"You monster!" shrieked Siblin, white, shaken, almost beside himself. "You vile, unspeakable monster! Of what use is such a slaughter of innocent men? They have not harmed you--" "Indeed they have not, nor could they," the amœbus interrupted callously. "They mean nothing whatever to me, in any way. I have gone to the trouble of wiping out this city to give you and the rest of your race an object lesson; to impress upon you how thoroughly unimportant you are to us and to bring home to you your abject helplessness. Your whole race is, as you have just shown yourself to be, childish, soft, and sentimental, and therefore incapable of real advancement. On the contrary we, the masters of the universe, do not suffer from silly inhibitions or from foolish weaknesses." The eye faded out, its sharp outlines blurring gradually as its highly specialized parts became transformed into or were replaced by the formless gel composing the body of the creature. The amœbus then poured himself out of the cup, assumed the shape of a doughnut, and rolled rapidly out of the room. When the Chloran captain had gone, Siblin threw himself upon his narrow bunk, fighting savagely to retain his self-control. He _must_ escape--he _must_ escape--the thought repeated itself endlessly in his mind--but how? The glass walls of his prison were his only defense against hideous death. Nowhere in any Chloran thing, nowhere in any nook or cranny of the noisome planet toward which he was speeding, could he exist for a minute except inside the cell which his captors were keeping supplied with oxygen. No tools--nothing from which to make a protective covering--no way of carrying air--nowhere to go--helpless, helpless--even to break that glass meant death-- * * * * * At last he slept, fitfully, and when he awoke the vessel was deep in interplanetary space. His captors paid no further attention to him--he had air, food, and water, and if he chose to kill himself that was of no concern to them--and Siblin, able to think more calmly now, studied every phase of his predicament. There was absolutely no possibility of escape. Rescue was out of the question. He could, however, communicate with Valeron, since in his belt were tiny sender and receiver, attached by tight beams to instruments in the laboratory of the Quedrins. Detection of that pencil beam might well mean instant death, but that was a risk which, for the good of humanity, must be run. Lying upon his side, he concealed one ear plug under his head and manipulated the tiny sender in his belt.