Their guards marched them up to a large, glittering disk in the center of the chamber, and stopped. Beyond the disk were twenty seats; in front of the seats there was a long, narrow platform. As they came to a stop the disk in front of them began to whirl. At first it was noiseless motion; then there came a slight scratching sound; followed by a voice.
“Glory be!” Billy shouted. “A good old American is talking.”
But when he heard the words his enthusiasm faded.
“This is KFI, Los Angeles, California,” the disk declared. “We will now hear from Professor Ainslee, who will talk to us on the condition of the moon.”
The next second, Epworth’s old college classmate stepped on the disk, looked into the microphone, and began to talk in a perfectly natural tone.
“They’ve got the old earth skinned a city block,” Billy asserted in disgust. “Look at that, will you. They not only hear but they see.”
The disk stopped sharply, Ainslee disappeared. The disk started again and the City of Los Angeles, silent and still flashed on the disk. Again it stopped, and for several seconds they stared at nothing. Then a slight noise on their left attracted their attention. When they glanced around twenty pigmies were filing into the room and seating themselves in the chairs behind the platform.
They were different in appearance to any they had yet seen. While the Taunan soldiers had large heads—entirely too large for their bodies—these men had great round bulbous balls stuck on stringy necks, and slender, ghastly bodies, showing that they were of a different race.
“Sons of the Great Selina,” Moawha whispered in awe. “They are the smartest and greatest men on our sphere. It is said that there are only one hundred of them in their race.”
For some time the twenty bulbous-headed men sat gazing at the Americans in silence. Their gaze was penetrating, far-reaching, cutting.
“You are earth men,” the leader finally remarked in slow, manufactured English. “We saw you coming in the disk, and placed a trap for you. How did you get here?”
“We came in a flying machine,” Epworth answered, determined to put on a bold front in the hope that they had not heard of Toplinsky and would release them. “Who are you?”
The pigmy frowned. It was an ugly, dangerous contraction of a peculiar round face, and it made him look fiendish.