They had fled almost to the sheer ambient face of the crater wall when the Falakian girl touched Farrell's arm and pointed back through the scented, pearly mists.
"Someone," she said. Her voice stumbled over the almost forgotten Terran word, but its sound was music.
"No matter," Farrell answered. "They're too late now."
He pushed on, happily certain in his warm euphoric glow of mounting expectancy that what he had done to the ship made...
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