Greeta!” Thorn shouted the name of the dead woman—but even that part of the flitter which contained her body was lost to view. The creatures of the sand crawled and heaped themselves most thickly on that section of the wreckage and had, by their weight, pushed it completely under so that although here and there, an end of broken metal might be seen and the tail of the fuselage was still tilted above the surface, the rest was only a writhing struggle of the yellow things.“She is dead,” Simsa said sharply. “You cannot bring her forth from that!” She waved a hand toward the struggling mass of ovoid bodies and tangled tentacles.Thorn gave her a quick glance, and there was certainly no sign of friendliness or gratitude beneath those knotted brows or in that rage-thinned mouth. That deep anger filled him, making him forget the pain of his own hurts, Simsa sensed without being told.He crooked his left arm at eye level, used it so to steady the barrel of his weapon. Down into that heaving mass of filthiness shot a ray of fire so brilliant Simsa closed her eyes for an instant that she might not be blinded.Deep inside of her mind arose a scream—not from any fear or torture wreaked upon her own body, but surely coming from those sand-dwelling things now feeling the searing pain of the attack.That faint stench which had first guided her in this direction was now a fetid cloud.She reached up, averting her gaze from that beam, to catch his elbow with a fierce grip.“No!”
