"My world was drab, colorless, uninteresting. It was so dull there. Our civilization destroyed the past which was lawless and exciting. I came here. And from the Red Moon Games I have gathered about me here at Anghore all the greatest warriors in the System. It was wise of me, do you not think so, Moljar? The planets themselves helped me. Terra and Mars weeded out the best by isolating the half-breeds and mutants. Then out of these, I select the very best, by a process of elimination during the Red Moon Games. From the best among the survivors of the Games I choose the Mistmen. And from the Mistmen I choose you, Moljar, to rule by my side. The Mistmen can conquer the Universe." "Many have dreamed of such a conquest," said Moljar. "This is no dream. We have inexhaustible power on our side. Weapons we can unleash that would stun the System into passive madness. Defense they have no conception of. And, if we had to, we could fight from the vantage of other plains of being, of which the dullards of the Solar Worlds have no concept, though these countless worlds flourish all about them. Work by my side, Moljar." "Why me?" said the half-breed. "I am not of your kind." "No Anghorian could stand against you with equal weapons, Moljar. The best of two worlds flows in your veins. Your heart is metal fibre, and your brain has never known fear. Nor could it ever understand defeat. There is no other who could stand by your side. And when I tire of the empire we shall build, and move on to other plains of entertainment, you may stay and rule. You can be King of a Universe, Moljar." "None of which is so important as keeping my pledge," said Moljar. He clutched at her slim, throbbing throat, but again he had forgotten the extra-system origin of these non-humans. Her body was an unspringing coil. She landed lightly ten feet away. A high piercing shriek of frenzied rage and frustration sputtered from her pink, snarling face. "Savage!" she finally said as he came toward her. "You have gone too far!" "Not far enough yet," said Moljar. He leaped after her. She eluded him as he dodged after her doggedly. She sprang this way and that like a forest cat. And finally she stopped and her fingers briefly touched the wall. Panels slid noiselessly apart. "You asked about the girl," she spat. "Look!" Moljar froze. There was a square there revealed. A mass of electronic equipment. Parts were vaguely familiar, but over-all arrangement completely beyond the grasp of his barbaric desert mind. Within a column of light, stood Mahra, looking at him. Fine glowing filaments imprisoned her. Somehow, through the weirdly glowing strands that would send her into some hellish land only Alhone could name, she managed a wan smile. Beyond the glowing filaments, grey-furred catmen moved dials and studied gauges and charts. "Wait!" cried Alhone's grotesque mewing face. "Turn off the matrix power. Do not send the girl yet. Moljar wishes to accompany her to hell!"