“This wireless apparatus,” continued Oomlag, pressing a button which caused the little flashes to cease, “is extremely simple. The case is constructed of a metal much lighter than your aluminum, and in it is housed a certain proportion of our indispensable ‘Venusite,’ in containers unaffected by its action. These buttons on the right release certain proportions of ‘Venusite,’ which send out a power wave depending in intensity on the mixture. Other buttons cut off the wave, so that messages can readily be sent in code. The buttons on the left are used to tune in on incoming messages. Important messages are assigned to a certain wavelength, controlled by one button which is always plugged in; others merely vibrate, and as each individual has his own code call, no attention is paid to other messages unless the individual gets his code call. The vibration of the apparatus against our chest is all we need to understand incoming messages. You would be surprised at the lightness of these vibrations. If you had the thing on, you would probably not notice them at all.” By this time I had finished my meal, and I must confess that I enjoyed it exceedingly. I had not dared to ask Oomlag what the vegetables were, after learning the composition of the soup. They tasted like cauliflower and artichoke. Oomlag, seeing that I had finished, manipulated a button on his wireless set, and in a moment the girl appeared to remove the dishes. I regarded her closely. She had been crying bitterly, for her eyes were red and swollen. As she leaned past me to pick up the soup dish, one of her soft dark braids brushed my cheek and fell into my lap. She reached swiftly down to toss the offending braid over her shoulder, and as her little hand hovered for an instant over mine, I felt a small pellet of paper drop into my open palm. Taking advantage of the fact that she was momentarily between me and Oomlag, I slipped the paper into my trousers pocket. Silently she placed the empty dishes on her tray and, without looking at me, turned and walked swiftly out of the room through the rock-panel door. Oomlag had buttoned up his jacket and was regarding me with an expression, as it seemed, of amused contempt. “You people think you are wonderfully civilized!” he rasped, rolling his loose, ochre lips back into a revolting grimace. “Yet you are at the mercy of any number of tiny germs. You kill each other, at the slightest provocation. What forces you know about, you do not yet know how to handle adequately. What wonderful, dumb slaves you will make for us!” HE leaned forward, his cold, glittering, pupil-less eyes close to mine.