they know we're not gods. So that's that." "Well--" * * * * * They talked inconclusively. Sampson casually wandered over to the door, found a twisted scrap of wire, and used it on the lock. After a while he called softly to the others. "This thing's a snap. It won't keep us in here." Garth came over. "There are guards. It's no use." One of the Zarno approached and peered in through the grill. "Kharn has said you will not be hungry long. Tomorrow you will all die. You eat, like the creatures of the forest, do you not?" "What's he saying?" Sampson muttered. "Nothing important." Garth switched to the Ancient Tongue. "It will be dangerous to kill us. We are messengers of the gods." "We will believe that," the Zarno said, "when one of the gods tells us so." He nodded impassively and retreated. Paula touched Garth's arm. "Isn't there any way--" "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." "There's light here. There's none in the other cities of the Ancients. That means the power-source still works here. If we can find it--" Garth couldn't look at her, knowing they were doomed to die the next day. He shrugged, turned away, and found an empty corner. Ignoring the others, he tried to relax on the hard floor. His brain just wasn't working now. It was fagged out. He had a vague hunch that there might be a way out--but he was too exhausted to follow it up now. A few hours' sleep was vital. But he slept past dawn. When he awoke, he saw the others lying motionless, their eyes fixed in the blank stare of the Noctoli trance. Glancing at the chronometer on Brown's wrist, Garth figured swiftly. It was past dawn. That meant there was little time left in which to act--provided action was possible. But sleep had refreshed him, though his muscles still ached painfully. He was beginning to remember what his hunch had been. When he and Doc Willard had been captives, there had been guards only at night. During the long Ganymedean day, none was necessary, for the Noctoli poison had been active then. By day, the Zarno thought, men of flesh were tranced and helpless. Unless--