each question they
would not answer until their throats were scorched and they could no
longer scream. Finally they reached the limit they could endure, and
muttered together the hoarse words that could deliver them. Not words
that Frankle could hear, but words to bring deliverance, to blank out
their minds like a wet sponge over slate. The hypnotic key clicked into
the lock of their minds; their screams died in their brains. Frankle
stared at them, and knew instantly what they had done, a technique of
memory obliteration known and dreaded for so many thousands of
years that history could not remember. As his captives stood mindless
before him, he let out one hoarse, agonized scream of frustration and
defeat.
But strangely enough he did not kill them. He left them on a cold stone
ledge, blinking dumbly at each other as the ships of his fleet rose one
by one and vanished like fireflies in the dark night sky. Naked, they sat
alone on the planet of the Jungle-land. They knew no words, no music,
nothing. And they did not even know that in the departing ships a seed
had been planted. For Frankle had heard the music. He had grasped the
beauty of his enemies for that brief instant, and in that instant they had
become less his enemies. A tiny seed of doubt had been planted. The
seed would grow.
The two sat dumbly, shivering. Far in the distance, a beast roared
against the heavy night, and a light rain began to fall. They sat naked,
the rain soaking their skin and hair. Then one of them grunted, and
moved into the dry darkness of the cave. Deep within him some instinct
spoke, warning him to fear the roar of the animal.
Blinking dully, the woman crept into the cave after him. Three thoughts
alone filled their empty minds. Not thoughts of Nehmon and his people;
to them, Nehmon had never existed, forgotten as completely as if he
had never been. No thoughts of the Hunters, either, nor of their
unheard-of mercy in leaving them their lives--lives of memoryless
oblivion, like animals in this green Jungle-land, but lives nonetheless.
Only three thoughts filled their minds:
It was raining.
They were hungry.
The Saber-tooth was prowling tonight.
They never knew that the link had been forged.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Link, by Alan Edward
Nourse
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